He took a forkful of fish and chewed.
“I happened,” he said, eventually, the words directed at the trout.
Silence.
“Tell me the story.”
“You don’t want to hear it.”
“You’d be surprised how much I want to hear it. I’m guessing they weren’t happy when you enlisted.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Come on—their doctor son going off to fight another country’s wars?”
He smoothed an index finger across an eyebrow, like he had a headache. A bird cried as it passed over the cottage.
“I can see how heavy those secrets are, Jamie. And believe me, I’m good at keeping secrets.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“You’re not making jokes anymore, so that’s already a start.”
“You don’t like my jokes?”
“Spoke too soon.”
“Aye,” he said, eventually, chasing food around with his fork. “My folks weren’t impressed.” She could almost hear the emphatic period at the end of his words.
“Yes, and...?”
He smiled slightly, and a ticking noise escaped his throat. Recognizing defeat when he saw it? “I was their great hope. The idea that a child of theirs could grow up to be a doctor... They weren’t wealthy, they weren’t able to make much of their own lives, but they loved the idea that future generations of Armstrongs would have all the opportunities they didn’t have, without the struggles to pay the bills.”
“And you haven’t talked to them in three years?”
He shook his head. “Nor the two before that. I send almost all my miserable pay packet home and get the occasional cranky one-line email from my sister, but...yeah.”
“Was it your choice to break off communication or theirs?”
He swirled the water in the glass like it was wine. “Mutual, I guess. They didn’t try to contact me, either.”
“It’s probably not too late.”
“My father died, three years ago. Heart failure. I came back for the funeral—the only time I’ve returned since I signed up. Before now.”
“I’m so sorry, Jamie.”
“I literally broke his heart.” His voice wavered. “Caused him so much stress. Not to mention, if I’d been there or was at least visiting regularly, I might have realized how bad his health was getting... He was a typical man of his generation—ignored the warning signs until it was too late.”
“And your mother...?”
“Dementia. She’s in a home. Another thing I should have been there to see, to help with, but it’s all too late. I fucked everything up and there’s no undo button.”
She laid her fork on the table. “That’s why it’s so hard for you to be here.”
A twitch in the muscles between his eyes. “I never said it was hard.”
“Sometimes I catch a glimpse of your thoughts, when you’re not looking, not hiding them.”
