Ebby and Henry
Ebby and Henry
E bby hates to think how much she liked hearing those words.
I never stopped loving you.
Hearing Henry say this, a minute ago, made her feel that, maybe, she hadn’t wasted her time with him. Not altogether. But Henry, his face open and questioning now, mustn’t know this. No good would come of it. She lets the air out of her chest slowly, feeling it whisper through her nose, incredulous that she needs to spell things out for him. Does Henry really believe that he is less accountable than another person would be in his position? Why is it that some people in this world feel so little responsibility toward others? How is it that the man she loved turned out to be one of those?
“Is there any chance, Ebby?” Henry says.
“Is there any chance?” Ebby says. “You mean any chance to go back to a time when you did not have the decency to come see me—to call me, even—to say that you were leaving me alone, and pregnant, on what was supposed to be our wedding day?” Ebby says. “Now, why would I want to go back to that, Henry?”
Henry looks at her in silence, as if unable to understand her words. As if they are speaking two different languages. Ebby wonders, has she misinterpreted something? Was Henry asking to get back together, or only asking her to forgive him?
“Pregnant?” Henry says finally.
Oh. Did Ebby say that? She didn’t mean to say that. Ebby has never meant to say it to anyone.
Had Avery still been outside, watching them through the window, instead of packing up her toothbrush and toiletries and shoving the last of her belongings into her luggage, she would have seen Henry take a step toward Ebby. She would have seen him stop, then back up, then drop into a chair. Avery would have seen Ebby walk over to the sofa. She would have seen Ebby talking, tears streaming down her face, legs folded under her, while Henry put his elbows on the kitchen table and buried his face in his hands.
She might have seen everything that happened afterward.