Page 75 of Two-Step
I take my eyes off the road and catch her staring straight ahead, her gaze thoughtful.
“I don’t think I’ve ever considered that—whether or not they were ever in love.” She shakes her head and then meets my gaze. Her look is hollowed out. “But I don’t see how.”
What I see in her eyes claws at me because it’s familiar. She’s realizing a terrible truth. The day my dad left Mom, I realized she’d given up everything for him and he’d never been worth the sacrifice.
I check the road and then look back. “How long were they married?” I ask gently.
She snaps to attention. “Oh, they weren’t.” Her expression wears no hint of judgment or shame, just matter-of-factness. “But they were together until I was eight.” Unmistakable sorrow softens her voice.
I stare at the interstate. Eight is young. Watching them split had to have been hard. “What happened with you? Did they share custody?”
“No, my dad just left town.”
“Shhhit,” I hiss.
“Yeah,” she says. “It sucked, but… I don’t know.”
I glance over. She’s hugging her shins, her gaze aimed downward.
“What don’t you know?”
She shrugs, and I have to take my eyes off her to keep us safe. I’m not about to push her to answer if she doesn’t feel like it.
“I guess I don’t blame him,” she says finally. “I think he did his best. I think he did all he could.”
I’m glad I’m facing forward because I don’t think I could hide my doubt. Moira sounds like a demon queen, and Iris’s dad just left her to deal. And she was only eight.
“A few years ago, Sally told me he moved back to Broken Bow—where we’re from—and he got his old job at the casino.” Her voice is even again. Accepting. “When I found out, I sent him a couple of letters—we were already living in Tarzana—and he never wrote back. A few months after that, he didn’t show up for work. His landlord checked on the place he was renting, and all of his stuff was gone.”
When I look at her, she’s laying her cheek on her knee, facing me. The posture makes her seem childlike, but I’ve never seen such a world-weary look in anyone’s eyes.
I have to comfort her. If touching her now makes me a dick, so be it. I reach over and rub my palm between her shoulder blades.
“Hismassiveloss,” I say.
She smiles. It’s soft and sad, but I’ll still take it.
“Seriously,” I say, wanting her to feel better. “Colossal loss. Gargantuan.”
Beneath my hand, I feel her giggles.
“Unfathomable. Astronomical.”
She cracks up. I smooth my hand back and forth, soaking in her warmth and the quaking of her laughter.
“That laugh, alone,” I say, speaking truth, “worth more than my salary.”
“Come on,” she says, still laughing but sitting up and rolling her eyes.
I bring my hand back to the wheel and cover my disappointment with a shrug. “Well, I am just a teacher. The salary isn't that big.”
This sets her off again.
I don’t know anyone else who can laugh like this or recover like this from such a heavy admission. And as I listen to her laugh and keep us between the lines on the interstate, I realize I’m recovered too. The leaden feeling I usually have when I think about Mom and the choice she made to leave NYCB doesn’t hang on me the same way. Not right now, anyway.
Not with Iris.
Chapter Sixteen
