still hear the restaurant’s music playing, the soft twang of a steel guitar.
I took another bite. I chewed, swallowed. He waited.
“And then I…called you.”
He nodded. “Wait, I’m a little cold.” He put on a tan sports coat. He had a pen in the pocket, and he paused to make sure it was fastened in. “Okay. You get yourself away from the truck. You fall. You’re bleeding. You go into the restaurant to use the phone. Who’d you call first?”
For a moment, I thought this was what he was getting at. I actually thought he was hurt because I had tried to call my mother first. And I was relieved, even touched. It was just that old divorce story—each wounded parent wanting to be the chosen one. I considered lying, but I got scared.
“Dad. I knew you would be in court, or at least working. And Mom was closer.”
He nodded. “And what did she say to you?”
I swallowed. It was a trick question. We both knew it.
“Elise told you.”
We sat without talking for several seconds. The people in the booth behind us were laughing about something. A child’s shrill voice cried out.
“I’m sorry, honey. I can’t believe she let you down like that. I’m so sorry. I can’t explain it. I can’t understand how a person can change so much.”
I looked away, considering the situation, and how what he was saying pointed to things not being as bad between them as I thought. Maybe they were not completely severed. He could still apologize on her behalf. I managed a smile. I appreciated his understanding, his apparent concern for us both.
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Can you tell me exactly what she said to you? Before she hung up.”
“She just…she sounded a little crazy.” I shrugged. I picked up my knife and fork again. The steak tasted amazing, salty and firm. “She feels bad about it now. She’s left messages, apologizing. She said she was having a bad day.”
“But she knew you’d been in a car accident, correct? She knew you were out on the highway somewhere?”
I frowned. Correct. He was using courtroom language. “I don’t remember,” I said. I took another bite. He smiled patiently. He leaned forward a little more, reaching past my fork to touch my hand.
“Try.” He appeared annoyed, or disappointed. “Just tell me what she said to you. Tell me exactly what she said.”
I was about to ask him what he was getting at, why he was so fixated on this small point, when, while trying to gather the courage, I found myself gazing at the pen in his pocket, which, now that I looked at it, didn’t look like a pen at all. It was rectangular. And it appeared to have several openings on the tip.
He saw me looking and sat up quickly.
I stopped chewing. I put my knife and fork down.
“What’s in your pocket?”
He gave me a blank look. I think it was the first time in my entire life that I had ever stumped him.
“Is that your voice recorder?” I shook my head. It was impossible. I did not believe it. It was the voice recorder my mother had given him for Christmas. It was sleek, expensive, designed to look like a pen. She had hoped he could use it for work.
“Were you recording just now? What I was saying?”
“Fine. I’ll turn it off.” He touched a button on the recorder and picked up his knife and fork. He reached for the steak sauce, his mouth tight.
“Why would you…?” I was at a loss. My hands were limp in my lap.
“She’s crossed a line, okay?” He pointed at me with his fork. It wasn’t a threatening gesture, more of a lazy one—he was still eating, and he didn’t want to put his fork down. And yet he needed to point. “What your mother did, leaving you out there, was completely unacceptable. And it needs to be documented.”
Warm saliva pooled in my mouth. I looked down at my steak. My stomach no longer existed. “Documented for what?”
“Don’t worry about it. It has nothing to do with you. It’s not your problem.” He looked up and made the quickening gesture. “Why aren’t you eating?”
I did not move. “You’re going to use this in the divorce? You’re going to use this against her?”
He rolled his eyes, still chewing. He brought his napkin up to his lips. When he spoke again, his voice was very quiet, but his words were clipped and hard. “You bet I am.