Chapter 10 - The Phone Call And The Plan
The next morning, Dante called me.
I was standing in the hospital parking garage.
“Claire.”
His voice sounded different.
“You spoke to Teresa.”
“Yes.”
A long pause.
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do it.”
“I left you in a situation where someone else could decide whether you reached me.”
“That’s true.”
“I should have called you directly.”
“Yes.”
“I should have trusted you.”
“Yes.”
He sighed.
“You’re making forgiveness very difficult.”
“I haven’t offered forgiveness.”
“Right.”
I leaned against my car.
“How is Teresa?”
“Upset.”
“Are you angry with her?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to stay angry?”
“I don’t know.”
“That sounds healthy.”
“I’m experimenting.”
I smiled.
Then he said, “She told me you said something.”
“What?”
“That adults make choices inside imperfect information.”
“I said something like that.”
“Does that include me?”
My smile faded.
“Yes.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m trying to understand the difference between explaining what happened and excusing it.”
“And?”
“They’re not the same.”
“No.”
“But understanding matters.”
He was silent.
I continued.
“You left because you thought staying endangered my life.”
“Yes.”
“You were wrong to decide for me.”
“Yes.”
“Teresa kept my call from you because she thought hearing from me would pull you away from responsibilities.”
“Yes.”
“She was wrong too.”
“Yes.”
“And I stopped trying after one phone call because I was hurt and exhausted and raising a newborn alone.”
“You weren’t wrong.”
“I could have tried again.”
“Claire.”
“I could have.”
“You were taking care of our daughter.”
Our daughter.
He said it carefully.
I let the words exist.
“I want Mia to learn something different from all of us,” I said.
“What?”
“That loving someone doesn’t mean making their choices.”
Dante was quiet.
Then he said, “I’d like that too.”
I looked toward the pale morning light at the edge of the garage.
“She wants to meet you.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
“Dante?”
“I’m here.”
“She asked last night.”
“When?”
“Saturday.”
“That’s three days.”
“I wanted to make sure she meant it.”
“Does she?”
“Yes.”
His breath left him slowly.
“When?”
“Sunday afternoon.”
“Where?”
“Woodland Park.”
“Public place.”
“Yes.”
“Smart.”
“Don’t compliment me like I’m arranging diplomatic negotiations.”
“I’m terrified, Claire.”
That stopped me.
“You are?”
“Yes.”
I smiled despite myself.
“Good.”
“That seems cruel.”
“It makes you human.”
“I was hoping to impress her.”
“She’s six.”
“What impresses six-year-olds?”
“Apparently knowing horse facts.”
There was a pause.
“I have four days.”
“Dante.”
“I’m learning horse facts.”
May you like
I laughed.
And for the first time, the sound did not feel like betrayal.
