Waved him over to us.
Drops of sweat ran down my face. I wiped them off with my sleeve. Harold put his hands in his pockets and walked toward us. Without a doubt the most awkward moment of my life. Couldn't he walk any faster? My heart ticked in my ears like a bomb. Ella leaned into my arm, looked up at me as I stared at the man in front of me, the man who left me and probably hated me for killing my mother.
"Thank you f-for doing this." He lifted his hands from his pockets.
I wiped my hands on my jeans and avoided shaking his hand.
"Let's sit," Ella said.
I sat down and pulled my knees to my chest. Ella curled up beside me, her legs making a "V" to the right of us. Her squirrel friend zoomed from one tree to another as Harold sat across from us.
"I, um." Harold's eyes darted around, everywhere but me. "I don't know how to say this."
I inhaled, exhaled, tried to remain calm and patient.
"I, well . . . when I . . . I mean, there was a—“
"What the hell did you come here to say?" My knuckles were white and my jaw hurt. From toe to finger I was one huge ball of stress.
"I'm s-s-sorry." He looked down. "I have a b-bit of a, uh, s-s-stutter and when I'm nervous it, uh, it g-gets worse."
Pop.
Ella looked at me. "Didn't your grandfather have a stutter too?"
"Yes." Harold and I answered at the same time.
"I did too," I said, looking at Ella. "That's why I didn't have too many friends and ended up reading books and painting more than socializing. One day I started playing music and singing. Since then my stutter hasn't come back."
Harold nodded. "I got myself into some t-t-trouble and the drugs, they uh, they got me a little worse now. I have a t-t-trouble expressing myself."
Be a bee, I heard Pop say.
"Look," I said. "I'm sorry to be rude. This isn't easy for me and I'm finding it hard to understand why you are here. Why, after all of these years, are you sitting in front of me? Why didn't you just leave me alone?"
"You see, I . . . it's just that when s-s-she died my heart died with her." His head shook as he danced around my question. He readjusted his baseball hat. "I j-j-just came to tell you that I'm s-s-sorry."
Ella saw the frustration written on my face. She reached over and put her hand on Harold's wrist. "Tell me what she was like."
He sighed, choked back tears with a cough. "I'm s-s-sorry. I haven't talked about her since." He touched Ella's hand. "This is the ring I put on her finger, isn't it?"
"Okay," I said. "Can someone please tell me why on earth we are sitting here right now?"
Harold stood. "Didn't mean to waste your time. I just w-w-wanted to tell you I was sorry and tomorrow is, um, it's our wedding a-a-nniversary. I guess I wanted to see the o-o-only piece of her still alive." He swung his arms and tipped his hat. "Nice meeting you miss."
Shoulders reaching for the ground, he walked away. Ella and I stood. She stuffed the blanket back into our bag and tossed the trash into a nearby trash can. I watched Harold until his white t-shirt became a speck in the world. Just another drip of paint on the canvas.
Ella wrapped her arms around me and whispered in my ear. "I love you."
I kissed the top of her head. "I know you feel sorry for him. I hate to admit it, but I do too."
She nodded.
"I will get in touch with him after we finish the letters from Pop. I just need some time. And besides, we have a wedding to plan. I want to focus on us."
Late Saturday afternoon, Lydia and Sarah came over to do girly things for the wedding. Sarah brought her boyfriend and his daughter. Ella convinced me to figure out what happened with his previous marriage. So I convinced Matt to come and play detective. I'm not into prying into people's lives. Makes me feel about as uncomfortable as a fairy at a wrestling match. Doesn't mix.
Everyone arrived about the same time. The girls and Abby made themselves at home right away. While they sat on the living room floor tying handfuls of rose petals in tulle,
Drops of sweat ran down my face. I wiped them off with my sleeve. Harold put his hands in his pockets and walked toward us. Without a doubt the most awkward moment of my life. Couldn't he walk any faster? My heart ticked in my ears like a bomb. Ella leaned into my arm, looked up at me as I stared at the man in front of me, the man who left me and probably hated me for killing my mother.
"Thank you f-for doing this." He lifted his hands from his pockets.
I wiped my hands on my jeans and avoided shaking his hand.
"Let's sit," Ella said.
I sat down and pulled my knees to my chest. Ella curled up beside me, her legs making a "V" to the right of us. Her squirrel friend zoomed from one tree to another as Harold sat across from us.
"I, um." Harold's eyes darted around, everywhere but me. "I don't know how to say this."
I inhaled, exhaled, tried to remain calm and patient.
"I, well . . . when I . . . I mean, there was a—“
"What the hell did you come here to say?" My knuckles were white and my jaw hurt. From toe to finger I was one huge ball of stress.
"I'm s-s-sorry." He looked down. "I have a b-bit of a, uh, s-s-stutter and when I'm nervous it, uh, it g-gets worse."
Pop.
Ella looked at me. "Didn't your grandfather have a stutter too?"
"Yes." Harold and I answered at the same time.
"I did too," I said, looking at Ella. "That's why I didn't have too many friends and ended up reading books and painting more than socializing. One day I started playing music and singing. Since then my stutter hasn't come back."
Harold nodded. "I got myself into some t-t-trouble and the drugs, they uh, they got me a little worse now. I have a t-t-trouble expressing myself."
Be a bee, I heard Pop say.
"Look," I said. "I'm sorry to be rude. This isn't easy for me and I'm finding it hard to understand why you are here. Why, after all of these years, are you sitting in front of me? Why didn't you just leave me alone?"
"You see, I . . . it's just that when s-s-she died my heart died with her." His head shook as he danced around my question. He readjusted his baseball hat. "I j-j-just came to tell you that I'm s-s-sorry."
Ella saw the frustration written on my face. She reached over and put her hand on Harold's wrist. "Tell me what she was like."
He sighed, choked back tears with a cough. "I'm s-s-sorry. I haven't talked about her since." He touched Ella's hand. "This is the ring I put on her finger, isn't it?"
"Okay," I said. "Can someone please tell me why on earth we are sitting here right now?"
Harold stood. "Didn't mean to waste your time. I just w-w-wanted to tell you I was sorry and tomorrow is, um, it's our wedding a-a-nniversary. I guess I wanted to see the o-o-only piece of her still alive." He swung his arms and tipped his hat. "Nice meeting you miss."
Shoulders reaching for the ground, he walked away. Ella and I stood. She stuffed the blanket back into our bag and tossed the trash into a nearby trash can. I watched Harold until his white t-shirt became a speck in the world. Just another drip of paint on the canvas.
Ella wrapped her arms around me and whispered in my ear. "I love you."
I kissed the top of her head. "I know you feel sorry for him. I hate to admit it, but I do too."
She nodded.
"I will get in touch with him after we finish the letters from Pop. I just need some time. And besides, we have a wedding to plan. I want to focus on us."
Late Saturday afternoon, Lydia and Sarah came over to do girly things for the wedding. Sarah brought her boyfriend and his daughter. Ella convinced me to figure out what happened with his previous marriage. So I convinced Matt to come and play detective. I'm not into prying into people's lives. Makes me feel about as uncomfortable as a fairy at a wrestling match. Doesn't mix.
Everyone arrived about the same time. The girls and Abby made themselves at home right away. While they sat on the living room floor tying handfuls of rose petals in tulle,
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