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Show Woodworth/131 He always left before I was even up in the morning. But he always wanted to talk on Sundays. I'd go over there with my brother, and he'd want to know how things were going for us. In school. That kind of thing. But he'd only half listen to our answers. Then he'd start asking us if we understood why he and my mother got divorced. Hell, I didn't even understand what my mother was talking about when she told me." "You didn't know what divorce meant?" She leans closer to him, hands grasped loosely on her glass. He nods to the bartender, and two more beers are placed in front of them. "Literally. I had no idea what she was talking about. I got home from school one day, and she sat me down at the kitchen table and said, 'your father and I are getting a divorce." I said 'what's that?" I thought it was something they were going to buy for the house. Then she told me that it meant they were splitting up, and that Dad wouldn't be living with us anymore. And, sure enough, he wasn't. He came home after work that day and picked up some of his stuff. Then he never set foot in the house again." Gary is looking down, into his beer. He drinks nearly half of it in one swallow, ami then turns, looks at her- "Isn't this sad?" he asks, sarcastic. "The depressing tale of how I was mistreated by Mom and Dad. The root and reason for all my faults." "I think it's kind of interesting," Marty says. She touches his wrist, conscious of being shorter than him, and looks up into his eyes. "It seems like you really need to talk about it." "Need to talk about it," he laughs, looking at where her hand is resting on his arm. "Yeah. I guess I do." "So you would go see him on Sundays?" she cues. "Yep. He'd come to the house - pull into the driveway and honk, like he was H-riYinfr a carpool or something, and we'd go down |