He won’t meet my eyes, stares at his shoes instead, plucking at a lace. “It came outta nowhere,” he says dully.
“Chris.”
Slowly, he looks up. His eyes are unsteady, nervous. Embarrassed.
“It never comes out of nowhere.”
He exhales in a huff. “And here I thought you were going to say something nice.”
“How long were you together?”
“Three years.”
I sink the shovel into the dirt. “What changed?”
“She did.”
“Why?”
He snorts. “I’m used to asking all the questions.”
Maybe that’s why she left you.
I dig silently, deeper and deeper.
“She’s dating the PE teacher.” He looks down at his shoes again, frowning. “I always hated that guy.”
The soil is hard and rocky, and the walls begin to collapse and cave in, forcing me to bend and half squat. I use my entire body to push the shovel into the ground. The repetitive motions of lifting and moving the soil strain my arms, back, and legs. Still, I dig. What is it about this that makes it so confessional? That makes even a man like Chris Cooper let go and unload?
“I call her sometimes,” he says plainly. “She won’t answer.”
“Why not?”
“I dunno.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“For heaven’s sake,” he finally groans. “Letmedig.”
“I’m fine—”
“No,” he says so abruptly that I stop and look up. “I just…” He looks away. “I need to do something.”
I throw him the shovel, and he heaves it into the dirt, grunting.
“I feel like shit about it,” I finally say. “The Oliver thing…it got ugly.”
“Fine line between love and hate,” he agrees.
“Yeah,” I say, looking up at the tea trees. “But sometimes it feels like there’s too much ugliness. Like it always wins out.”
He sighs heavily. “I know.” He stops to wipe his forehead with his sleeve. “I’ve been an investigative journalist for seventeen years now…” His voice trails off. “You wouldn’t believe what I’ve heard. And seen.”
He starts digging again. “But then one day I thought, well, maybe we need the ugliness. Maybe it’s there so we don’t take the good things for granted. When I used to get all angry and depressed, Linda would say, ‘Look harder. Look for the good. It’s still there.’ ”
“She’s a keeper,” I tell him.
“It’s over. She’s made that clear,” he says grimly before hesitating. “…She said I cared more about my work than her.”
