Page 42 of Light Up The Night
He shrugs. "What is theretosay? Not a whole lot, honey. 'Oh, it's okay?' No the fuck it isn't. 'You did your time.' Yeah, and a woman's life is only worth four years behind bars? Her kids and grandkids have had to live without her, and I only did four piddly little years."
"You regret it," I say.
Another bitter laugh. "Yes, Cadence, Ifuckingregret it." He spits the F-U sound of the curse word, harsh, explosive. "Every day I regret it. I have nightmares about it. Been out for almost ten years, and still I see that car crumpled up like a tin can because of what I fucking did." He looks down at me, swallowing hard. "That's the story, babe. You…I'll understand if you need to bounce. I get it."
"Bounce?" I echo. "As in…leave?"
He lifts one shoulder, shoving his hands in his hip pockets. “Yeah. Ball's rolling for your fundraiser. Good girl like you, Cadence? You don't need my shit dragging you down."
"Do you…" I breathe out shakily and try again. "Do youwantme to leave?" I look up at him, afraid of his answer.
"Fuck no," he whispers. He clears his throat. “No. I don't want you to leave. But I'd get it if you did."
"I will not. I do not want to. Why would I?"
"After what I just told you?" He snorts, shaking his head. "Anyone in their right mind would ghost me. I don't go around announcing that to everyone I hang out with, Cadence. Most of the girls I’ve hooked up with, when they find out? That's it. Done."
"I am not most people, Riley Crowe." I gaze up at him, noting the way his jaw moves, grinding his molars, the way his eyes search and scan my face. "You made a terrible, dangerous, irresponsible choice, Riley. That is a fact. It had a terrible, tragicresult. That is also a fact. The time you served in prison cannot alter what occurred. Nor can it assuage your guilt. You took responsibility for your actions, Riley. And it seems to me that you have spent your life since then trying to be a better person. You give back to your community. You created a program to give to others what you lacked."
"It's not enough," he says, his voice so rough he may as well have swallowed gravel. "It'll never be enough."
"No, and nothing ever can be." I step closer to him, hyper-aware of my body, of his, of how close we are, of the fact that my chest is touching his. "The event in question is long past, Riley, as is your time in prison. I do not say that you have earned forgiveness—it is not my place to say such things, if only because I do not know anyone involved except you. Whocanforgive you, Riley? Mrs. Johnson cannot. Her children? Her grandchildren?"
"I wrote letters to them from prison," he says, his voice hoarse and ragged. "Her son…her son didn't answer. Her daughter wrote back that while she was struggling with it, she knew her mother would have forgiven me and would have wanted her to, too. The grandkids…" he laughs, and it is a complicated sound—rueful, perhaps, or almost amused; the emotions layered in that laugh are myriad and too tangled for me to name. "They came to visit me, all four together. Good kids. Everybody makes mistakes, and they knew Gran-Ellen, as they called her, like it was all one word, Gran-Ellen…they knew she'd forgive me. They said she'd invite me over for a cup of hot chocolate, and she'd give me a hug, and…" He trails off, voice thick and damp, head shaking, eyes red. "She’d…they said that God loves me and so does she."
I let both of my hands rest on his shoulders. "Then Riley, take what they are offering." I look up at him, trying mightily to keep his gaze, no matter how uncomfortable it makes me. He needs it. "Despite the fact that a significant percentage of my life, bothpersonally and professionally, has been spent in the pursuit of spiritually motivated missions, I am not a person who will ever tell you what you should believe. It is not my place. I know what I believe, but that is for me alone."
"I'd like to know," he whispers. "Please."
"If the family of the victim has forgiven you and believes that she would have as well, then who are you to cling to your guilt? Humans have a plethora of remarkable abilities, I have observed." I pause, considering my words carefully. "Some of them are good things—resiliency, adaptability, empathy, creativity, cooperation. But we have other abilities that are not so good. Humans are capable of astounding twists and leaps of logic in order to justify something we want, even and often especially if that thing we want is something we know is bad for us.”
"What's that got to do with anything?" he asks.
"Just this, Riley: whom does your guilt serve? Why do you cling to it after so long, when those who have cause to despise you and cling to resentment do not? Because some part of you has decided that the guilt is your penance. You do not feel you have been punished enough, and so you clutch your guilt and shame and self-loathing to your chest like a starving child with a crust of bread. But again, I ask you: whom does your guilt serve?"
He blinks hard and then looks at me. "Am I supposed to answer?”
"If you would."
"Ahhhh…" he looks away, lifting his shoulders in a hint of a shrug. "No one, I guess."
"Will it bring Ellen Johnson back to life?"
“No."
"Will it assuage the pain her family surely feels at her absence?"
Miserably: "No."
"Is guilt the only thing preventing you from repeating the mistake?"
This causes him to think more carefully. "No. I mean, maybe in a way, yeah, a little bit. I still drink. I get wasted now and then—less and less frequently as I get older. But I never,everdrive if I've had anything more to drink than, like, a beer or two."
"So, then…of what value is guilt?"
"None."
"I believe in God, Riley. That much must be obvious, I hope. I believe that Mrs. Johnson's daughter and grandchildren would be…surprised, at best, that you still hate yourself for your mistake. It is not easy to forgive someone who has wronged you, Riley, and they have. Do not waste that. The God I believe in is one of forgiveness. He—or she, or they, if you prefer—has forgiven you. Mrs. Johnson's family has forgiven you. They have clearly communicated in one voice their belief that Ellen Johnson herself would forgive you. The only person who has not forgiven you is…you."
