“That wouldn’t have beenpushing.”
“I’m glad to hear you’re happy, and that you’ve found someone you can be happywith.”
Such an innocent, generous comment has a dramatic effect on me as I find it activates my own awareness of the man she was with…the man she’d believed she’d found and who was so terrible tome.
I recall what I’d told Jesse. That he was my friend…or so I’dbelieved.
I change the subject, moving along and talking about work, and she catches me up on some of the local gossip she partakes in, chatting about church and whatnot and her job in the school system. The conversation lightens, and it’s funny how easy it is to relax into it and let that other part fade to the back of my mind in a way I hadn’t been able to do when I talked to her in thepast.
“You talked to myfather?” I practically have to spit out the title he never deserved. Makes me wonder if that’s how Ty feels when he calls methat.
“Yes,” shesays.
“Do I even want to know abouthim?”
“He wrote me a letter from rehab. Part of hisprogram.”
“I bet you have a lot of letters from those programs,” I say, more than a little irritated. “Funny, never seems to have time to write me one.” Which makes perfect sense, since it didn’t seem he could be bothered with me when I was a kid. “What an ass,right?”
“I’m sorry, Eric. You always deservedbetter.”
“It is what it is, and my life’s better for it.” But saying or even believing the words doesn’t change the bitterness I feel toward that man…or the other. Their presence lingers despite how long they’ve been out of mylife.
We order some drinks before our meals, catching up on mundane subjects. We share more stories about our jobs. Connie could have retired several years ago but continues working as a receptionist at a local elementaryschool.
She tries my meatballs, saying, “If you’d come by and visit, then I could remind you what real meatballs tastelike.”
After she says that, she seems to catch herself in the moment…in what she brought up for both of us. I’m thinking she’s about to take it back, but instead, she says, “I miss you,Eric.”
I can hear the sincerity in her words, and it kills me knowing that, so long as I carry this secret, being with her is sodifficult.
She opens her mouth as though about to go on, but then hesitates, pressing her lips together and taking some more time. “It’s been a longtime.”
“Yes, ithas.”
There’s so much I wish I could say, so much I wish I could tell her, but here we are, standing on the opposite sides of a vast rift between us, this distancehecreated.
“I always had fun when you would visit,” she adds, “and we would go see a movie or go to the lake for the day and have a picnic. You laughed so easily back then, and I remember thinking that you were lucky to have such a good sense of humor, considering your father was always a littledense.”
Another reminder of a face I don’t care to think aboutanymore.
“Do you remember when you used to come over for Christmas…when your father made time to bother to come? I’dmake…”
“Chocolate chip cookies with pecans. Secret was how you added thecinnamon.”
She tears up andnods.
“Remember you used to tell me you made them just forme?”
“I wasn’t just saying that, Eric. I really did.” She chokes up as she says the words, and damn, I want to turn because I don’t want to cry in front ofher.
Oh, how I missher.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to bring up the past. I can tell it makes you uneasy. But is it that you don’t want to see me anymore? Is there something I did that I’m totally obliviousabout?”
It’s the first time she’s directly asked me the question, and it catches me bysurprise.
“No, you never did anything, Connie,” I reply, but I can tell by her twisted-up expression that it doesn’t add much comfort. How could it, when surely she knows there is some reason I haven’t kept in touch with her. She’s just totally unaware of what itis.
