Chapter 6: The Unwritten Line

I chose the smallest chair in the sitting room, because apologizing from the biggest one felt wrong.

The cushion sank until my knees were level with my chin.

Ruth watched me try to sit with dignity.

"You can use the sofa," she said. "I don't need a physical demonstration."

I moved to the sofa and set my bag on the floor.

"I watched you hand a man his own apology this week," Ruth said. "I wanted to see what you'd do with yours."

"I've been meaning to say this," I began.

Ruth's face changed.

I heard my own opening and stopped.

"That sounded like I want credit for intending to apologize," I said.

"It did," Ruth said.

Two years earlier, I had made a rehearsal room laugh at her expense.

She had been struggling with a scene everybody kept rewriting.

I said she should have her lines tattooed inside her eyelids.

The room laughed, and I let it.

"I take full responsibility," I told her, "and I'd also like to provide some context."

"Context," Ruth repeated.

I had a paragraph ready about pressure and nerves and a long week.

"Never mind the context," I said.

Ruth pulled a small cushion from behind her back.

It said BE YOUR BEST SELF in gold thread.

She set it facedown between us.

"I don't think we need encouragement from that," she said.

I reached into my coat pocket for something to hold.

It was Wesley's card, covered in my crossed-out answers.

The only one still legible said: I wish Gavin everything he deserves.

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