“That’s why you loved school so much.”
“I suppose so. It was my refuge.”
He wanted to know what kind of problems made her
want to hide out at school, but knew it wasn’t any of
his business.
“Not that it was that terrible,” she said hastily. “It was
just that my parents were fighting. They got a divorce
my first year of college.”
“Did you wish they’d done it years earlier?”
She dumped more onions in with the browning meat
and shook her head. “No. Although that would be
logical, wouldn’t it? But who’s logical about things
like that? I knew my father had been having affairs.
Even when I hid in my room, I could hear their voices.
And then I saw him one day. Midafternoon, coming out
of a motel room with this woman who worked with
him. He kissed her, then they got in their separate cars
and drove away. It was like seeing a stranger. You
know?” She wasn’t chopping anymore, and John turned
to see her gazing into space as if she didn’t remember
where she was. The knife in her hand was suspended
above the onion. It didn’t seem unnatural that tears
streamed down her cheeks. She continued after a
moment, “I didn’t know whether I should tell my
mother. I was afraid she’d see it on my face, so I bicycled over to a friend’s house and begged to spend the night. In the end, I never did tell Mom. I don’t think she
realized how much I’d heard and knew.” Fiona shook
her head. “And why am I telling you all this? All you
asked was if I wanted them to get a divorce. And here’s
the thing. When they finally did separate, I was devastated. It was like the bottom had dropped out of my world. Home wasn’t home anymore. It was supposed
to stay the same forever. Which I suppose answers your
question. I was self-absorbed. My parents existed to be
my bedrock, not as people with their own needs and
problems.”
“That’s normal.” Leaning against the lip of the
counter, he watched her finish chopping the last onion.
“Have either of them remarried?”
She gave a laugh that revealed more unhappiness than
he suspected she knew. “Oh, my father has. Twice. He
wasn’t faithful with number two, either. And probably
isn’t with number three, which is a shame. Shelly is a nice
woman.” She seemed to shake herself. “Mom hasn’t. I
think she might have a hard time trusting a man.”
“What about you?” he heard himself ask. “Do you,
too?”
She scraped the onions into the hamburger mix with
the knife, then set the cutting board back on the counter.
As if she hadn’t heard him, she said, “I need to go wash
my face before I start the garlic.”
John nodded toward the door to his quarters. “You
can use my bathroom if you want.”
“So I don’t have to explain why I’ve been sobbing
to assorted teenagers? Thanks.” She disappeared into
his small apartment, consisting of a sitting room,
bedroom and bathroom.
He didn’t have to worry about having left the
bathroom tidy; between the military and his stint as
innkeeper, keeping his space clean and clear of clutter
had become automatic. Wondering how much she could
tell about him from his living quarters did make him a
little uneasy.
She came back with her face scrubbed, and her eyes
still red and puffy. “I’ve never chopped so much onion
before. I guess I somehow escaped that particular job
when we had big family Thanksgiving get-togethers.”
“I appreciate you doing it.”
She worked in silence, adding the garlic a minute
later. John was pouring cans of tomato sauce he’d
already opened when Fiona said, “What you asked
about me trusting— The answer is I don’t know. I guess
it hasn’t come up.”
“I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Why not? I was telling you my life story.”
He shrugged. “All right. Doesn’t trust always come
up?”
“I haven’t actually had any relationships that were
very serious.” She scraped diced green pepper into the
sauce. “My mother worries. She’s convinced the divorce scarred me, that I’m shying away from marriage. But I really don’t think so. I keep telling her I haven’t met the right man. Which is just as well. I