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I smack back but I don’t mean it. “Thanks,” I mutter, the exhaustion masking my mood.
I’m still furious with him.
We walk through a sparse crowd, coming down from the high of finishing as we pass tents full of race organizers offering energy bars and electrolyte-laden drinks. I’m not ready to celebrate with him.
Or even to talk to him.
I could blame it on the grueling event, but I won’t. Instead, I grab some water from a volunteer at a table full of coolers. “Thanks,” I say, then glug it quickly.
When I’m done, I recycle the cup, then I swallow my annoyance with Tate. I spent far too long ignoring the problems in my marriage. I don’t want to ignore a big fucking problem in my friendship.
Except I have to handle it delicately. Hecan’tknow. “So, I’m getting a dog next weekend. Zach wants one,” I begin.
Tate laughs. “Never thought you’d get a dog. With your long hours. But the kid has your number.”
Bingo. “Yeah, but you know how it goes with kids. You’d do anything for them,” I say as we walk through our cooldown.
“Sure. I get that,” he says.
“Wish I could have done it years ago. But that’s just something I have to deal with,” I say.
His eyes are full of question marks. Understandable, since I’m being deliberately unclear. “Get a dog?”
I scratch my jaw. “Get a dog. Raise a son. Face my regrets. The usual.”
And he does. He’s well aware that my biggest regret is time—wishing I could have had all of Zach’s years. He knows I want to make the most of the ones I do have.
“Sure,” Tate says, but it’s curious, like he wonders where I’m going with this convo.
Yeah, me too.
I tap the gas a little more. “I don’t want to have regrets. Like about things I’ve said. Things I’ve done. Know what I mean?” I toss him a glance. I’m sure he has his fair share of regrets about the night his daughter died.
“Yeah,” he grumbles.
I grind my jaw but then try to let go of my irritation, since my anger at him isn’t the fucking point.
The point is he needs to make things right with his daughter, but I can’t let on that I know what he did.
“I remember when I first met Zach’s grandparents, I was so nervous and excited about Zach, I barely acknowledged they’d lost their daughter.” Maybe this is an anvil-sized clue, but maybe he needs it.
He tilts his head, studying me more closely, maybe sensing I’m onto something.
“It didn’t hit me until a while later, what I’d said,” I continue. “Or really, what I’dnotsaid. And then I talked to them. Extended my sympathies. But I regret that, you know? I wish I’d done better sooner,” I say, hoping, no, praying that my story will light a fire under him. Make him think about what he said to Jules that day in a cemetery.
His forehead crinkles. But he doesn’t speak, perhaps waiting for me to go on.
As we walk off the run, heading away from the race and deeper into the park, I say, “The more I thought about it, the more I didn’t want them to think I was someone who didn’t acknowledge a loss. I asked how they were coping. I asked about Nina. And I listened when they talked.”
I can’t saygo talk to your daughter. I just have to hope that that’s what he hears.
He stops, still breathing hard from the race. “Is there a reason you’re telling me this?”
Yeah. A big reason. He’s not a good lawyer for nothing.
“It made me think about your daughter.” I don’t say which daughter. I’ve felt like a liar with Tate for a long time. Hell, Iama liar. But I don’t care. If it takes lying to get him to fix things, then I’ll do it. “If you ever want to talk about her, I’m here.”
As angry as I am, the point of this conversation is, I want him to figure out what he did wrong and fix it.
