Chapter 8 - Mara Had Called Me Once After She Left
She sat with one empty seat between us.
“Still carrying that thing?”
She meant the cane.
“Knee replacement.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
She nodded.
No sympathy performed.
I appreciated that.
“How long were you going to sit upstairs?”
I asked.
“With Noah?”
“Yes.”
“Until I stopped being angry.”
“Good system.”
She almost smiled.
Then:
“You got old.”
“So I've heard.”
“I didn't think you'd still look like you.”
“What was I supposed to look like?”
“Dead, apparently.”
That one hurt both of us.
She looked at the departure board.
“I shouldn't have told him that.”
“No.”
“I didn't know what else to say.”
“You could have said we don't speak.”
“He would’ve asked why.”
“Yes.”
“I didn't want to tell a four-year-old.”
“You could have told him later.”
She looked away.
“Yes.”
No defense.
Then:
“You never looked for me.”
“I did.”
“How?”
“Friends. Your old landlord. Chris’s mother.”
“For how long?”
“Months.”
Mara laughed quietly.
“Months.”
I felt anger rise.
“You told me not to follow you.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
I stared.
“The station.”
She shook her head.
“I told you not to follow me onto the train.”
My memory shifted.
She had been standing near Gate 14.
Noah asleep in a stroller.
I had said:
“I’m coming with you.”
She said:
“No.”
I stepped forward.
She said:
“Don't follow me.”
I had made it permanent.
Maybe because permanence hurt less than being told no again later.
“I heard it differently.”
“Yes.”
I nodded.
Then:
“You called.”
Mara went still.
Two weeks after she left.
I remembered that too.
One phone call.
“What did you say?”
She looked at me.
“You answered angry.”
“Yes.”
“I asked if you were still talking to the lawyer.”
“Yes.”
“You said you were thinking about what was best for Noah.”
“Yes.”
“So I hung up.”
“Yes.”
“Did you call back?”
“No.”
“Why?”
I looked at her.
“Because I was angry that you hung up.”
Mara laughed.
Not kindly.
“So we lost twenty-seven years because you were angry about a hang-up.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“We lost twenty-seven years because both of us kept deciding the next call belonged to the other person.”
She stared ahead.
That sounded too neat even to me.
I corrected it.
“And because I was relieved not to make it.”
She looked at me.
That landed.
“Why?”
“Because I didn't know what to say without trying to manage your life.”
Mara’s face changed.
I continued.
“And because part of me thought if you needed me badly enough, you'd call.”
She looked down.
“There he is.”
“Who?”
“My father.”
I understood.
Not the controlled man fighting two twenty-somethings in a station.
The man who had made love prove itself through return.
Mara said:
“I was relieved too.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because every time I talked to you, I became twenty.”
She rubbed her palms together.
“And because once Noah got older, telling you the truth meant telling him I had lied.”
I nodded.
No forgiveness offered.
None requested.
Then I asked:
“Did Chris know about me?”
“Yes.”
“What did he think?”
“That you were controlling.”
“Convenient.”
“He wasn't wrong about everything just because he was wrong about other things.”
I looked at her.
Fair.
“Did you stay with him?”
“Six more years.”
That hurt.
“Why?”
She looked at me sharply.
“Don't.”
I stopped.
No rescue question.
No "why didn't you leave?"
She continued on her own.
“Because leaving took longer than everybody thought it should.”
I nodded.
After a while, Mara said:
“I didn't send Jake to hurt you.”
“I believe you.”
She looked surprised.
“I did send him.”
“Yes.”
“I wanted you gone before Noah saw you.”
“Yes.”
“I panicked.”
I waited.
She looked at me.
May you like
“I still knew better.”
That was the part that mattered.
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