“I should go.”
Rosemary rose, too.
She carried the tuna casserole into the kitchen, covered it with foil, and placed it in a bag.
Then she wrapped a slice of lemon meringue pie separately.
She handed both to Misty.
“I made extra.”
For a moment, Misty looked as though she might cry again.
Then she nodded.
“Thank you.”
Rosemary walked her toward the door.
I followed, stopping on the porch.
The evening air was cool.
Misty stood beside the steps carrying the casserole and pie.
For a moment, she looked like the woman I’d married years earlier.
Not quite.
Older.
Tired.
But familiar.
She looked up.
“Perry, I really did miss you.”
I nodded.
“I believe that.”
She swallowed.
“Then why can’t we try again?”
I considered the question.
For years, I’d imagined what I might say if she ever returned.
Something sharp.
Something that would make her understand exactly how much her silence had hurt.
But standing there, I didn’t want to hurt her.
I simply wanted to tell the truth.
“Misty, I spent a long time believing that if I apologized enough, we’d have a happy marriage.”
Her eyes filled.
I continued.
“But I wasn’t happy. Abby wasn’t comfortable. And we couldn’t talk about important things without you making silence part of the disagreement.”
She looked down.
“I know I handled that badly.”
I nodded.
“Thank you for saying that.”
She looked hopeful.
Then I continued.
“But I’ve built a different life.”
Her expression changed.
“I know.”
“I like that life.”
For several seconds, she didn’t speak.
Then she whispered, “You really don’t want me back.”
I took a breath.
“No.”
She closed her eyes.
For a moment, I thought she might argue.
Instead, she nodded.
Then said quietly, “I understand.”
I wasn’t sure she did.
Not completely.
But I hoped she would someday.
She walked to her car.
Placed the casserole and pie inside.
Then drove away.
I stood on the porch for a moment, watching the taillights disappear.
Behind me, the screen door opened.
Rosemary stepped outside.
“Perry.”
I turned.
She looked uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry.”
I smiled faintly.
“For the tuna noodle casserole?”
She almost laughed.
“No.”
She took a breath.
“For inviting someone into a family dinner without telling you. I thought I was helping.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I should have asked.”
“Yes.”
She looked up.
Then said, “I also owe Abby an apology.”
I nodded.
“That would mean a lot.”
She took a breath.
Then smiled weakly.
“Well, I suppose we should go back inside before Sid eats all the pie.”
I laughed.
“That’s probably wise.”
When we entered the dining room, Sid looked toward us.
“Now?”
Rosemary sighed.
“Yes, Sid.”
He smiled.
“Finally.”
We stayed for pie.
Of course we stayed for pie.
It was excellent.
Rosemary gave me a slice large enough to make me question whether she was apologizing or trying to send me into a food coma.
Carrie leaned toward me.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded.
“Yeah.”
She looked toward Casey.
Then whispered, “He knew something was wrong and didn’t tell me.”
Casey raised both hands.
“I sent Perry a text.”
Carrie stared.
“You sent him a text?”
He nodded.
“I apologized.”
She looked toward me.
I smiled.
“He did. Very thoughtful message.”
Carrie shook her head.
“Unbelievable.”
For the first time all evening, everyone laughed.
Even Casey.
Especially Casey.
On the drive home, Abby was quiet for several miles.
I glanced toward her.
“You doing okay?”
She nodded.
Then hesitated.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you mad I showed Rosemary the pictures?”
I thought about the album.
The notes.
The long month when my daughter had watched adults turn a disagreement into a household routine.
I shook my head.
“No.”
She looked relieved.
Then said, “I started taking them because it seemed ridiculous.”
I smiled.
“It was.”
“I didn’t know I’d keep them for five years.”
I glanced toward her.
“Neither did I.”
She looked out the window.
Then asked, “Do you think Misty will be okay?”
I considered the question.
“I hope so.”
Abby nodded.
A moment later, she smiled.
“Dallas is probably going to laugh when he hears what happened.”
I laughed.
“He might.”
Then I added, “But we don’t need to turn it into a family story everybody repeats.”
Abby looked toward me.
“Because it was embarrassing?”
I shook my head.
“Because we said what needed to be said. That’s enough.”
She thought about it.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
We drove the rest of the way home listening to the radio.