Page 128 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
“Thank you,” I say, relief washing over me as I step inside.
The diner smells like coffee and grease and something sweet — pie, maybe. The red vinyl booths gleam under the low lights she’s left on, and the wood floor has been polished to a shine. Iris has always been meticulous about her space.
“Have a seat,” she says, gesturing to a booth near the counter. “I’ll make some coffee.”
I slide into the booth, my knees protesting at the movement. Everything protests these days. I watch as Iris moves behind the counter, her hands sure and quick as she sets up the coffeemaker. She was always efficient, even when we were young. Some things never change.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, her back still to me as she measures coffee grounds. “I heard about your heart attack.”
“Better,” I say, adjusting my position on the seat. “The doctors have me on a new diet and exercise plan. I walk a mile every day now.”
“Good for you.” She glances over her shoulder at me. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”
A snort of laughter escapes me before I can stop it. “I wouldn’t die before I had the pleasure of divorcing Paula Kelley.”
Iris’s eyebrows shoot up, and for a moment I glimpse the girl I knew, the one who didn’t take anything from anyone, least of all me. “Well, well,” she says, a smile tugging at her lips. “Wonders never cease.”
She brings two mugs of coffee to the table and slides into the booth across from me. Her movement is still graceful, though I notice a slight stiffness about her as she sits down. We’re both getting older, though she wears it better than I do.
“You take it black, if I remember correctly,” she says, pushing one mug toward me.
“You remember correctly.” I wrap my hands around the warm ceramic. “Thank you.”
We sit in silence for a moment. I search for words, all my carefully planned speeches evaporating now that I’m actually sitting across from her.
“How are your kids?” Iris asks, breaking the silence. “The gossips say that Adam was spotted back in town recently, and Caitlin was with him.” Her voice softens when she mentions their names. “If they found their way back to each other, I’m glad. Assuming he treats her right, of course.”
“They are working things out,” I tell her, grateful for something to say. “They both came to see me in the hospital. Adam’s… different now. Happier.”
“So he finally stood up to his mother. Good for him.”
I nod, taking a sip of coffee to hide my discomfort. It’s good coffee, strong and rich, just how I like it.
“I’m glad at least one Kelley man woke up before it was too late,” Iris continues, her gaze direct and challenging.
The words hit their mark, and I look down at my coffee, watching the steam rise and dissipate. She’s right, of course. Adam had the courage to walk away from a toxic situation while he still had a chance at happiness. It took me forty years and two heart attacks to find the same courage.
“Iris?” I wait until she’s looking at me. “I’m sorry I didn’t defend you that day at the church picnic when my mother said your dress looked cheap. And for every other time I didn’t defend you.”
Iris sits back, surprise flickering across her face. She takes a long sip of her coffee before responding. “That was over forty years ago, Gerald.”
“I know,” I say, the words feeling inadequate. “But I still owe you that apology. I was a coward.”
She studies me over the rim of her mug; her gaze thoughtful. “I forgave you a long time ago,” she says finally. “Had to. Carrying around that kind of anger isn’t good for a person.”
Relief washes through me, though I know I don’t deserve it. “Thank you,” I say simply.
“You’re welcome.” She sets her mug down with a decisive click. “Though I have to say, I’m curious what brought this on after all this time.”
I stare into my coffee, searching for the right words. “That was the day you ended things with me after that picnic. For a long time, I was hurt. I felt like the victim. You knew what my mother was like. She had no filter, but she didn’t mean anything by it. Why couldn’t you be more understanding?”
I scoff at my own youthful delusions. “Let’s just say that having a brush with death strips away all of your illusions. Makes you think about the things you regret. The mistakes you’ve made.”
“Was I one of those mistakes?” Her tone is light, but there’s a challenge in her eyes.
“No,” I say quickly, then correct myself. “Well, yes. But not in the way you mean. You weren’t a mistake. How I treated you was.”
I take a deep breath, then admit what I’ve never said aloud to anyone. “I only started dating Paula because I was sure it would make you jealous. I thought you’d come crawling back.”
