The Wish(54)

She recalled her earlier reflections about Morgan. “Did you ever wish you had siblings?”

“Not until recently,” he said. “Being an only child was all I knew. I think my parents wanted more kids, but it just didn’t work out. And being an only child sometimes has its advantages. It’s not like I had to make compromises when it came to what movie to see, or what to ride first at Disney World. But now that I’m with Abigail, and I see how close she is to her siblings, I sometimes wonder what it would have been like.”

After Mark trailed off, neither of them said anything for a short spell. She had the sense that he wanted to hear more about her time in Ocracoke, but realized she wasn’t quite ready to start just yet. Instead:

“What was it like growing up in Indiana?” she asked. “It’s one of the states I’ve never visited.”

“Do you know anything about Elkhart?”

“Not a single thing.”

“It’s in the northern part of the state, with a population of about fifty thousand, and like a lot of towns in the Midwest, it still has a small-town vibe. Most stores close at six, most of the restaurants are done serving at nine, and agriculture—in our case, dairy—plays a big part in the economy. I do think people there are genuinely kind. They’ll help out a sick neighbor, and churches are central to the community. But when you’re a kid, you don’t really think about any of those things. What was important to me was that there were parks and fields to play on, baseball diamonds, basketball courts, a hockey rink. Growing up, as soon as I’d get home from school, I’d head straight back out to play with my friends. There was always a game going on somewhere. That’s what I remember most about growing up there. Just…playing basketball or baseball or soccer or hockey every afternoon.”

“And here I thought everyone in your generation was glued to their iPads,” she said in mock wonder.

“My parents wouldn’t let me have one. They didn’t even allow me to get an iPhone until I was seventeen, and then they made me buy it. I had to work all summer to afford it.”

“Were they anti-technology?”

“Not at all. I had a computer at home and they had cell phones. I think they wanted me to grow up the same way they had.”

“Old-fashioned values?”

“I suppose.”

“I’m beginning to like your parents more and more.”

“They’re good people. Sometimes I don’t know how they do it.”

“What do you mean?”

He stared into his eggnog, as though searching for words in the glass. “In her job, my mom can hear some pretty awful things, especially when she works with the police. Physical abuse, sexual abuse, emotional abuse, abandonment…And my dad…because he’s a pastor, he does a lot of counseling, too. People come to him for guidance when they’re having marital troubles, or struggling with addiction, or having problems on the job, or their kids are acting up, or even if they’re having a crisis of faith. He also spends a lot of time at the hospital, as hardly a week goes by when someone in the church isn’t sick, or in an accident, or needs comfort in their grief. It’s draining for both of them. When I was growing up, there’d be times when one or the other of them would be really quiet while we were having dinner and I came to recognize the signs of a particularly hard day.”

“But they still love it?”

“They do. And I think part of them feels a real sense of responsibility when it comes to helping others.”

“It’s obviously rubbed off on you. Here you are, staying late yet again.”

“This is a pleasure,” he said. “Not a sacrifice in the slightest.”

She liked that. “I’d like to meet your parents one day. If they ever make it to New York, I mean.”

“I’m sure they’d like to meet you, too. How about you? What are your parents like?”

“They’re just parents.”

“Have they ever come to New York?”

“Twice. Once in my twenties, and once when I was in my thirties.” Then, as if realizing how that sounded, she added, “It’s a long flight and they’re not big fans of the city, so it was usually easier if I saw them in Seattle. Depending on where I was shooting, sometimes I would just route my return flight through Seattle and stay for a weekend. Until recently, that usually happened once or twice a year.”

“Is your dad still working?”

She shook her head. “He retired a few years back. Now he plays with model trains.”

“Seriously?”

“He had them when he was a kid, and after he retired, he got back into it. He built a big layout in the garage—old western town, canyon, hills covered in trees—and he’s continually adding new buildings or shrubbery or signs, or laying a new track. It’s actually pretty impressive. The newspaper did an article on it last year, complete with pictures. And it keeps him busy and out of the house. Otherwise, I think my parents would drive each other crazy.”

“And your mom?”

“She volunteers at the church a few mornings a week, but mainly she helps my sister, Morgan, with the kids. My mom picks them up from school, watches them during the summer, brings them to their events if Morgan is working late, whatever.”