Chapter 7: Three Times
Donald came back the following Saturday.
Marissa had asked him to.
Not warmly — she had texted Graham, who had passed the message along — but she had asked.
That was enough.
I made coffee.
I put out cups and a plate of biscuits I didn't expect anyone to eat.
Then I sat at the kitchen table with my hands around my mug and waited.
Graham answered the door.
Donald came in carrying nothing.
No envelope this time.
No prepared speech visible on his face.
Just a man in a clean shirt, standing in a kitchen that had once been the center of a life he had walked away from.
"Thank you for coming back," Marissa said.
She was seated across from where I had set a chair for him.
Graham sat beside her.
I stayed at the end of the table, close enough to be present, far enough not to crowd the space.
Donald sat down.
"You said three times," Marissa said.
"I want to hear about each one."
Donald wrapped both hands around the coffee mug in front of him.
"The first time was when you were four," he said.
"I drove as far as the end of your street.
I sat there for about twenty minutes.
I could see the lights in the apartment window.
I didn't know which window was yours." He paused.
"My mother called me while I was sitting there.
I don't know how she knew.
She just said, *Don't.* And I didn't."
"She was watching you," I said.
"I think so.
Or she had someone watching.
I never found out which."
Marissa's expression didn't change.
"The second time."
"You were nine.
I'd seen a photo of you — a school photo, I don't know how it came to me, someone must have sent it.
You were wearing a red sweater." He stopped.
"You were smiling.
I drove to the city.
Got within two blocks of the school.
And then I thought about what I would say.
What I would tell you if you asked me why I left.
I didn't have an answer that was good enough.
So I turned around."
"You didn't come because you couldn't explain yourself," Marissa said.
"Yes."
"That's not protecting me," she said.
"That's protecting yourself."
"Yes," he said again.
"I know that now."
A short silence.
"The third time.
You said I would have been sixteen."
Donald looked down at his coffee.
"I'd heard you were having a hard year.
I don't know who told me.
Someone who still knew your mother, I think.
I drove all the way here.
Parked outside this house." He glanced up briefly.
"This exact house.
I sat outside for over an hour.
I watched your mother's car in the driveway.
I watched the lights go on and off upstairs." He stopped.
"And then I saw you come to the window."
The kitchen was very quiet.
"You didn't see me," he said.
"You were just standing there for a moment, looking out.
And you looked — tired.
Not sad exactly.
Just tired in a way that a sixteen-year-old shouldn't look."
Marissa's jaw tightened slightly.
"And I thought — if I knock on that door right now, what does she get?
She gets a stranger who left her, showing up to make himself feel better.
She gets to manage my guilt on top of everything else she's already carrying." He shook his head.
"So I left."
"You made that decision for me," Marissa said.
"I did."
"You decided what I could handle."
"Yes."
"That's what your mother did to you," she said.
"She decided what you could handle.
And you did the same thing to me."
The words landed in the room like something placed carefully on a table.
Donald didn't look away.
"Yes," he said quietly.
"I did."
Graham's hand moved to Marissa's arm.
She didn't pull away, but she didn't lean in either.
She was very focused.
"I'm not telling you this to hurt you," she said.
"I'm telling you because I need you to understand what you actually did.
Not the version where you were protecting me.
The real version."
"I understand," Donald said.
"Do you?"
"I think I'm starting to," he said.
"Being here.
Hearing you say it.
That's different from knowing it alone."
Marissa picked up her coffee cup.
Set it down without drinking.
"I don't know what I want this to be," she said.
"I don't know if I want a relationship with you.
I don't know if I'm capable of that.
I'm being honest."
"That's all I want," he said.
"Honesty.
Whatever direction it goes."
"I'm getting married in four months," she said.
"I know."
"I haven't decided whether I want you there."
"I understand."
"But I want to keep talking," she said.
"I want to ask you more questions.
Not today.
But more questions."
Donald nodded.
"I'll answer every one," he said.
Marissa stood up.
The meeting, apparently, was over.
Donald stood too.
He looked at her — really looked, the way the photograph had shown him looking, thirty-two years ago in a hospital room.
"You look like your grandmother," he said.
"My mother.
Around the jaw."
Marissa blinked.
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she said.
"No," he said.
"It's just true.
She was a hard woman.
But she was also — in her own way — someone who fought for what she believed in.
You have that.
I can see it."
Marissa considered this for a moment.
"Get out of my mother's house," she said.
But there was something at the edge of her voice that was not quite as hard as the words.
Donald left.
Graham walked him to the door.
I stayed at the table with Marissa.
She sat back down.
Picked up her coffee.
Drank it this time.
"Mom," she said.
"Yes?"
"Did you ever think about finding him yourself?
Over the years?"
I thought about it honestly.
"Yes," I said.
"Twice.
Once when you were seven and you asked me why some kids had daddies and you didn't.
And once when you were sixteen, the year he apparently sat outside our house."
Marissa looked at me.
"What stopped you?"
"The first time, I was afraid of what you'd feel if he rejected you again," I said.
"The second time — " I paused.
"The second time, I was afraid of what I'd feel if he didn't."
Marissa was quiet.
May you like
Then she reached across the table and put her hand over mine.
We sat like that for a while, not saying anything, while Graham's quiet footsteps moved through the house behind us.
