Grandpa Ed was clearly not one for technology. He has a big old PC in the spare room of the house with the resolution cranked way up, which is a sad reminder that one of the many things I lost in this trade is the quality of my eyesight. John, if you're reading this, I just want you to know this has been no picnic for me either.
I would have loved to stay at the Inn a little longer and help people through their own transformations, but with John's reaction -- understandable but stressing -- and the specifics of the roles we had been slotted into, I felt it best if we hurry home posthaste. Cayden was supposed to be in school all this time and his mother -- Ed's daughter -- was not overly pleased at the delay.
Apparently their cover story was that Ed's very expensive fishing equipment had been stolen and he needed to stay nearby in case it was recovered. With Pamela -- Cayden's mom -- working long shifts as a nurse and raising the kids herself, she didn't exactly have time to come down from Portland to fetch him. I did indeed face her wrath when I got back though, and what could I say in my own defense?
Tensions thawed, somewhat reluctantly, between me and John/Cayden. I don't know that I was expecting him to embrace this thing with open arms, but he seemed to hate me a little less as days went on. His fury and ire settled into a quiet simmer, a cold shoulder, the silent treatment. On the drive home, I elected to fill the silence.
"You know, before this happened to me," I started to say, wondering whether I was being too blithe about it, "The first time... I was married. I lost my wife in the long run. We were already drifting apart though."
"I wonder why," he sniffed, staring out the window in the backseat.
"I deserve that," I shrugged. "It helped me though, to move on, to accept that I was not thriving in my situation. I was depressed and I needed a change, I just didn't know it."
"You think I was depressed?"
"I know you were depressed. Don't act like you didn't say as much."
Pause. "So you lost your wife. Maybe she knew what she was doing, just like you."
I took a long pause at that and kept my eyes on the road. It was not a thought that had ever occurred to me. Maybe John was just trying to get under my skin. The situations were certainly similar enough.
Had Laura known? She had never let on that she had. For God's sake, I even stayed a lawyer. You're telling me that's a coincidence?
"Maybe she did," I finally said, not letting him get any sense if I was bothered by the thought. It's all in the past now, and I even passed up my chance to go back to being Marc Green.
"When you asked me if I would give up my life..." he said, "I didn't think about not being there for my daughter's wedding. That's what I'm thinking about right now."
That certainly isn't something he thought of when I presented him with the hypothetical a few weeks ago. Nor in any of our other life-and-death conversations. It's funny what comes to you when you're really staring down an uncertain future.
"Is your daughter getting married?"
"Not yet, but someday I'm sure."
"Well then you'll be there," I said. "I'll make sure of it."
"Don't feed me lies, Ryan," he said. I could hear a tear in his voice. "You can't promise that."
Heavy sigh. My heart sank. I pivoted. "You know my name isn't really Ryan, right?"
"You're Ryan to me."
"You want to hear about who else I've been?"
"Not right now," he said in a vanishing little voice. "I'm tired."
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