“Yes.”
We did not say goodbye to Victor.
In the car, rain began tapping against the windshield.
My shoulder throbbed.
Daniel drove for fifteen minutes before speaking.
“I almost broke my promise tonight.”
I looked at him.
“When Langley said you never served.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Thank you.”
His hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“I hated sitting there.”
“I know.”
“I have hated it for years.”
I turned toward him.
“Then why didn’t you say something?”
He looked at me as if the answer should have been obvious.
“Because you asked me not to use your past.”
The resentment I had carried toward him suddenly looked different from that angle.
“I know.”
“Mara, I thought keeping the promise was how I respected you.”
“It was.”
“Then why are you angry at me?”
I looked out the window.
Because promises can become shelters we hide inside.
Because I had told Daniel not to defend me with military history, then silently wished he would defend me as his wife.
Those were not the same request.
“I did not need you to tell them I was a major,” I said. “I needed you to tell Victor not to talk about me like furniture.”
Daniel went quiet.
