Page 70 of A Foolish Work Flirtation

Forgiveness (Alex)

Isit roasting hot dogs over the fire, which I did in this exact spot when I was six. Out here in the woods, I could almost fool myself into thinking I’m anywhere else in the world. But walking through my father’s estate earlier has poisoned today. Memories are surfacing of random conversations and snippets of arguments.

Most of the drama was not with me. I knew how to disappear. He’d argue with the caretaker, the nanny, and the woman who came in to cook. Eventually, they all stopped coming. It wasn’t worth it to them. And that left me completely alone with him.

Immy touches my knee, and it pulls me out of the past. I have to guard myself against the negative memories taking over.

I look at her briefly. “I know this isn’t exactly a gourmet meal. It’s something I use to make myself out here.”

She takes a bite of the hot dog. “It’s good. My dad roasted hot dogs when he took us to the beach in the summer.”

“Tell me about your childhood.” I need a distraction. As darkness is descending, I can feel despair seeping into me.

“I have two sisters. One older and one younger. Ivy is the oldest, insanely successful in advertising, married to Foster, and is expecting a baby. They have a little girl, named Tallulah, from his previous relationship. Iris is the youngest, is interested in science and medicine, and is an extremely talented midwife.”

“And you all get along?”

She smiles widely. “Usually, but we have our disagreements. We grew up playing pretend games, putting on puppet shows, and making fairy houses. But Ivy can be bossy and Iris can be irreverent.”

After retrieving her phone, she pulls up a childhood photograph of the three of them on the beach. They all have long windblown hair and seem to be dressed in princess costumes. “We made our dresses that summer. My mom bought an old sewing machine at a yard sale and let us wear our creations in public.”

It’s easy to identify her in the image. She has the same heart-shaped face and mischievous smile. “You look adorable and determined.”

She tucks her phone back into her pocket. “I remember that day. We were pretending to be orphans and insisted on making our food. We built shelters on the beach. We had a schoolhouse and a hospital.”

“You were lucky to have siblings.” Taking a bite of my hot dog, I push myself through the motions of a normal evening.

Immy looks into the fire and tells me quietly, “When you told me that you came out here at six years old and discovered your love of the outdoors, I was in awe of your independence and resilience. I didn’t know that your childhood held terrible memories. I thought that by coming back here, you’d rediscover that early inspiration. Now I see it’s so much more complicated than that, and I’m sorry I organized this trip.”

I take her hand in mine and kiss her fingers. “It’s okay. I’ve had many years to grapple with the past.”

Immy shrugs, and I decide not to say anything. It’s best if we leave well enough alone.

She stands and begins pacing. “I don’t think you are at peace with it. Oddly, you’re letting the estate slowly disintegrate. You even have his old car in the driveway. It would be better to sell the estate and move on.”

“This place won’t bring happiness to anyone. I don’t want to be responsible for that.”

Her voice is strong and adamant. “You are not responsible for anything that happened here. You were a small boy, caught between parents who couldn’t create a stable home life for you. It was their ineptitude and had nothing to do with you.”

I rub the back of my neck. “It had everything to do with me. My mere existence sparked all of the conflicts. And whatever I did or said only made it worse.”

Crossing her arms, she says, “Your mother shared a few childhood pictures of you. In some of them, you were with her at fancy hotels and dressed beautifully in starched shirts and linen shorts; in others, you were here, wearing old clothes covered in mud. It had to be jarring to go between their worlds.”

I want to escape this conversation. It’s not worth unearthing bad memories. Instead, I relax my rigid spine and say, “I’ve had enough delving into my childhood issues. Let’s find a different topic to discuss.”

Immy takes her phone from her pocket and scans through her images. “In both instances, you looked lost and sad.” Holding up her screen to me, she says, “Look.”

I barely glance at the images. I was sad and disconnected. It was a long time ago. I’ve left that behind. “As I’ve said, I have no interest in delving into my past.”

She turns her phone off. “I know from my early childhood training that you need to find a way to make sense of your childhood experiences. It’s extremely common for children to blame themselves as a way of coping or surviving the situation.”

“I don’t blame myself.” I look away from Immy.

“Can you say, ‘I was a child and not at fault for any of it?’”

I hear a pounding in my ears and know I have to find a way to calm down. “No, I can’t because I was at fault for some of it. I refuse to take on the role of victim.”

“Tell me about your responsibility.”

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