The Promise He Kept From Me

“He told you to call me.”

“He wrote it in the letter.

He said you were sick.”

“I had surgery last month.

 

I’m recovering. 

It’s — I’ll be okay.

It’s just been a hard few weeks.”

“Do you have people around you?”

“My neighbor has been helping with Daniel.

 

And my friend Karen. 

We’re managing.”

“Okay.” I exhaled slowly.

“I’m glad.”

“Can I ask you something?” Diane said.

 

“Yes.” 

“Did you know?

Before the letter?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry.” And she sounded it — genuinely, without qualification.

 

“I thought about reaching out to him when I found out he was sick. 

I didn’t know if it would make things worse.”

“It might have,” I said honestly.

“I don’t know.”

“He never met Daniel,” she said.

 

“I want you to know that. 

I’m not — I wasn’t trying to hide Daniel from him exactly, but after a while it felt like the window had closed.

And then I heard he had gotten married, and I thought —” She stopped.

“I don’t know what I thought.”

“Can I ask what Daniel knows?”

 

“He knows his father was sick and that he passed away. 

He doesn’t know much more than that.

He’s five.

I’ve been trying to figure out what to tell him.”

I looked out the window at the grey November garden.

 

The roses Mark had planted along the fence were bare now, just brown canes and thorns. 

“Would it be all right if I came to see you?” I said.

“Not to make any decisions.

Just to meet you.

And Daniel, if he’s comfortable.

 

I’m not trying to insert myself into your life. 

I just — I made a promise.

Even if I didn’t know I was making it.”

Diane was quiet for a moment.

“You’re pregnant,” she said suddenly.

 

“Mark mentioned — in one of his messages, early on, when he first found out he was sick. 

He said his wife was pregnant.”

“Due in four weeks.”

“And you’re still doing this.”

“I’m trying to figure out what doing this even means,” I said.

 

“I don’t have a plan.