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Miro had said the thing that Ender had dreaded all along. That it was Ender's own fault. That he had not been the perfect husband. That he had driven her away. And the worst thing was that when Miro said it, Ender knew that it was true. The sense of loss, which he had already thought was unbearable, suddenly doubled, trebled, became infinite inside him.
He felt Miro's hand, heavy, clumsy, on his shoulder.
"As God is my witness, Andrew, I never meant to make you cry."
"It happens," said Ender.
"It's not all your fault," said Miro. "Or Jane's. You've got to remember that Mother's crazy as a loon. She always has been."
"She had a lot of grief as a child."
"She lost everybody she ever loved, one by one," said Miro.
"And I let her believe that she had lost me, too."
"What were you going to do, cut Jane off? You tried that once, remember?"
"The difference is that now she has you. The whole time you were gone, I could have let Jane go, because she had you. I could have talked to her less, asked her to back off. She would have forgiven me."
"Maybe," said Miro. "But you didn't."
"Because I didn't want to," said Ender. "Because I didn't want to let her go. Because I thought I could keep that old friendship and still be a good husband to my wife."
"It wasn't just Jane," said Miro. "It was Valentine, too."
"I suppose," said Ender. "So what do I do? Go join up with the Filhos until the fleet gets here and blows us all to hell?"
"You do what I do," said Miro.
"What's that?"
"You take a breath. You let it out. Then you take another."
Ender thought about it for a moment. "I can do that. I've been doing that since I was little."
Just a moment longer, Miro's hand on his shoulder. This is why I should have had a son of my own, thought Ender. To lean on me when he was small, and then for me to lean on when I'm old. But I never had a child from my own seed. I'm like old Marcao, Novinha's first husband. Surrounded by these children and knowing they're not my own. The difference is that Miro is my friend, not my enemy. And that's something. I may have been a bad husband, but I can still make and keep a friend.
"Stop pitying yourself and get back to work." It was Jane, speaking in his ear, and she had waited almost long enough before speaking, almost long enough that he was ready to have her tease him. Almost but not quite, and so he resented her intrusion. Resented knowing that she had been listening and watching all along.
"Now you're mad," she said.
You don't know what I'm feeling, thought Ender. You can't know. Because you're not human.
"You think I don't know what you're feeling," said Jane.
He felt a moment of vertigo, because for a moment it seemed to him that she had been listening to something far deeper than the conversation.
"But I lost you once, too."
Ender subvocalized: "I came back."
"Never completely," said Jane. "Never like it was before. So you just take a couple of those self-pitying little tears on your cheeks and count them as if they were mine. Just to even up the score."
"I don't know why I bother trying to save your life," said Ender silently.
"Me neither," said Jane. "I keep telling you it's a waste of time."
Ender turned back to the terminal. Miro stayed beside him, watching the display as it simulated the ansible network. Ender had no idea what Jane was saying to Miro--though he was sure that she was saying something, since he had long ago figured out that Jane was capable of carrying on many conversations at once. He couldn't help it--it did bother him a little that Jane had every bit as close a relationship with Miro as with him.
