She had cut the vegetables herself. There was a tiny bandage around her thumb.
“For what part?”
“All of it.”
“That’s not specific.”
Her shoulders lowered.
“I’m sorry I let your father make fear sound like responsibility. I’m sorry I accepted his version of events because it allowed me to keep my house quiet. I’m sorry I watched you become the person everyone called when they needed money, work, transportation, or forgiveness, and I called it your strength.”
I looked toward the window.
Snow rested on the fire escape.
“I wanted you to choose me once,” I said.
“I did choose you.”
“Not when it mattered.”
“I know.”
The answer was not defensive. That made it harder to hear.
She reached across the table but stopped before touching me.
“May I?”
I nodded.
Her hand covered mine. It was warm and unsteady.
“I cannot undo what I did,” she said.
“No.”
“But I can stop asking you to make it easier for me.”
I turned my hand beneath hers.
For a while, that was all we could manage.
Later, she told me she had started attending counseling. She had also moved out of the house, which was being sold to repay part of the restitution order.
“Where will you go?” I asked.
“I rented a small apartment near the library.”
“Do you like it?”
“There is a terrible green carpet.”
“That sounds promising.”
“It has a balcony.”
“Then it’s better than the old house.”
