Three weeks later, as we're sitting down to dinner, there's a knock on our door.

"I'll get it! It must be Andrea!"

When I open the door, instead of Andrea's smiling face, I see Mr. Johnson. "Oh." He's the last person I want to see. Nothing could have surprised me more. What could he want.

"Hello Evie, may I come in? It will just take a moment." I have to admit, Mr. Johnson's well dressed. As if he wants to show us he respects our family. His eyes are clear, and I'n relieved to see he's sober.

"Uh, I'll ask my mother, Mr. Johnson.

To my disappointment, my mother's pleasantly surprised. "Mr. Johnson! Please come in. What can we do for you?"

Mr. Johnson steps into the foyer. "Please, call me Andrew." Realizing he's interrupting our dinner time, he immediately apologizes.

"That's all right", my mother assures him. It's a pot roast. It won't burn."

"Actually, there's something I want to do for both of you." He swallows, then speaks haltingly, as if he's ashamed. "I cheated your son, Ryan, out of the money I owed him for painting my house.

My mother nods, evenly. "I know."

Mr. Johnson reaches into his jacket pocket.

"I don't want any money, Mr. John.., Andrew. Please. That's all in the past."

"I don't think money would set anything I've done in this world straight, Claire. What I did was wrong, and I'm ashamed. I'm sorry."

"We forgive you. I'm sure that's what Ryan would have wanted. Mr. Johnson looks at me quizzically while my mother speaks, as if he's recalling the figure he saw on the fairway. I'm relieved when he doesn't mention any of this to my mother. He obviously knows she's in a fragile state over Ryan's death. True to form, my mother offers him to have dinner with us. When his eyes light up at the invitation, I can see how lonely he must be. I'm surprised by the beautiful grace he says when we're all seated. Where's the angry racist who taunted us last summer? I take a mouthful of pot roast, curious as to why he's here.

"I had a son, same age as Ryan, he awkwardly volunteers in the middle of dessert.

My mother freezes, a fork halfway to her mouth. She puts down her utensil. "I didn't know that."

"Thing is, I was always too busy working. I had my own business at the time. I never spent enough time with Charlie. My mother remains silent. "When he was seventeen, he had an epileptic seizure and drowned in our pool. He was about the same age as Ryan."

"Oh Andrew, I'm sorry!" My mother eyes are brimming with tears.

"It was my fault. I knew he was drinking too much, but I thought he'd outgrow it. My wife blamed me for our son's death and left. I started drinking, and lost my business." He looks sadly at me. "I hated the world and everyone in it. I'm sorry what I said that day, Evie. I didn't hate you and your brother, but I said terrible, unforgivable things that day, angry my Charlie was dead."

I look at him, unable to answer. My mother never knew about the names he called us. I realize Mr. Johnson isn't really a racist, he was jealous Ryan was alive, while his son was dead. I still can't forget the nasty things he said.

"I can't make it right anymore, now that Ryan's gone. But there's something I want to do." He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out some papers. I bought Charlie a car on  his sixteenth birthday. It's still in my garage. He looks at me. I want you to have it."