He'd said those words enough times that they no longer felt like a wound when they came out. They felt like a fact, a hard fact. The kind you describe accurately, even when it hurts to touch. Robert was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "She tell the girls, "No, I did. " "What' you tell them? " Marcus stopped sanding.
He put the board down and looked at the old man. I told them their mama loved them. That she was going through something hard and that it wasn't about them and that I was going to be right here every single day, no matter what. Robert held his gaze and you meant that. Every word.
Robert turned back to what he was doing, but something had changed in the air between them. Some wall had come down, not all the way, but enough. That afternoon, after Marcus had cleaned up and was getting ready to head back across the street, Robert came out of the kitchen with two mugs of coffee and said, "Sit down a minute. " Marcus sat. Robert sat across from him. He held his mug with both hands, the same way Marcus always did.
He looked at the yard for a long time. That picture in the garage," Robert said finally. Marcus waited. "That's my daughter, Olivia. " He said the name like it was something he didn't let himself say out loud very often. She's 41 now.
That picture's from about 12 years ago. She lives around here. Decatur said 40 minutes south. He paused. Might as well be 400 m.
Marcus said nothing. He just listened. I was gone most of her childhood. Robert said. Not just the deployments.
Even when I was home, I wasn't home. You know what I mean? Yeah. Her mother gave up on me eventually. Can't blame her.
He said it without self-pity. Like a diagnosis delivered by someone who'd had years to process the results. When Olivia was 17, I reinlisted. She didn't speak to me for 2 years after that. Said I cared more about the war than I cared about her.
He stopped, drank his coffee. Was she right? Marcus asked. He said it careful. Not accusing, just asking.
Robert thought about it. Really thought about it the way a man does when he's stopped lying to himself about something. At the time, I told myself no, he said. Now, I think she probably had a point. Do you have any contact with her now?
Robert stood up slowly and went inside. Marcus sat there waiting, not sure if the conversation was over. But Robert came back out 2 minutes later with something in his hand, an envelope, white, the kind with a little window cut into it. Except this one had been addressed by hand. He held it out to Marcus.