Page 39 of Say Something
- 21 -
I spent the morning in the file room at the office, scanning paper files onto my newly purchased server. The IT guy for the newspaper helped set me up with a small network so I could work on bringing the practice into the twenty-first century. I paid him for his time and promised to use him in the future for follow-up freelance work. He and his wife just welcomed their third child, and he told me he could use all the extra money he could get.
It wasn’t until my ex-husband came in the front door carrying something that smelled delicious that I realized I was working straight through lunchtime.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him. I wasn’t about to be pleasant. His behavior at the farm yesterday still bothered me, warranted or not.
“I come bringing gifts. A peace offering,” he said, holding up a small house plant and a greasy paper bag. My traitorous stomach growled. “This is a cactus,” he said, placing the plant on the reception desk.
“I know what a cactus is.”
“And this is lunch,” he said, ignoring my snappy attitude and waving the white paper bag like it was a flag of surrender.
I raised one eyebrow and waited. If he wanted to apologize, he was going to have to say it. Then maybe I’d consider apologizing for my part in the argument.
He set the bag on the desk and sighed, running both hands through his hair.Oh boy.
“I’m sorry, Jess.” He paused and looked around briefly. “It used to be so easy for us, you know? All this trying stuff? It’s hard work. I’m still a little mad at you. And hurt. You gave up on us. You just gave up. That wasn’t the girl I knew.Youweren’t the girl I knew. I mourned her loss for years. I mourned liked you’d died. I was lost for a long time before I finally found my way back home. I went through the motions in the city, finished my teaching contract, my master’s, then I came back here. And then there you were. And it was like you’re her but you’re not. And I’m still mad at you. Sometimes I don’t know if I ever won’t be mad at you. Other times I realize I was never truly mad at you at all. Just hurt. I don’t know what to do with all that. Regardless, I shouldn’t have confronted you like that at the farm. I didn’t mean to ask about the city. I knew if I had, I’d go there, and I really didn’t want to go there. I didn’t mean to go there. So for that, I’m sorry. But I’m not sorry for feeling. I’ll never be sorry for having feelings.”
I wiped the tears from my eyes, grateful I’d caught them before they spilled down my cheeks. “I’m sorry for what I said. I know it was a low blow.”
He just shrugged. “I deserved it. It was actually kind of nice to see you fight back, even if it stung...and was a bit misplaced.”
I winced. I was tired of hurting him. I wished everything could just fix itself, but I wasn’t quite ready for that yet. In order to move forward, to get past it, he would have to understand that I blamed myself, he’d have to accept that. And I didn’t think he ever would, not fully. He could blame some things on me, but he wouldn’t place all the blame on me... It just wasn’t in his genetic makeup.
“I accept your apology, if you accept mine.”
“Apology accepted,” he said, and his easy smile was back. “Can we eat now? This smells amazing.”
“Of course,” I said.
We each pulled chairs to the reception desk and Danny began unpacking the bag from The Diner. He had brought foil wrapped burgers and french fries, a diner classic. Greasy, but delicious.
“So how has your first day been?” he asked.
“Not too bad. Sort of boring, but I’m getting things done and that’s what’s important. One day I may be too busy to be able to take care of some of this administrative stuff, so I’m going to appreciate the free time while I have it.”
“Will you hire a receptionist?”
“Eventually. Seems silly to do it now though, when I barely have enough work to do myself.”
“Are you scanning stuff?” he asked, looking around at the piles of papers everywhere.
“Yeah, I’m creating electronic files.”
“Good idea,” he said, nodding his head.
I smiled, feeling validated for somethingthat I was vaguely afraid was a waste of my time. “Thank you.”
He smiled in return, and we finished our meal with some small talk about his parents and their plans for retirement.
“I can’t believe your dad is going to retire,” I said. His father had been a deputy sheriff for as long as I could remember. He worked for Smithfield County, but his jurisdiction was Oak River. He and a handful of others dotted our small police force. The crime rate was so low in Oak River, the job was probably a cake walk. It’s no wonder he’d remained on the force for so long.
“I know, it’s weird. I think he’s going to end up driving Mom crazy after just a few weeks.”
I laughed, picturing Mrs. T throwing Mr. T out of the house. “Your mom was always a force of nature.”
“She still is. She’d like to see you, you know? You should go by the house.”
