Page 138 of From Air

“I think you need to talk about it with someone.”

The legs of my chair screech along the floor as I scoot it back a few inches and cross my arms. “Let’s talk.”

Gary’s eyebrows lift a fraction before he clears his throat. “Okay. How are you holding up?”

“Fine.”

“Are you sleeping well?”

“Yes.”

“Suicidal thoughts?”

“No.”

“Depression?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Because if I were in your shoes, I’d hate the world.”

“I hate her father. He’s not my world. So I don’t hate the world.”

“She was your world.”

My lips part to give a response, but I don’t have one.

Gary gets a slight smile as if he’s proud of making a point.

“I don’t hate her.”

He nods several times. “That’s good. She’s the sweetest, kindest young woman I’ve met since I met my wife. She doesn’t deserve hate from anyone. She was three years old when tragedy struck her family. Like you, she was a victim of something horrible. Just a child.”

“I’m aware.”

Gary has a stare-off with me. He twists his lips for a few seconds. I don’t know where he thinks he’s going with this informal therapysession, but it’s not far. “Maren and Evette understand why you can’t be with her.”

I return a slow nod.

“But I don’t.”

“Then you’re fucking blind.”

“I think you’re the one who’s blind. If you look at that woman and see your past, then you’re not only blind, you never saw her in the first place. And that means you don’t deserve her. She’s infinitely too good for your sorry ass.”

“What did you say to me?” I stand, sending my chair crashing into the table behind me.

Gary stands, but he doesn’t stand as tall as me. And I’ve been itching to ram my fist into something. It might just be his face today.

He smirks, taking a few steps backward as I inch closer. “You’re right. You don’t hate her. You hate that you love her more than you’ve ever loved anyone. You hate that some other guy’s going to take what’s yours. The girl. Her love.Your life.”

I ball my hands into tight fists. “She dropped this all on me on Thanksgiving and walked out the door while my grandmother napped upstairs. The same grandmother who tried to take her own life a few weeks before I turned eighteen because she couldn’t deal with the grief of losing my parents, my sister, and her husband. She didn’t condemn a thing he did and had this horrified look when I spoke about him. She probably left me to be with him. AndI’mthe asshole in this scenario?”

“What did you say to her?”

I shake my head. “What are you talking about? Nothing.”

“She confessed that Dwight was her father, and then she followed it up with ‘I choose him’? I don’t buy it. What was your response?”

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