Four days passed.
I was beginning to forget the noise of the birthday party.
Not the important parts.
Just the small things.
The microphone.
The clapping.
The paper plates.
The sound of people moving chairs.
Then my telephone rang.
It was late afternoon.
I was in the kitchen preparing vegetables.
I dried my hands and answered.
"Hello?"
A man's voice came through.
"Della?"
I recognized it.
Garland.
I stood still.
"Hello, Garland."
There was a pause.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"I'm cooking."
He gave a small laugh.
"I won't keep you long."
I placed the receiver more comfortably against my ear.
"All right."
He told me he wanted to thank me for attending his birthday.
I said he was welcome.
Then he mentioned his sons.
"They've been asking me questions."
I looked at the kitchen clock.
"Have they?"
"Yes."
He paused.
"They want to know more about the years before Bonnie."
I didn't answer.
He continued.
"I told them about our marriage."
I leaned against the counter.
"And?"
He sighed.
"They wanted to know why I left."
I closed my eyes briefly.
There it was.
The question he had spent forty-two years avoiding.
"What did you tell them?"
He was quiet.
Then he said, "I told them the truth."
I waited.
"I told them I wanted children. I told them we couldn't have them together. I told them I made the decision to leave."
I didn't speak.
He continued.
"I told them I was wrong to blame you."
I felt something move inside me.
Not happiness.
Not satisfaction.
Something closer to relief.
It had taken him a long time.
But at least he had said it.
Garland cleared his throat.
"Michael was especially upset."
I looked at the vegetables on the counter.
"He's allowed to feel that way."
"I know."
Another pause.
Then Garland said, "Nathan told me what you said about the boy."
I looked toward the window.
"What about him?"
"About the coat."
I smiled faintly.
He had remembered that detail.
"He asked me whether I ever knew you were raising children."
I didn't answer.
Garland continued.
"I told him I didn't."
His voice became quieter.
"Then David asked me whether I had ever tried to find out what happened to you."
I stood very still.
"What did you say?"
He sighed.
"I told him no."
I closed my eyes.
I didn't know what I had expected.
Perhaps I had imagined Garland would say he had tried.
Perhaps he would claim he had thought about contacting me.
But he hadn't.
And now he was finally admitting it.
"I didn't know what to tell them after that," he said.
I looked at the telephone.
"You don't have to tell them everything at once."
He was quiet.
Then he asked whether I was angry.
I considered the question.
"Not today."
He gave a small laugh.
"That's something."
I smiled.
Then he said something I hadn't expected.
"Bonnie has been thinking about that message."
I waited.
"She feels bad."
I looked down.
"All right."
He continued.
"She wanted me to ask whether you'd consider accepting her apology."
I remembered the hallway.
The way Bonnie had lowered her eyes.
The way she had said she was sorry.
"I already accepted her apology."
Garland seemed relieved.
"Thank you."
I didn't say anything.
He asked whether I was doing well.
I told him I was.
He asked about the tomatoes.
I told him they were growing.
He laughed.
For a few minutes, we spoke like two people who had once known each other well.
Then the conversation became quiet.
Finally, Garland said, "Della, I don't expect us to become friends."
I looked at the kitchen wall.
"That's probably wise."
He laughed softly.
"I suppose it is."
He paused.
"But I hope we can leave things in a better place than we found them."
I thought about that.
Then I answered.
"We can try."
He thanked me.
I told him to take care.
Then we ended the call.
I stood in the kitchen for a while.
The vegetables were still on the counter.
The water was still running.
I turned it off.
Then I returned to preparing supper.
That evening, I told Ernestine about the telephone call.
She listened.
When I finished, she asked whether I planned to see Garland again.
I shook my head.
"Not unless there's a reason."
She nodded.
"That's fair."
I looked at her.
"I don't hate him."
"I know."
"But I don't need him either."
Ernestine smiled.
"That's even better."
I laughed.
She was right.
The next Sunday, the landline rang at its usual time.
I answered.
It was one of the people who had attended the party.
We talked about ordinary things.
A birthday coming up.
A church gathering.
A recipe somebody wanted.
I listened.
I laughed.
I made a note on the calendar.
And when the call ended, I sat at the kitchen table feeling perfectly content.
The past had finally stopped demanding my attention.
I could remember it without living inside it.
Click here to continue reading: PART 20: Forty-Two Years After Garland Walked Away, I Finally Understood That the Family He Wanted Was Never the Measure of the Life I Deserved
The Birthday Invitation That Arrived Forty-Two Years After My Marriage Ended Had One Cruel Sentence Written at the Bottom
Part 19 of 20
