Ernestine started the car.
I settled into the passenger seat and placed my handbag on my lap.
For a few minutes, neither of us spoke.
The VFW Hall was still visible in the side mirror.
The gold balloons were moving in the evening breeze.
I watched them until the building disappeared behind us.
Ernestine turned on the radio.
Some old country song was playing.
She turned the volume down.
"Well."
I looked at her.
"Well what?"
"That was something."
I smiled.
"It certainly was."
She kept her eyes on the road.
"How do you feel?"
I looked out the window.
I had expected that question.
I had been asking myself the same thing since I walked out of the hall.
"Tired."
Ernestine laughed.
"That's all?"
"What else should I feel?"
She shook her head.
"You know what I mean."
I did.
I thought about Garland standing near the window.
I thought about Bonnie's apology.
I thought about the three sons asking questions.
And I thought about the little boy in the oversized coat.
"I feel all right," I finally said.
Ernestine nodded.
We drove for several miles.
Then she asked whether Garland had apologized.
I told her what he had said.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she made a small sound.
"Well, at least he finally admitted something."
I looked at her.
"Yes."
"Forty-two years is a long time to wait for a man to understand what he did."
"I wasn't waiting."
She glanced at me.
"I know."
I looked down at my hands.
"That's the difference."
She nodded.
We stopped at a gas station outside town.
Ernestine went inside to buy a bottle of water.
I stayed in the car.
The parking lot was busy.
A young mother was trying to get two children into the back seat.
One child was crying.
The other was holding a bag of chips.
I watched them for a moment.
Then I smiled.
Children had always made me notice things.
Their little habits.
Their questions.
The way they could turn a simple trip to the grocery store into an entire adventure.
I remembered the first boy who came into my house.
He had been so quiet.
He had barely spoken during the first evening.
I had made him a sandwich.
He ate half of it and wrapped the other half in a paper napkin.
I asked him why.
He said he wanted to save it.
I had looked at him.
Then I had looked at the refrigerator.
There was plenty of food.
But he didn't know that yet.
I told him he could have another sandwich whenever he wanted.
He didn't believe me immediately.
It took time.
Everything took time.
Ernestine returned with the water.
She handed me the bottle.
"You all right?"
I nodded.
"Just remembering."
She started the car.
We continued home.
After a while, she spoke again.
"Do you think those boys will ask Garland more questions?"
I looked toward her.
"Probably."
"Do you think he'll tell them everything?"
I considered that.
"I don't know."
She sighed.
"People should tell their children the truth."
I smiled faintly.
"People should do a lot of things."
She laughed.
That was Ernestine.
She could make a serious conversation sound like an argument about grocery prices.
We drove past a small restaurant.
Then a row of houses.
Then an empty field.
The sky was beginning to darken.
I rested my head against the seat.
For the first time that day, I felt the full weight of the afternoon.
Not sadness.
Exhaustion.
I had spent years imagining what it would be like to see Garland again.
Now I had done it.
He was no longer a memory.
He was a man with white hair and a tight sport coat.
He had three sons.
He had a wife.
He had a birthday party.
And I had a life that did not need to fit inside his.
Ernestine reached over and touched my arm.
"You did good today."
I smiled.
"So did you."
"I didn't do anything."
"You drove."
She laughed.
"That's true."
We stopped once more for something to eat.
Neither of us was especially hungry.
But Ernestine insisted we should have something before getting home.
I bought a small sandwich.
She bought a biscuit.
We sat in the car and ate.
The radio played quietly.
Then Ernestine looked at me.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"If Garland had turned around in 1984 and asked you to stay, would you have forgiven him?"
I looked at her.
That was a difficult question.
I thought about the young woman I had been.
The one who stood in the kitchen.
The one who believed she could still save the marriage if she found the right words.
"Back then?"
She nodded.
"Probably."
Ernestine looked surprised.
I continued.
"I loved him. I wanted our marriage to work."
She nodded slowly.
"But I don't know what would have happened afterward."
I took another bite.
"People think one decision changes everything. Sometimes it's all the little decisions that come afterward."
Ernestine considered that.
Then she said, "You were stronger than you knew."
I looked at her.
"I was just trying to get through the day."
She smiled.
"Sometimes that's what being strong looks like."
I didn't answer.
We finished eating.
Then we got back on the road.
When we reached my house, the porch light was still on.
Ernestine parked near the front steps.
I picked up my handbag.
"Thank you."
She waved me away.
"Go inside."
I opened the door.
Before I stepped out, she called my name.
I turned.
"Yes?"
She smiled.
"I'm glad you went."
I nodded.
"So am I."
And for the first time that day, I knew she was right.
Click here to continue reading: PART 18: When I Opened the Closet That Night, I Finally Understood Why I Had Counted Those Christmas Stockings Before Going to Garland’s Party
The Birthday Invitation That Arrived Forty-Two Years After My Marriage Ended Had One Cruel Sentence Written at the Bottom
Part 17 of 20
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