Robert brought the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled. When he exhaled, Paul could hear a slight wheeze, like air escaping from an old accordion.
“Did you know she had the tumor when we first met?”
“No,” Paul said. “I didn’t.”
Robert took another long drag on his cigarette. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, shaded with memory.
“It wasn’t as big then, of course. It was more like a half a walnut, and the color wasn’t so bad, either. But you could still see it plain as day, like something was wedged under her skin. And it always bothered her, even when she was little. I’m a few years older than she was, and I remember that she always used to look at her shoes when she walked to school, and it didn’t take much to know why.”
Robert paused, collecting his thoughts, and Paul knew enough to stay silent.
“Like a lot of folks back then, she didn’t finish her schooling because she had to work to help the family, and that’s when I first got to know her. She worked at the pier where we’d unload our catch, and she ran the scales. I probably tried to talk to her for a year before she said a single word to me, but I liked her anyway. She was honest and she worked hard, and even though she used her hair to keep her face hidden, every now and then I got the chance to see what was underneath, and I’d find myself looking into the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen. They were dark brown, and soft, you know? Like she’d never hurt a soul in her life because it just wasn’t in her. And I kept trying to talk to her and she just kept ignoring me until I guess she finally figured that I wasn’t going to let up. She let me take her out, but she barely looked at me all night long. Just kept staring at those shoes.”
Robert brought his hands together.
“But I asked her out again anyway. It was better the second time, and I realized that she was funny when she wanted to be. The more I got to know her, the more I liked her, and then after a while, I started to think that maybe I was in love with her. I didn’t care about that thing on her face. Didn’t care about it back then, and I didn’t care about it last year, either. But she did. She always did.”
He paused.
“We had seven kids over the next twenty years, and it seemed like every time she was nursing one of ’em, that thing grew more. I don’t know if it was true or not, but she used to tell me the same thing. But all my kids, even John—the one you met—thought she was the best mom around. And she was. She was tough when she needed to be and the sweetest lady you ever met the rest of the time. And I loved her for that, and we were happy. Life here ain’t easy most of the time, but she made it easy for me. And I was proud of her, and I was proud to be seen with her, and I made sure that everyone around here knew that. I thought that would be enough, but I guess it wasn’t.”
Paul remained motionless as Robert went on.
“She saw this show on television one night about a lady with one of those tumor things, and it had those before and after pictures. I think she just got it in her head that she could get rid of it once and for all. And that was when she started talking about getting an operation. It was expensive and we didn’t have insurance, but she kept asking if there was some way we could do it.”
Robert met Paul’s eyes.
“There was nothing I could say to her to change her mind. I’d tell her I didn’t care about it, but she wouldn’t listen. Sometimes, I’d find her in the bathroom touching her face, or I’d hear her crying, and I knew she wanted it more than anything. She’d lived with this thing her whole life, and she was tired of it. Tired of the way strangers used to avoid looking at her, or how kids would stare too long. So I finally gave in. I took all our savings, went to the bank and got a loan against my boat, and we went to see you. She was so excited that morning. I don’t think I’d ever seen her so happy about anything in her life, and just seeing her that way let me know I was doing the right thing. I told her that I’d be waiting for her and would come to see her just as soon as she woke up, and do you know what she said to me? What her last words to me were?”
Robert looked at Paul, making sure he had his attention.
“She said, ‘All my life, I’ve wanted to be pretty for you.’ And all I could think when she said it was that she always had been.”
Paul bowed his head, and though he tried to swallow, there was a catch in his throat.
“But you didn’t know any of those things about her. To you, she was just the lady who came in for an operation, or the lady who died, or the lady with the thing on her face, or the lady whose family was suing you. It wasn’t right for you not to know her story. She deserved more than that. She earned more than that by living the life she did.”
Robert Torrelson tapped the last of his ashes into the ashtray, then put out the cigarette.
“You were the last person she ever talked to, the last person she saw in her life. She was the best lady in the world, and you didn’t even know who you were seeing.” He paused, letting that sink in. “But now you do.”
With that, he stood from the couch, and a moment later he was gone.
After hearing what Robert Torrelson had said, Adrienne touched Paul’s face, dabbing away his tears.
“You okay?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m kind of numb right now.”
“That’s not surprising. It was a lot to absorb.”
“Yes,” Paul said, “it was.”
“Are you glad you came? And that he told you those things?”