He takes a step backward and stares at me. He's wearing a bright-red winter jacket, red gloves, and a toque.
I try to ignore the longing in my chest when he looks so much like my old friend. The toque covering his hair brings out his blue eyes.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi…um, what are you doing here?"
"I wanted to apologize for being so…" He stops as if trying to think of the right word to say, so I volunteer it for him.
"Angry?"
"Um…"
"Why are you so angry with me? You were the one who left? You were there right next to me all of our life. We had plans and dreams, things we wanted to do together. And then you were gone." I try to leave out the hurt, but it's impossible because I've been waiting for answers for ten years.
"I'm not angry with you." He lets out an almost defeated sigh.
"Really? You could have fooled me."
"My mom told me I should come here and talk to you."
"Oh really? Well, you can tell your mom there are no hard feelings. You came, and now you can go. See you around, Judson."
Turning on my heels, I follow the porch around the house to the back, feeling all the anger I managed to suppress years ago.
I stare at the maple trees and appreciate their beauty, breathing in the cold air. I should take a break before I go back to the sugar house.
"I'm sorry. Please let me explain."
Jud has always been stubborn, so I'm not entirely surprised he didn't go when I asked him to.
"Fine," I say, but I take a stand by looking at my trees rather than at him.
There's a moment of silence. I know he's not gone because I would have heard the steps on the old wooden porch.
"Over the last ten years, I…um…I've avoided talking about you."
I can't help the hurt I feel as he says the words, but I try to put it aside to listen.
He continues, "I wasn't expecting to see you at the bar…I wasn't ready, and I know I was rude."
I hear more footsteps, and when he talks, I know he's closer. "I asked my mom what you've been doing all these years. She told me to come here to find my answers."
I'm not sure if I should feel happy that he's willing to talk now or if I should be angry that he wants answers from me when he is the one who left.
"Why?" I ask.
"Why what?"
"Why are you back?"
I look at him. He's still a few inches shorter than me, but now I'm bigger. I outweigh him by at least forty pounds, easily.
He looks down and takes his gloves off, running his hand through the soft snow settled on the handrail that follows the porch around the cabin.
"I lost everything in Paris. My career, my relationship, my dignity, and my self-respect. I have...nothing." His voice breaks as if he's close to tears.
"Oh, for fuck’s sake." It shouldn't surprise me that my first instinct is to break the distance between us and hug him. We're both wearing several layers of clothing, but I can still feel how warm he is, and that makes me happy.
