to talk with about anything.” Her voice is modulated, but beneath it, I detect a wealth of hurt she hasn’t let go of.
“I didn’t have brothers or sisters. Well, other than the guys. So, I can only partially understand what you’re feeling.”
“I remember you talking about growing up with your aunt and uncle. You’re not close with them?”
I shake my head. “They passed several years ago.” And the only good thing they did for me was leave me the farm so I could sell it off to fulfill my dreams, but I don’t mention that. I’m not certain Kara would understand the ease with which I was able to do that when she’s sitting here mourning.
Kara opens her mouth, a perplexed expression on her face. It’s one I’m familiar with as in the past it was a precursor to a question being asked, but she must change her mind. Instead, she volunteers, “Dean, he was everything to me. It’s funny how people come and go in your life, but I never missed anyone since I had Dean. And now, I miss everything.” She looks away.
I want to ask her if she missed me, but I gave up that right a long time ago. I spent all weekend remembering our discussions about the things we wanted from our lives. I cursed myself over and over for thinking she was just a woman meant to pass through my life as I packed to return to Alaska. Now, it’s too damn bad we’re in no place where I can explain what I’ve been thinking. I hold my words in, instead urging her to unburden herself with my silence.
“We used to talk every day. I’m not ready to let that go yet because …”
“Because?” I probe softly.
She hesitates before the corner of her lip quirks. “How do you let go of the person who read you bedtime stories? Who read them to your son? Who would have sacrificed anything for you?”
“I don’t think you can,” I tell her honestly.
“So, you don’t think I’m crazy for writing to my dead brother, telling him all about the emotional intensity of introducing my son to his father?” she challenges.
I rub my fingers back and forth over my beard, gently pulling. “People journal. They write letters and burn them. Both things are cathartic; why is this any different?” I respond.
A less tense silence falls between us. So, I try to change the topic away from her grief. “How’s Kevin?”
And that’s when I realize my tactical mistake. Because while Kara has aged beautifully, motherhood has made her stunning. Her lips curve slowly. Her eyes, shimmering with tears, become as bright as the sun. And as she passes a hand through her hair, her high cheekbones stand out.
I shift in my seat, uncomfortable at the instantaneous reaction I have to her. “Jed’s probably howling,” I mutter.
“Why do you say that?” An adorable V brings her brows together.
I scramble for an answer that won’t have the dregs of whatever she’s drinking thrown in my face but still isn’t a lie. “Because we’re acting like strangers, Kara,” I say diplomatically.
“In many ways, we are, Jennings,” she returns. “But I get your point. What do you want to know?”
Are you dating anyone? immediately comes to mind, but I suppress asking that. Instead, I take us to more neutral ground. “What grades do you teach?”
“Tenth through twelfth. That includes most physics and AP Physics classes. Well, other than the one Kevin will take next year. His is a college course that we got special permission from the county for him to take,” she brags.
I sit back stunned. “That must be hundreds of students.”
“About two hundred.” She shrugs as if it’s not a big deal, when it clearly is. “I enjoy it.”
“More than you would have enjoyed being up here at Mendenhall? You were all I could think of when I was at the glacier,” I blurt out stupidly.
Our eyes collide and the noise from the other patrons disappear. We could be anywhere or nowhere. I know exactly what Kara’s thinking because the thoughts are going through my head as well. We’re in this precarious situation where we’re far from trust, but there’s a bond between us we can’t eliminate. We’re going to be in each other’s lives, for better or worse.
I retract my question. “I’m sorry, Kara. You don’t have to answer that.”
“There’s still a long way for us to go before I’ll be comfortable sharing those kinds of feelings.” She rubs her wrist,