I'm not saying it was okay, Olivia said, looking at her father directly. I want to be clear about that. It wasn't okay, but I understand it more now. And I don't want to be 60 years old still carrying this. Robert said, "You don't deserve to carry it. " "No," she said.
"I don't. " The room was very quiet. Then Zoe came running in from the back of the house, slid on the kitchen floor in her socks, caught the counter to stop herself, and said breathlessly, "Daddy, Nadia won't let me use the good scissors. " And just like that, the weight in the room lifted. Olivia laughed a real one. Surprised out of her. Robert's face did that thing Marcus was starting to recognize.
The almost smile that was about as close as the man got to joy. Marcus pointed a finger at Zoey. What do we use the good scissors for? Art projects, Zoe said, already knowing she'd lost. And is there an art project happening right now?
Zoe thought hard, clearly trying to find an angle. It could be an art project. Go use the regular scissors. Zope turned and ran back out. They heard her yell something at Nadia that was probably not entirely accurate regarding who was at fault.
How old? Olivia said six. Marcus nine. Their mother not in the picture. She held his gaze and Marcus saw something in her expression then not pity because Olivia Hayes did not strike him as someone who pied easily but recognition.
The kind that comes from having lived a version of the same story from a different angle. That's hard, she said. Some days more than others, he said honestly. She nodded like that was the right answer. After she left that evening, Robert walked her to her car and Marcus watched from his porch without pretending he wasn't watching.
He saw Olivia hug her father. It lasted a long time. Robert kept his arms around her like a man who was afraid that if he let go, something irreplaceable would disappear. When they finally stepped back from each other, Robert said something and Olivia nodded and she touched his face briefly with her hand just for a second, just her palm against his cheek and then she got in the car. Robert stood on the sidewalk until the car was gone.
Then he turned and walked back toward his house, and he must have seen Marcus on the porch because he stopped at the foot of the steps and looked up at him. "Well," Robert said. "Well," Marcus said. Neither of them said anything else for a moment. The evening had gone cool.
Somewhere down the block, a dog was barking. "She's going to come back next weekend," Robert said. "Good. She wants to bring lunch. " She said, "I probably don't eat right. " She's probably right, Marcus said. Robert grunted.
Something that might have been agreement. He went inside. Marcus sat on his porch for a while after that. Listening to the street settle into evening, thinking about something his father had told him once before he died that the measure of a man is not how he handles the things he plans for, but how he handles the things that show up without warning. He hadn't understood it at 16.
He thought he understood it better now. The weeks after that moved with a different kind of energy. Olivia came back the next Saturday and the one after and the one after that. Gradually the visits got longer and less formal. The conversation easier.