The coffee was too hot.
I held the cup between my hands and waited for it to cool.
Ernestine leaned toward me.
"Did he say anything useful?"
I looked at her.
"Not particularly."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Did he apologize?"
I thought about his words.
He had said he never wanted to hurt me.
That wasn't quite an apology.
It was a way of describing what happened without taking full responsibility for it.
"He said he didn't mean to hurt me."
Ernestine made a face.
"That's convenient."
I smiled.
"Don't start."
"I'm not starting anything."
She took a sip of her coffee.
"I'm just saying."
I knew what she meant.
My sister had never liked Garland.
Even before he left, she thought he was too concerned with what other people thought.
She had once told me that he measured a man's worth by the size of his house and the number of people who admired him.
I had defended him then.
I wasn't defending him now.
But I wasn't interested in spending the afternoon insulting him either.
A woman from our table leaned closer.
"Are you all right, Della?"
I nodded.
"I'm fine."
She touched my arm.
"Good."
Then she returned to her conversation.
I looked around the hall.
Garland was standing beside his sons.
Bonnie was speaking to someone near the cake table.
Every few minutes, one of them looked toward me.
I could tell something was happening between them.
They were having conversations I couldn't hear.
I didn't need to know what they were saying.
Still, I noticed that Garland seemed less comfortable than he had earlier.
He kept glancing toward our table.
Eventually, Nathan came over again.
He stood beside Ernestine.
"May I sit?"
Ernestine moved her purse.
"Go ahead."
Nathan sat down.
He looked at me.
"My dad told me you worked with children."
I nodded.
"I drove a school bus."
"For thirty-six years?"
"That's right."
He smiled.
"That's impressive."
I shrugged.
"It was a job."
He looked toward the other people at our table.
"Did you know all of them through work?"
"Some."
I explained that people came into my life in different ways.
Some through the school system.
Some through church.
Some through family.
Some through circumstances that had nothing to do with either.
Nathan listened.
Then he asked, "Did you ever think about having children through adoption?"
I looked at him.
I wasn't offended.
He was asking a reasonable question.
"Yes."
He nodded.
"Did you?"
I looked toward Ernestine.
She was listening quietly.
Then I looked back at Nathan.
"That is a longer story."
He smiled.
"I understand."
He didn't press me.
I appreciated that.
A little later, he asked whether I lived alone.
I told him I had my own house.
He asked about my garden.
I told him about the tomatoes.
He laughed.
"My mother keeps plants too."
I smiled politely.
"That's nice."
He looked toward Bonnie.
Then back at me.
"She can be…"
He stopped.
I waited.
He shook his head.
"Never mind."
I didn't make him finish.
People shouldn't have to criticize their mothers to make conversation with me.
He stood.
"Thank you for being patient with all my questions."
I smiled.
"You're welcome."
He returned to his brothers.
Ernestine watched him go.
"That one's got manners."
"Seems so."
She looked toward Garland.
"His father could have used some."
I gave her a warning look.
She laughed quietly.
Then she became serious.
"Della, I want to ask you something."
"What?"
"Are you still hurting?"
I looked down at my coffee.
I knew what she meant.
Not whether my knees hurt.
Not whether the drive had tired me.
She meant the old hurt.
The one that had followed me for years.
I thought about answering quickly.
Then I decided not to.
"Sometimes."
Ernestine nodded.
She didn't look surprised.
"I figured."
I continued.
"Not because I want him. I don't."
"I know."
"It's just strange. Seeing him here."
She reached across the table.
"I know."
I looked at the people around us.
"They all have their own lives. Their own families. Their own problems."
Ernestine smiled.
"That's what people do."
I nodded.
I had spent so much time trying to make peace with what happened in 1984.
I had learned to work.
I had learned to laugh.
I had learned to stop waiting for an apology.
But forgiveness was not the same as forgetting.
And seeing Garland again had reminded me of that.
The difference was that I no longer needed him to make the memory easier.
I finished my coffee.
Then I placed the cup on the table.
Across the room, Bonnie was walking toward us.
This time, she wasn't smiling.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: Bonnie Finally Asked What I Had Been Hiding From Garland, And Her Question Forced Me to Look at the Life I Had Built
The Birthday Invitation That Arrived Forty-Two Years After My Marriage Ended Had One Cruel Sentence Written at the Bottom
Part 10 of 20
