“Ask.”
“Are you happy?”
The question took me by surprise. No one had asked me that in years.
“Yes,” I said after thinking about it. “For the first time in a long time, I am happy.”
He left that night without promising to return, without asking for anything more. He just left, and for the first time in months, the goodbye didn’t feel like a war.
David came back 3 weeks later. This time he called before coming as I had asked him to.
“Margaret, can I visit you on Sunday? I wanted to help you with something if you need it.”
“Help me with what?”
“With whatever. I know you have the food business. Maybe you need someone to carry heavy things or fix something.”
The offer surprised me. For years, David had avoided any physical work on the farm. He always had an excuse. His back hurt. He had important things to do. That kind of work was for employees.
“Come on Sunday at 8 in the morning. There are a few things I need fixed.”
He arrived on time, dressed in work clothes and old boots. He looked different, thinner, but also stronger, as if the physical labor had hardened him in a good way.
“What do you need me to do?”
“The goat pen needs repairing. Some of the boards are loose.”
He worked for 4 hours without complaining. I watched him from the kitchen window while I prepared dough for pastries. He moved differently with more care, with more respect for the tools and materials. He was not the same man who once considered this type of work beneath him.
At noon, I brought him a glass of cold water and a plate of food.
“Thank you,” he said, and sat down to eat on the ground, leaning against a tree.
“Why are you doing this, David?”
“Fixing the pen.”
“Number all of this, coming, working, acting like you’re a different person.”
He chewed slowly before answering.
“Because when I lost you, I realized I had lost the only person who really knew me. The only one who loved me unconditionally.”
“I loved you unconditionally until you put conditions on it.”
“I know. And I also realized something else.”
“What?”
“That I never really knew you. I thought you were just my mom, the woman who took care of me. But you’re so much more than that.”
He looked around, seeing the thriving business, the improvements to the house, the new energy, and everything.
“You’re a businesswoman. You’re a leader. You’re a woman who can build an incredible life from scratch. And I was so blind, I didn’t see it.”
His words reached me, but I didn’t let myself get carried away by emotion.
“And what do you want to do with that information?”
“I want to get to know you for real, as the person you are, not as the idea I had of you.”
“That’s going to take time.”
“I have time.”
He finished his work and left without asking for anything more, without asking when he could come back, without suggesting we eat together, without trying to force an intimacy that no longer existed.
Over the next few months, David came every 2 weeks. He always called before. He always came to work. He fixed the roof of the chicken coupe, painted the fence, helped build a new storage area for the business. Helen watched him with the prudence of an older woman who has seen many broken promises.
