“What’s that supposed to mean?” She couldn’t pretend to know anything about him, yet that guess hit dangerously close to home.
“Things get real and you run. That’s what we do when we’ve been beat up by life, right?”
“That’s what you do.” But he knew deep down she wasn’t alone in that.
“Your old man did it too.”
Another coughing fit was well underway, so he had to wait to ask, “He ran away from you or from us?”
“He left when you were a few weeks old. You were a colicky baby. He said he couldn’t stand the constant crying, that he wasn’t cut out to be a dad.”
Gunnar had often questioned whether he was cut out to be a dad. As much as he loved his girls, when he was half-way around the country, waiting to give everything he had to another crowd, while he’d give nothing of himself to his own family, he felt like the most selfish bastard alive. Maybe he and his old man were cut from the same cloth.
“And you never heard from him again?”
“Nope. We were better off without him if you ask me.”
I was better off without both of you.It took Gunnar a long time to realize that maybe growing up with his mother wouldn’t have been the best thing for him. Being alone in the world made him tough. It made him understand early on that he had to fight for everything he got because he’d never have anyone to give him a hand up or a hand out.
“I’m sorry, Gunnar.”
“Don’t be.” His train of thought continued, aloud this time. “I probably wouldn’t be where I am if you had stuck around.”
“Can’t argue with that. Nothing good came of my life, and if you’d hung around me, nothing good would’ve come of yours. You think I didn’t know that?”
He would never thank her for abandoning him, but maybe he did have to give her credit for knowing what was best. If he’d stayed with her, the cycle of poverty and hopelessness might have continued with him, and he never would have been in a position to meet Gianna and make two beautiful daughters with her.
“My life is pretty incredible,” he said, feeling the love surrounding him in a room that wasn’t even his own. “Way better than I deserve. So, if you ever worried about me, or felt guilty about giving me up, you don’t have to anymore. I turned out okay.”
She snorted. “Better than okay, I’d say.”
“How can you say that?” He hated it when people felt they knew him just because of what they read or saw on television. “You don’t even know me. We’re strangers.”
“That’s true,” she said quietly. “And I know you’re better off not knowing me.”
So, that’s the way she wanted it to be? Good. He wasn’t alone. “I forgive you,” he said suddenly, knowing that’s what this call had really been about for him. Forgiveness. And letting go. He and his mother weren’t going to get a happy ending. There would be no warm embraces or tears in their future. And he was okay with that. He already had the only family he’d ever need.
“You do?” she asked, sounding surprised.
“I do.”
“You… I… thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He didn’t know what else to say, except goodbye. But before he hung up, the part of him that had been influenced by years of admiring Gianna’s generosity asked, “You need anything?”
“You just gave me everything I need. Forgiveness.”
***
Gianna was hurt and angry when she woke up the next morning and found Gunnar gone, but she knew exactly what she had to do. After listening to the girl’s chatter all the way to school, she was ready for a little quiet by the time she dropped them at the curb.
She needed to collect her thoughts, rehearse exactly what she wanted to say to him. The drive to his cottage was a short one, but when she pulled into the driveway and saw his truck parked by the door, she got a knot in her stomach.
Was she really going to do this? She was scared. But so was Gunnar. And this time, she had to be the brave one, the strong one who was willing to put it all on the line.
She jumped out of her car and ran up to the door. She thought about knocking, but bounded right in instead, afraid she’d lose her nerve if she waited even one more minute to tell him what was on her mind.
He was on the ground, ripping up old linoleum in the foyer by the stairs. He was sweating profusely, his longish hair held out of his eyes with a black bandana. “Hey,” he said, leaning back on his haunches as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “What’re you doing here?”
