“She will, eventually. Just—”
“Give her time. I know.”
Ben unwrapped his sandwich in the same methodical way he always had. “This looks delicious.”
“I have to warn you, it’s veggie. But I promise it’s good.”
He raised a brow. “A vegetarian now?”
“I think it’s a hazard of the job.”
“Understandable. You always did have a soft spot for critters.”
I unwrapped my sandwich and popped the tab on my Coke. “How are you doing?”
Ben washed down a bite of his sandwich with a sip of his drink. “It’s been a tough year, but I’m hanging in.”
“I heard that your wife passed away. I’m so sorry.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “She was amazing, my Liza. You would’ve really liked her. Knew just how much to push. Could go against the grain without even Allen realizing it.”
“If she could pull one over on Allen, we definitely would’ve been friends.”
“I think so. I miss her every day.”
“That’s a measure of how much you loved her.” I’d never known that kind of love. I tried to imagine what it would feel like to have someone talk about me in the same reverent tone Ben had slipped into for his late wife. But I couldn’t picture it.
“You’re right there. But it’s hard to live with guilt. The millions of what-ifs. Mom says, sometimes, we can’t know God’s plan for us. But this feels like a really shitty road to put me on.”
My heart seized at his words, its rhythm tripping and stuttering. I didn’t have words of comfort for something like this. I wished I could think of something that might ease him just a little, but I kept coming up empty. “Seems to me that if God is who they say He is, He can take our anger and grief. He can take our rage. It’s when we stuff it down that we get into trouble.”
Ben’s gaze lifted to mine. “You get into trouble?”
“Maybe trouble isn’t the right word. But I’ve struggled to find my peace. To hold my anger and love at the same time.” It often felt as if there was only room enough for one of them at any given moment. That I could rage about all the ways my mother had let me down or remember the tender moments we shared in the garden or out on a hike, where she showed me which plants were edible. But I couldn’t hold both.
“She loved you. You know that, right? I know she wasn’t perfect. Far from it. Just like I know she regretted not doing more to protect you. We both carried that burden.”
That war was lighting inside me again. Wanting to reach for forgiveness and, at the same time, feeling like nothing would ever be enough. “I’m trying to find my way to understanding her more. I think that’s part of why I needed to come back here.”
I picked at a piece of my sandwich’s crust. “I’ve found empathy for her. Especially the girl who got married so young. Who really didn’t know what she was getting into. She was barely past her teenage years when she had Ian. Few would be equipped to handle that at her age.”
“But she did her best.”
“I’m sure she did. But she got so wrapped up in my father’s conspiracy theories. Fell down that rabbit hole. She constantly moved in response to whatever he did or didn’t do.” I tore the piece of crust into bits. “Looking back, I realize that he manipulated her with his emotions. Dad never raised a hand to her in anger. But if she displeased him, he ignored or berated her. That happens enough, you begin to toe the line.”
Ben’s brows pulled together as he studied his lunch. “I think she slipped into the same pattern with Allen. After you left, she did whatever he asked, but it was almost robotic.”
“She’d given up any fight left in her.”
“I guess you’re right,” he agreed. “I hate that he leads that way. There’s so much more power when you gain your devotion through respect.”
I took a sip of soda. “That’s how your parents work.” While Ben’s folks had different beliefs than most, they never forced them on others. They worked
hard and led by example, instead of force.
“I can only hope to be half the man my father is one day.”
“I’m sure you will be.”