Chapter 14 - Jake And Cole Were Not The Last People Who Wanted A Cleaner Story
Station police called me four days later.
Jake and Cole both admitted what they had done.
Mara had provided a statement too.
No restraining order existed.
No threat from me existed before the confrontation.
The station contractor fired Jake and suspended Cole before his contract was later terminated as well.
The legal process would continue without becoming my new hobby.
My own hip was bruised.
Nothing more.
Jake’s shoulder hurt.
Cole had a bruised back.
All three of us had survived the public stupidity.
Mara called me the same evening.
Not Noah.
Mara.
I answered after three rings.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
Silence.
Then:
“I told Noah about Chris.”
“How did he take it?”
“Badly.”
“Appropriately?”
She laughed.
“Shut up.”
I smiled.
Then she became serious.
“He asked why I keep deciding which version of the family he can handle.”
I said nothing.
“He said it sounded like you.”
That stung her.
I could hear it.
“I told him maybe it did.”
I leaned back in my chair.
“How did that feel?”
“Don't get excited.”
“Noted.”
Another pause.
Then:
“Jake called me.”
My expression changed.
“Why?”
“To apologize.”
“Did you accept?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“I told him he doesn't owe me the main apology.”
“Good.”
“He said he thought he was protecting me.”
“What did you say?”
“That I had used him because I wanted somebody else to make you disappear.”
I went quiet.
Mara continued.
“I didn't want to be the person who told you to leave.”
“So you outsourced it.”
“Yes.”
That sentence hurt her enough.
I didn't add to it.
Then she asked:
“Did you know I used to sit in the station parking lot after work?”
“What?”
“Years later. When Noah was little.”
I listened.
Mara had moved back to the region for three years.
Not the same town.
Forty minutes away.
Once a month or so, she passed Central Station for work.
Sometimes she parked.
Never went inside.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
I almost said my name.
Stopped.
She continued.
“Maybe I wanted to prove I could.”
“Could what?”
“Be near the last place I saw you and still leave.”
I understood that more than I liked.
“Did you ever think I'd be there?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“For how long?”
“Years.”
“And you never called.”
“No.”
I almost said neither did you.
We both knew.
Then:
“Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Noah asked if you're coming to the wedding.”
My chest tightened.
This time she stopped herself.
“He asked me whether I would be angry if he invited you.”
Different.
“What did you say?”
“That it’s his wedding.”
“Did you mean it?”
Pause.
“About sixty percent.”
I laughed.
She did too.
Then:
“He hasn't invited you yet.”
“I know.”
“I’m telling you because I don't want you waiting.”
That sentence reached deeper than she intended.
I looked out my apartment window.
“Thank you.”
She went quiet.
Neither of us said what we were both thinking.
May you like
Twenty-seven years ago, waiting had become a weapon.
Maybe now it could just be time.
