Chapter 11 - Ben’s version of peace
Ben visited Ellie every day at Robert’s house.
He was good with her.
That made everything harder.
Diapers.
Books.
Dressings under my supervision at first.
Singing the same ridiculous song during bath time.
Ellie loved him.
Of course.
Ben’s failure as a husband did not erase fatherhood.
One evening after Ellie slept, we sat on Robert’s porch.
I asked:
“Why didn’t you tell me about the hot message?”
“Because you would have stopped going to Mom’s.”
“Yes.”
“You would have said no unsupervised visits.”
“Yes.”
“You would have made it a whole thing.”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“You hear yourself?”
I almost laughed.
“You’re saying I would have responded appropriately to a warning.”
“I’m saying I thought I could handle Mom.”
“You didn’t.”
“I know.”
“No. Explain.”
He hated that.
“Explain what?”
“What did you think handling her meant?”
“Talking to her.”
“Without telling me.”
“Yes.”
“So she keeps access.”
He looked away.
“Yes.”
“Because?”
“She’s my mother.”
There.
I waited.
He continued:
“If I told you every stupid thing she said, you’d hate her.”
“I don’t need your help anymore.”
He flinched.
Cruel.
True.
I softened slightly.
“This isn’t about whether I like her.”
“I know.”
“Then what?”
Ben stared into the yard.
“I’ve spent my entire life stopping Mom and Jenna from fighting. Mom and Dad. Mom and my aunt. Everyone.”
His father, David, had died suddenly from a stroke.
Ben had become Linda’s emotional translator afterward.
“When she says something crazy, I talk her down. That’s what I do.”
“And when she says something about our daughter?”
“I thought I could still do it.”
“You protected access to your mother instead of giving me information.”
“Yes.”
That was the first time he said it.
No excuse after.
Just yes.
May you like
Not enough to repair us.
Enough to begin accuracy.
