She kept her eyes down most of the time, and there was a deafening silence between us.She kept her eyes down most of the time, and there was a deafening silence between us. I finally found the courage to say, "Can I ask you something ... it's pretty personal, I guess." She smiled with her eyes, and I about choked. "Sure," she murmured. "Are you and Dad... okay? I mean..." Monica sat with fork poised over her plate, and something like pain clouded her doubtful, searching eyes. She sighed finally and dropped her fork on her plate, then sat back in her chair with her hands in her lap. She kept looking at my face, into my eyes. "I'm sorry," I mumbled, then hid behind a double mouthful of cheeseburger. "No, don't be," Monica said quietly. "You have a right to ask..." Clearly, talking was going to be a struggle for her. A lone tear breached the levee and tracked her downy smooth cheek. "I really don't know what it is, Danny," she said at last, and then her face lost the battle and went into the pinched, pre- weeping mode. "But something's dreadfully wrong..." She snorted and sobbed, then dropped her face into her hands. "... and I have no idea what to do about it!" Oh, shit. I have consumed my share of foot in my time, but that had to be the most uncomfortable I'd ever been, up to that point. "God, Monica," I managed in a damnably trembling voice, " I'm sorry. I mean..." She raised her face and smiled at me through the tears, then shook her head. "It's okay, Danny," she said. "It's nice to be able to talk to somebody about it, you know?" She snorted and wiped at her cheeks. "I mean, I can't talk to just anybody about stuff like that." I think I may have been trying to hide from her, but it took the form of moving behind Monica's chair and massaging her shoulders and neck, lightly and tentatively at first, then with more strength as I became certain it was welcome. |