Tell Me Everything

“That was about the same thing that every story Lucy and I have shared is about. People suffer. They live, they have hope, they even have love, and they still suffer. Everyone does. Those who think they’ve not suffered are lying to themselves.

her voice was quiet with understanding.

Anxiety swam through him.

I’m telling you this because you have been so fortunate in your life, you probably don’t even know such broken people exist.”

Didn’t anyone ever have anything interesting to say? They talked of movies they were all watching, of series on Netflix, they spoke about their children, but always carefully and in terms meant to hide their private disappointments, and they talked about one another. Of course.

“You know,” Lucy said slowly, raising her hand and sort of drawing a small circle with her finger, “this is what I wonder. I wonder how many people out there are able to be strong—or strong enough—because of the person they’re married to.”

It was as though Jim had been sliced wide open from top to bottom, and from this flowed his tears and his love and his guilt. Flowed.

Bob was aware—as Lucy herself had said—that he did not know her as well as he thought he did. Isn’t that what she had said? We are all standing on shifting sand. It shook him.

They were at the parking lot now, and Bob turned to her. “Lucy—” And then he did not know what to say. “I hear what you’re saying,” she said, brushing back her hair from her face. “I didn’t say anything.” “I know. But I heard you,” Lucy said.