14. Being a Liberal Would Have Been The Worst
DARREN
Taking a walk along the trail through the woods behind the house seemed like a good idea, but it doesn’t stop me from thinking how my parents had closed everything up for the winter before they left – before that fateful helicopter flight. It’s not just the boat or the cut firewood, but even the pipes outside the house have been covered to prevent freezing. Those are tasks I used to help my father with when I was younger, and although it’s been years since I’ve been here, and countless times I didn’t help him, this time feels worse.
I don’t regret coming here, but I didn’t know how it would make me feel until I did.
“You’re quiet,” Evangeline says while rubbing her hands together to warm them.
“I was just thinking about how I used to help my dad,” I admit, shoving my hands in my pockets.
The thick trees block out most of the sun, making it feel colder than it actually ,is but I wanted to show Evangeline the trail in case she wanted to go for a run during our visit. I plan on celebrating Thanksgiving here and to pack a few things of my parents before heading back to Georgetown.
“Is that something you did often?” she asks.
“Around this time every year, but I stopped coming when I started law school.” I kick at the dirt with the toe of my shoe making an indent through the pine needles. “It was my way of punishing him for making me go in the first place.”
“But you liked law school.”
I shrug. “Yeah, but I was a shit and would never admit that to him.”
She loops her arm through mine as we continue down the path. “He might have already known.”
“You’re probably right. I used to like helping him, so I was only punishing myself really. I think it was the monotony of the task and the quietness in which we did it that made me feel close to him.”
The trail meanders along the lake, and the trees finally open up letting in the sun and raising the temperature, although I kind of like Evangeline huddled up close to me.
“When we were busy pulling in the boat or covering the windows, it seemed as though he wasn’t worried about what I was going to do with my life, and in turn I didn’t have to pretend to care.”
“Surely there were other things you could talk about, things you had in common,” she prods.
“There was more than just my future we disagreed on.” I count on my fingers. “Healthcare reform, student debt, taxes. The worst was my stance on gun control, even though my father was an NRA card carrying Republican,” I laugh.
“The shame you must have brought on your family for being a liberal,” she jokes.
I can’t help but laugh. “I’ve done some pretty questionable things, but being a liberal would have been the worst.”
“What? I’m scandalized,” Evangeline teases, pressing a hand to her heart, and I knock into her playfully.
“My mother came from a long line of Republicans. Her father would have disowned her if she married a liberal,” I explain lightheartedly. “It was bad enough that my father didn’t come from a prominent family.”
“Ah, so that’s where you get your pretentiousness from,” she taunts with amusement in her tone.
“Just remember, only half of my DNA comes from my father, so I’m only half as pretentious,” I jest but we both go silent, and I think it’s the mention of my father in that way – that there is a part of him in me, perhaps the part that she was so enamored with all those years ago. Maybe there is hope for me yet.
“I take it tradition is a big deal in your family?”
“My life was mapped out for me before I was born because of tradition. I may have been at odds with my father over it, but it started generations ago on my mother’s side.”
“I thought you had a close relationship with your mother?”
“Yes, but I’m not ignorant about what old money means, and what being on the wrong side of history looks like.”
She lets out a heavy sigh. “No one ever expected anything of me, except for my grandmother,” she clears her throat. “Putting her in a care home was the hardest decision I ever had to make, and I’ve felt guilty about it every day since, even though it was the right thing to do.” She looks down at her feet as she steps over an exposed root on the trail. “I hated leaving her there, especially when she didn’t understand why she couldn’t stay in her own home anymore.”
“You love your grandmother.”
“Very much.”
“And she’s the reason you needed the money.”
She stops walking but she doesn’t look at me, she just stares at the lake, and I regret bringing it up until she turns and looks at me. She’s full of layers, and I’m just now understanding what has been underneath all this time.
“Darren…” She lifts her arms as if she wants to protest but then lowers them.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“Are you telling me you don’t already know?” she speculates, and that heavy feeling in my chest is back, pressing hard against my heart.
“I guess that’s fair,” I concede, “but it wasn’t personal.”
“It is personal – just not to you.” She shakes her head. “I was a college student who couldn’t keep my scholarship because I was too overwhelmed with personal shit at home and just trying to keep my head above water.” Her eyes swim with emotion, and I want more than anything to eviscerate whatever pain she had to go through because it tears me up inside, and I don’t care what that says about me.
“And then I met your father, and I just,” she pauses, looking at me as if she wants to make sure I can handle hearing this. “I just needed something more, something to hold onto.”
She wipes a tear from her cheek and turns away from me.
“My grandmother ran out of money, and I couldn’t afford to pay for her healthcare. I had an opportunity to make a lot of money, and I took it.”
“You make it sound like it was nothing.”
“It was not nothing, Darren, but I made peace with it a long time ago.”
The silence between us feels fragile, and not even the trees want to risk breaking it as the leaves rustle timidly among the branches. Evangeline shoves her hands back in her pockets, and continues to walk the path, as if signifying the conversation is closed. When I catch up, I touch her arm to stop her. She turns to me and the wind picks up, causing ripples in the once-stoic lake which mimic the changing shades of blue in her eyes as she stares back at me.
It’s the tightness in my chest and something deep and dark within my belly that whispers like calls to like, because Evangeline and I – dare I say it – are the same. Maybe I knew this all along. Maybe I knew it the minute she looked at me in the alley of the bar and that’s why I couldn’t let her walk away, just like I can’t let her walk away now.
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Darren,” she glowers and walks away. I catch up, holding onto her arm to stop her again.
“I didn’t say it to anger you.”
“What do you want me to say? That it’s okay because you didn’t know that you took away my only means to help my grandmother?” She doesn’t know how much her words affect me; how much it eats away at me.
“There are a lot of things I wish I’d done differently.”
“You and me both,” she sighs.
“What was it about him?” I dare to ask.
“Darren,” she warns, and I can see the turmoil in her eyes.
There’s a part of me that’s desperate to know, and a part of me that should just let it go.
“You said you went to his lecture. What was it about him that stayed with you all this time?” I probe, because I’ve never been good at letting things lay. “I was his son, and I didn’t get that part of him – you did.”
Her expression softens as if she can tell how much this means to me.
“I need this Evan,” I plead.
She furrows her brows. “What if I can’t give you what you need?
“Trust me that whatever you tell me, I’ll make peace with it.”