7
Angela
What do you want from me, Jackie? I want to ask. Absolution? But she doesn’t strike me as a woman who is after absolution. She strikes me as someone who has made peace with the mistakes of the past a good number of years ago. There’s an air of calmness about her that I admire. A dignity she didn’t possess all those years ago.
“Did you leave Michael or did he leave you?” I ask. Instead of dessert, we’ve both chosen something stronger with our coffee. Jackie holds a glass of brandy in her hand, while I’m nursing a tumbler of whiskey.
“I left him, although, by the time I made the decision, there wasn’t much actual leaving to do.”
“What does that mean?” Sometimes, when I scan the delicate features of her face, the almond shape of her eyes and the way the left side of her mouth is
