Marcus put the eggs on two plates and brought them to the table. They ate in silence for a minute. Then Darius said, "She seems lonely. " Marcus looked up. "I see her sometimes," Darius said. "When I'm up early, she sits on the porch before it's even light out.
Just sits there with that lamp on. " He poked at his eggs. "Reminds me of how you used to sit in the living room at night. " "After mom," Marcus was quiet. "I used to come to the top of the stairs," Darius said, not looking up. You didn't know, but I'd sit there and watch you and I didn't say anything because I didn't know what to say. I just didn't want you to be by yourself.
Marcus felt something move through him that he had no name for. You never told me that, he said. You never asked, Darius said simply. Marcus looked at his son for a long moment. Then he reached across the table and put his hand briefly on top of Darius's and squeezed once.
Darius didn't pull away. They finished the eggs, and Marcus spent the rest of that morning understanding that his 12-year-old had just given him more insight into loneliness and into what to do about it than four years of managing his own grief had managed to produce. The next evening, he went to Clare's front door and knocked. She opened it after a moment and she looked at him with that level. Careful expression of hers and he said, "I thought maybe we could take a walk. " "If you want, Darius is at a friend's house.
I've got a couple hours. " She looked at him for a second. "Let me get my jacket," she said. That was all. No negotiation, no hedging, just yes. Marcus stood on her porch and waited.
And he realized his heart was beating faster than it had any practical reason to be. And he told himself that was ridiculous. And it didn't slow down. They walked for almost an hour through the neighborhood down the long street that curved along the creek back up through the park where the trees were turning and the leaves were coming down in the way they do in October. Not dramatically, just steadily, one after another, like the world quietly letting go of things it no longer needs.
They talked the way they were starting to talk, easily, with room in between the words for things that weren't being said yet. She asked about Darius, really asked the specific questions that told him she'd been paying attention to what he'd mentioned before, how Darius was doing in school, whether he still played the basketball. Marcus had mentioned once in passing whether the two of them ever talked about Darius's mother. That last question surprised him. Not enough, he said.
Honestly, I worry. I don't know. I worry that if I bring her up, I'll make it harder for him. Bring back something he's managing to get through. Clare was quiet for a few steps.
I think kids need to hear their parents' names, she said. The ones who are gone. I think not saying the name can feel like they're supposed to forget or pretend. Marcus considered that Darius talks about her sometimes. He said certain things he'll say she used to do this.
She used to like that. But I don't start those conversations. I wait for him to bring her up. Maybe he's waiting for you too. Clare said.