I took the envelope.
He looked exhausted.
Not defeated.
Just quieter.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he said.
“That’s not mine to give.”
“I know.”
He looked toward the driveway.
“I wanted to tell you something, though.”
I waited.
“When you came into the gym, I wanted you to swing at me.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because then everything would have been simple.”
I understood immediately.
“You could tell yourself I was the problem.”
He nodded.
“If you hit me, then I could hate you. Marcy could blame you. I wouldn’t have to look at myself.”
He gave a small, embarrassed laugh.
“When you walked away, it made me furious.”
“That was not why I did it.”
“I know.”
He looked toward the house.
“Tell Marcy I’m sorry.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“If you want her to know something, write it down. Give it to Ray. If she wants it, she’ll read it.”
