Six Years
Page 75
He’s a father who wants to avenge his son’s murder.
I don’t know this for sure. I don’t know if Natalie shot Archer Minor with a smile on her face or if the gun went off accidentally or if Archer Minor made threats when she confronted him or if it was self-defense. I don’t even ask.
The old me would have cared. The new me doesn’t.
Class ends. I start across the commons. The Santa Fe sky is a blue like no other. I shade my eyes and keep walking.
That day a year ago, with the bullet still in my shoulder, I watched Natalie start to walk away. I shouted, “Not a chance” when she asked me to promise not to follow. She wouldn’t listen to me or stop. So I got out of the car. The pain in my shoulder was nothing compared with the pain of her leaving me again. I ran toward her. I wrapped my arms, even the one aching from the bullet wound, around her and pulled her close. Our eyes squeezed shut. I hung on to her, wondering if I had ever felt such contentment before. She started to cry. I pulled her even closer. She lowered her head into my chest. For a moment, she tried to pull away. But only for a moment. She knew that this time I wouldn’t let her go.
No matter what she might or might not have done.
I still haven’t let her go.
Up ahead, a beautiful woman named Diana Weiss wears a wedding band that matches mine. She has decided to teach her art class outside on this glorious day. She moves from student to student, commenting on their work, offering guidance.
She knows that I know, even though we’ve never talked about it. I wonder whether that was part of her leaving the first time, if she felt as though I could never live with the truth about what she’d done. Maybe I couldn’t back then.
I can now.
Diana Weiss looks up at me as I approach. Her smile shames the sun. Today my beautiful wife is glowing even more than normal. I may be thinking that about her because I’m biased. Or I may be thinking that because she is seven months pregnant with our child.
Her class ends. The students linger before slowly drifting away. She takes my hand when we’re finally alone, looks into my eyes, and says, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I say.
She smiles up at me. The gray has no chance against that smile. It vanishes in a wonderful haze of bright color.
I don’t know this for sure. I don’t know if Natalie shot Archer Minor with a smile on her face or if the gun went off accidentally or if Archer Minor made threats when she confronted him or if it was self-defense. I don’t even ask.
The old me would have cared. The new me doesn’t.
Class ends. I start across the commons. The Santa Fe sky is a blue like no other. I shade my eyes and keep walking.
That day a year ago, with the bullet still in my shoulder, I watched Natalie start to walk away. I shouted, “Not a chance” when she asked me to promise not to follow. She wouldn’t listen to me or stop. So I got out of the car. The pain in my shoulder was nothing compared with the pain of her leaving me again. I ran toward her. I wrapped my arms, even the one aching from the bullet wound, around her and pulled her close. Our eyes squeezed shut. I hung on to her, wondering if I had ever felt such contentment before. She started to cry. I pulled her even closer. She lowered her head into my chest. For a moment, she tried to pull away. But only for a moment. She knew that this time I wouldn’t let her go.
No matter what she might or might not have done.
I still haven’t let her go.
Up ahead, a beautiful woman named Diana Weiss wears a wedding band that matches mine. She has decided to teach her art class outside on this glorious day. She moves from student to student, commenting on their work, offering guidance.
She knows that I know, even though we’ve never talked about it. I wonder whether that was part of her leaving the first time, if she felt as though I could never live with the truth about what she’d done. Maybe I couldn’t back then.
I can now.
Diana Weiss looks up at me as I approach. Her smile shames the sun. Today my beautiful wife is glowing even more than normal. I may be thinking that about her because I’m biased. Or I may be thinking that because she is seven months pregnant with our child.
Her class ends. The students linger before slowly drifting away. She takes my hand when we’re finally alone, looks into my eyes, and says, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I say.
She smiles up at me. The gray has no chance against that smile. It vanishes in a wonderful haze of bright color.
