I'd Give Anything(63)

“I do want to hear,” he said. “I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I told him. I told him the complete story, from overhearing Trevor’s lie about starting the fire to hearing Trevor’s truth about telling the lie. It didn’t take long. It struck me as funny: that the story of how I’d misjudged my brother and betrayed my friends and lost so many of the parts of myself I’d loved best, the story of how Zinny had been frightened right out of her Zinnyness could be summed up in ten minutes and a handful of sentences.

At the end, I said, “I couldn’t have told you or anyone that Trevor set the fire. But I could’ve worked harder at staying your friend.”

After a few long seconds, Gray said, in a quiet voice, “So now I’m supposed to think about this, right?”

“Yes, if you want to think about it. And get back to me soon or later or never, as you choose,” I said.

“Okay,” said Gray. “Thank you. And thank you for telling me.”

“Thank you for hearing me out,” I said.

I’d told him he shouldn’t respond right away, that he should give himself time to digest what I’d said, and I’d meant it; I had. If I suffered a tiny hypocritical sting of disappointment that he hadn’t brushed aside that advice and verbally flung open his arms to forgive me on the spot, I also felt my reservoir of peace get a little fuller.

One thing, I thought, I did one thing right.

I would need all the peace I could get because next up was calling Daniel.



I knew Daniel closed his veterinary office early on Fridays, so I thought I’d ask him to meet me at the dog park, but as soon as I called him, while the phone was still ringing, I changed my mind. We don’t get many purely safe havens in this life, and even if Daniel and I never entered the sweet bubble of the dog park together again, I wouldn’t dilute its magic with a painful conversation. Our phone call comprised three short, flat sentences, one of which was his giving me the address to his house, but afterward, driving there, I felt so flustered that I pulled off the road once, just to breathe and collect myself.

I didn’t have a plan. I thought I would see him and intuit what to do and say, but when he opened the door of his little brick, slope-roofed cottage, the sight of him in the doorway—tall and lean in a flannel shirt and khakis, his gray eyes wary and serious and sad—sent such an aching tenderness through me that all I could think to do was wrap him in my arms. But as I stepped forward, he stepped back, opening the door wider, and I walked into his house.

Immediately, Mose, like walking, flowing sunshine, appeared, bumping the palm of my hand with the top of his head. I stroked him and scratched behind his ears, and he regarded me with grateful, infinitely pretty black eyes.

“Do you want some coffee or something?” said Daniel.

“No, thank you. Maybe a glass of water?”

“Sure. Let’s go in the kitchen.”

The house was scattered with signs of Daniel’s daughter, Georgia—a soccer ball and a purple backpack in the hallway, bright hairbands braceleting the coat closet doorknob, and on the stairway, pairs of shoes, one pair per step: orange soccer cleats, black-and-white-checked slip-on Vans, a pair of duck boots just (I noticed with a pang) like Avery’s.

“The idea is that she grabs them on her way up the stairs and puts them in her room,” said Daniel. “At least, that’s my idea. Hers seems to be that she ignores them until I yell.”

“You yell?” I said, skeptically.

“Uh, no. Not usually. Not literally.”

“You yell figuratively?”

“I speak in a manner that suggests yelling but without the loudness.”

“I see. I pile things outside Avery’s room door, thinking she’ll get tired of stepping over them and put them away.”

“Do you do it at night when she’s asleep, so that when she goes to the bathroom in the middle of the night she trips over them and falls down?” said Daniel.

“No.”

“Well, there’s your problem.”

“Thank you, Dr. Spock,” I said.

“Mr. Spock,” corrected Daniel.

“You’re about to do that V-thing with your fingers, aren’t you?” I said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I laughed and Daniel smiled. It was a somewhat dimmer version of his usual star-spangled smile, but still, I felt as if I’d won a prize.

What if I don’t bring it up? I thought. What if we just take this moment, two people being parents of daughters and making each other laugh and smile, what if we just take this and run with it and never look back?

I might have done it, despite all my tough talk with Avery about truth, just cast the whole subject of the fire overboard and sailed on, but Daniel brought it up first.

“So I take it your brother recognized me,” he said.

“Yes.”

“I guess I should feel lucky that he’s the first person since I moved back.” He shook his head. “But I don’t.”

“Can I tell you what happened after you left?”

“Sure. Why not?”

I told him.

Afterward, in a synchronous moment that would’ve been funny at another time, we lifted our water glasses and sipped and set our glasses back down onto the table. As if proper hydration might help smooth the road ahead.