Magic Hour

“And the girls?” Ellie could hardly ask the question.

“They’re with me. Lisa works too much. Every now and again she gets lonely and remembers that she’s a mom and she calls or comes by. She’s in love now. We haven’t heard from her in weeks. Except for the divorce papers. She wants me to sell the house and split the proceeds.”

“I can’t believe you’ve never told me this. We work together every day. Every day.”

He looked at her oddly. “When was the last time you asked about my life, El?”

She felt stung by that remark. “I always ask how you’re doing.”

“And you give me five seconds to answer before you launch into something more interesting. Usually about your own life.” He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not judging you, Ellie. Simply telling the truth.”

The look in Cal’s eyes was one of pity, and perhaps disappointment.

He stood up slowly. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said all this. You just got me on a bad day. I’m feeling low. I guess I just wanted a friend to tell me it would be okay.” He headed for the door, grabbed his coat off the rack. “See you tomorrow.”

She was still there, standing in the middle of the office, staring at the closed door when it hit her.

Lisa left me.

I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.

She’d made it about her. Cal had shared with her his pain—and it was a lion’s-sized pain she knew all too well—and she’d said nothing to comfort him, nothing to help.

I just wanted a friend to tell me it would be okay.

Which she hadn’t done.

For years people had made little remarks about her being selfish. Ellie had always brushed them off with a pretty smile. It wasn’t true; whoever said it was either jealous of her or wasn’t a friend.

You’re like me, Ellie, her dad had said to her once, a center stage actor. If you marry again, you’d best find someone who doesn’t mind letting you have the spotlight all the time.

When he’d said it, Ellie had taken it as a compliment. She loved that her dad thought of her as a star.

Now, she saw the other meaning of his words, and once she opened that door, once she asked herself, Is it true? she was barraged with memories, moments, questions.

Two lost marriages. Both had gone south—she’d thought—because her husbands didn’t love her enough.

Was that because she wanted—needed—too much love? Did she return the amount she took? She’d loved her husbands, adored them. But not enough to follow Alvin to Alaska . . . or to put Sammy through truck driver’s school with the money she earned on the police force.

No wonder her marriages had failed. It had always been her way or the highway, and one by one the men she’d married and the others she’d loved had chosen the highway.

All these years, she’d called them the losers.

Maybe it had been her all along.

When Mel came in to work the night shift, Ellie nodded at him, made a point of asking about his family, then raced out to her car.

She pulled up to Cal’s house less than thirty minutes after he’d left the station and parked beneath a huge, bare maple tree. A pretty little birdhouse hung from the lowest branch, swinging gently in the autumn breeze. One of the last dying leaves clung to its rough hewn cedar roof.

Ellie went to the front door and knocked.

Cal opened the door. His face, usually so youthful and smiling, looked older, ruined. She wondered how long he’d looked like that, how often she hadn’t noticed.

“I’m a bitch,” she said miserably. “Can you forgive me?”

A tiny smile tugged at one side of his mouth. “A drama queen apology if ever there was one.”

“I’m not a drama queen.”