ONE RIDE
Claire appeared three Thursdays later.
Marisol recognized her before she knew why.
She was standing at Warren Avenue at 8:39 p.m.
Fifty-nine now, not fifty-five as Arthur had calculated from an old memory.
Short dark hair threaded with gray.
Glasses.
Navy coat.
Weight resting slightly more on her left leg.
Marisol pulled to the curb.
Claire climbed aboard.
"Ms. Vega?"
Marisol nodded.
Claire glanced toward the seats.
"He isn't here yet?"
"He boards here."
As if summoned by the sentence, Arthur appeared from the pharmacy side of the street.
He slowed when he saw Claire.
Then stopped.
For several seconds none of them moved.
Traffic passed behind him.
A horn sounded somewhere down Warren.
Arthur took one step toward the bus.
Claire turned away and sat near the front.
Not beside his usual seat.
Not beside Marisol.
Arthur boarded.
His hand shook so badly that it took him twice to tap the transit card.
He looked at Claire.
She did not look back.
"Hello," he said.
Claire stared through the opposite window.
"Sit down."
Arthur obeyed.
He chose the seat across the aisle, one row behind her.
Marisol closed the doors.
For the first ten minutes, nobody spoke.
The bus collected ordinary passengers.
A nurse in blue scrubs.
Two college students arguing about rent.
A man carrying grocery bags.
Nobody knew that an entire forty-three-year absence sat between rows two and three.
Marisol preferred it that way.
At St. Vincent's, the nurse left.
At Belmont Avenue, the students got off.
By the industrial park, only Claire and Arthur remained.
Claire finally spoke.
"You look like Grandpa."
Arthur turned.
"Your mother's father?"
"Yes."
"I didn't know that."
"Of course you didn't."
Arthur nodded.
Claire looked toward Marisol.
"Does he always do that?"
"Do what?"
"Agree with everything."
Marisol kept her eyes on the road.
"Not when we discuss baseball."
Arthur almost smiled.
Claire didn't.
A minute passed.
"You wrote that you weren't asking for forgiveness," Claire said.
"I'm not."
"Do you want it?"
Arthur took his time.
"Yes."
Claire turned toward him.
That answer seemed to surprise her.
Arthur continued.
"But wanting something doesn't make it yours."
Claire studied him.
"That's a new philosophy."
"Most of mine arrived late."
Claire looked away.
"You remember the porch?"
"Yes."
"The day you came back."
Arthur's hands closed around each other.
"Yes."
"I thought you were home."
His face tightened.
"I know."
"No."
Claire's voice sharpened.
"You know that I ran toward you. You don't know what happened after."
Arthur said nothing.
"I had a bag packed for two months."
Marisol's grip tightened on the steering wheel.
Claire stared straight ahead.
"Every time a car stopped outside, I went to the window."
Arthur's eyes lowered.
"Mom eventually hid the bag because she couldn't stand looking at it."
"I'm sorry."
Claire turned toward him.
"There."
Arthur stopped.
"That's what I mean."
"What?"
"You get to say that, and then I have to decide what to do with it."
Arthur leaned back.
"You're right."
Claire laughed bitterly.
"Stop agreeing with me."
"What would you prefer?"
"I don't know. Fight. Explain. Tell me Mom poisoned me against you. Tell me you were sick. Tell me you were secretly sending money."
"I wasn't."
"I know."
"I sent some money the first year."
Claire's expression changed.
"Did you?"
"Not much."
"Mom never mentioned it."
"I stopped."
"Why?"
Arthur looked at the floor.
"Because I started drinking again and spent it."
Claire stared at him.
There was the old injury in its least flattering form.
Not a grand secret.
Not a misunderstanding.
A man with money in his pocket choosing himself.
"Thank you," Claire said.
Arthur looked up.
"For what?"
"For not turning out to have some beautiful reason."
Arthur absorbed that.
"I don't."
"I know."
Claire looked through the window.
They rode another mile.
Then she said, "Mom died angry with you."
Arthur's eyes closed briefly.
"I assumed."
"She also defended you sometimes."
That surprised him.
Claire noticed.
"Don't enjoy it too much."
"I won't."
"She'd say you weren't evil. Just weak."
Arthur looked down.
"She was generous."
"No. She was furious."
Claire rubbed her hands together.
"She said weakness could ruin a house just as effectively as cruelty."
Arthur nodded once.
Marisol heard the bus engine labor as they climbed the grade toward Calder.
No one spoke again until the final stop.
At 9:27, Marisol pulled into the loop.
She opened the door.
Claire stood first.
Arthur followed.
They crossed Calder Street together.
Not beside each other.
Claire walked several steps ahead.
Arthur did not try to close the distance.
Marisol had twelve minutes before the return run.
She stayed aboard.
Across the street, Claire stopped at the fence.
She pointed.
Arthur nodded.
Then she pointed somewhere else.
They spoke.
Once Claire raised both hands sharply.
Arthur stepped back.
Marisol deliberately looked away.
Whatever was happening belonged to them.
At 9:39, she started the bus.
Claire returned alone.
She climbed aboard and sat near the front.
"Where's Arthur?"
"Walking."
"In this weather?"
"He said he'd take the next bus."
"There isn't another outbound return for fifty minutes."
Claire stared at her.
"He knows."
Marisol closed the door.
They pulled away.
After two blocks Claire said, "I hated that lot."
Marisol glanced at the mirror.
"I thought coming back would make me feel something."
"Did it?"
"Yes."
"What?"
Claire gave a tired smile.
"Mostly cold."
Then she looked through the rear window toward the place where Arthur had remained.
"I told him I don't know if I want a father."
Marisol waited.
"I already learned how to live without one."
"Reasonable."
Claire nodded.
"I told him if I see him again, it doesn't mean I've forgiven him."
"Also reasonable."
"I told him he doesn't get to meet my kids."
Marisol said nothing.
Claire leaned her forehead against the glass.
"He said okay."
They rode west.
At Warren Avenue, Claire stood.
Before leaving, she looked toward Marisol.
"Do you think people really change?"
Marisol considered Arthur's months of riding to an empty lot.
His letter.
Claire's no.
The trash bags.
The way he had stayed several steps behind her at the fence.
"I think people can change what they do," she said.
Claire waited.
"Sometimes that's all anyone gets to measure."
Claire nodded.
Then she stepped off the bus.