“You were weak.”
“Weak is accurate. I was weak.”
“And he preyed on it.”
“I can’t speak for him. I don’t know his side of the story and it’s irrelevant. I only know what I did, Fish.”
Erik was quiet, taking it in, taking her in as well. He knew the difference between I’m sorry I did it and I’m sorry I got caught doing it. He detected none of the latter here. She was remorseful, but not groveling. Dignity was in her self-awareness, her unflinching ownership of what she had done and her refusal to blame David for it.
“I can’t think what else I can say,” she said. “I’m trying to give reasons and not make excuses. I don’t know if it helps or just makes it hurt more but I don’t think it’s much more analyzable.”
“I’m just taking it in,” he said.
“I understand.”
“I imagined conversations with you too, you know.”
“Did I follow the script?”
“Dais,” he said, sighing. “I’ll be honest. Even in my head, in my made-up scenarios, I never addressed the issue.”
“What?”
“I only imagined talking to you. You and me. Just being us. In our little bubble, in our private universe. I’d just imagine the good parts. I never confronted you, not even in my head. We always said David only wanted what he couldn’t have. I think I only wanted what came easily. I didn’t fight for us. Not even in my imagination. I don’t fight, Dais. I walk away, shut it down, cut it off, bury it. I threw us away for…for what? I don’t know. All I know is twelve years later, you’re still in my head and I don’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop thinking about you. And I really would like to come see you and—”
“You think about me?” Her voice was blurred.
“Of course I think about you.”
“I think about you every day. I swear. I’m not trying to be maudlin or dramatic. But not a day goes by I don’t think about you one way or another.”
“I do too. Every day there’s something, some little thing making me remember. It won’t stop.”
“You see?” Now her voice was dissolving. She was starting to cry. In his ear, across two states, Daisy was crying for him. “I thought you forgot. I mean I just thought you left it. Got over me, moved on and forgot about it.”
“I never forgot. I can’t. It was the happiest I’ve ever been in my life and I don’t know how to get—”
“I’m sorry, Erik.”
There. Finally. His name. He closed his eyes. “I never got over it, Dais,” he whispered. “I just left it.”
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “Erik, I’m so sorry.”
He started to reply it’s all right, but he checked himself. It wasn’t all right. She wasn’t asking to be excused.
She just wanted to be acknowledged.
“I’m sorry.” This was her ugly cry. The gut-shredding weep he had only witnessed a few times. A fevered heat would be filling her face. Her fingers dug into the hair at her temples, her teeth and soul bared.
Hold still, Erik thought. Just listen. It’s all she wants.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know,” he said. The full weight of the truth behind the words. He knew as he had never known before.
“I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t do it to hurt you, please believe me.”
“I know you didn’t. I know now, Dais. I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know. I believe you.” He was the old soldier now. Give it here. He waited, patient, letting her fill his hands, and holding it carefully. Believing it.
“Are you all right?” he said, when she had quieted again.
“I’m a mess.”
“You need to go get a tissue?”
“No, I have a dishrag.”
“I have a beach towel.”
She sniffed. “Brilliant.”
“I’m sorry, too,” he said. “I’m sorry I cut you off. I’m sorry I never gave you a chance. I want the chance. If you tell me it’s not too late and there’s still a chance, I want to come see you and talk about this.”
“It’s not too late,” she said. “And I’m ready if you are.”
A Better Way To Leave