Chapter 20
“What happened?”
He looked up.
“Nothing.”
I waited.
He laughed sadly.
“I guess I finally understand why you hated that answer.”
I sat across from him.
For several seconds, we were simply two people at a table.
“I keep thinking about that night,” he said.
“Which night?”
“The night you saw the message.”
I looked toward the sink.
“The light was off when I came home.”
“Yes.”
“I noticed before I even went upstairs.”
I said nothing.
“It scared me.”
“Why?”
“Because you always left it on.”
I looked at him.
He swallowed.
“I thought you were asleep.”
“I was.”
“Not when I came in.”
“No.”
He nodded.
“When you didn’t answer me, I knew something was wrong.”
“You didn’t know what.”
“No.”
He stared toward the dark little lamp.
“For years I thought your waiting was pressure.”
I felt tears rise unexpectedly.
Mark continued.
“I’d open the garage and see that light and think, here we go. Questions. Explanations.”
My chest tightened.
“I hated it sometimes.”
“I know.”
“I was an idiot.”
I looked at him.
“That light meant you cared whether I came home.”
“Yes.”
His face crumpled.
“And I didn’t understand that until it was gone.”
For the first time since his confession, I felt something besides anger.
Not forgiveness.
Grief.
Because I knew he meant it.
And because meaning it now could not undo what had made him learn it.
“You had twenty-two years to understand,” I said.
“I know.”
“I don’t know what to do with the fact that you finally understand when I’m too tired to keep explaining.”
Mark looked down.
Neither of us spoke for a long time.
Finally he said, “Do you still love me?”
I closed my eyes.
That was the question I had avoided.
When I opened them again, I told the truth.
“Yes.”
His head lifted.
“But that’s not enough.”
The relief died before it fully formed.
“I wish it were,” I continued. “It would make this much easier.”
“What else do you need?”
“Safety.”
“I would never hurt you.”
“You already did.”
“I mean again.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can.”
“No, Mark. You can promise what you intend to do. That’s different.”
He looked devastated.
I stood.
“I need you to understand something. I’m not deciding whether you deserve forgiveness.”
He frowned.
“I’m deciding whether I can live peacefully beside you.”
That afternoon, I packed a small bag.