“You never even asked me what I wanted, Jeffrey.”
“I know.”
His voice was very quiet.
“I know I didn’t.”
I felt angry. I want to be honest about that. But underneath the anger I mostly felt tired, the way you feel tired when you finally understand something you should have understood decades ago.
Why He Thought He Was Right
He turned his head toward the window.
“When your letters started slowing down, I decided your father had been right. I thought you were moving on. Building the life he was talking about.”
“Jeffrey, my letters slowed down because yours did.”
He nodded slowly.
“I know that now.”
A pause.
“I actually knew it before the wedding.”
“Your Father Came to See Me”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“He drove out. Spring of ’86. About three months before the wedding.”
“My father drove to Pittsburgh?”
“He did. He sat in my apartment and he told me he’d been wrong.”
