Chapter 23 - TABITHA’S SECOND APOLOGY
Juniper was twelve when she asked Tabitha:
“Are you sorry because you got caught?”
We were at a supervised family lunch that no longer felt heavily supervised.
Orson.
Willa.
Me.
Amelia.
Tabitha.
Juniper.
Tabitha answered:
“At first, partly.”
The table went quiet.
Juniper:
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“When I was arrested. I thought everyone had overreacted.”
“Even video?”
“I told myself the video looked worse than it felt to me.”
Juniper stared.
“What changed?”
“Prison?”
Tabitha shook her head.
“Not by itself.”
Then:
“I had to describe the same events in treatment without using words like concern, protection, family, or Mara.”
Interesting.
“What words?”
“I took your medicine. I waited while you wheezed. I lied about why it was missing. I wanted adults to think your father was unsafe.”
No moral fog.
Juniper nodded.
Then:
“Do you forgive yourself?”
Tabitha looked surprised.
“Some days.”
“Should I?”
“No.”
Good.
Then Juniper asked:
“Do you still want Daddy not move?”
I laughed.
Tabitha did too.
“No.”
“Good, because he’s annoying here too.”
Amelia nearly choked.
Family laughter.
No one pretended history absent.
Then Orson’s health declined.
Congestive heart failure.
Manageable initially.
He moved to assisted living.
Juniper visited.
Tabitha too, separately sometimes.
Orson asked me:
“Can we all have dinner once?”
I looked at Juniper.
She decided:
“Yes.”
At assisted-living dining room.
No alcohol.
No secrets.
Orson said:
“I don’t want my death to be the first time everyone stands in one room.”
Dark.
True.
Dinner happened.
No reconciliation speeches.
Tabitha and I spoke only logistics.
“Pass salt.”
“Thanks.”
That was enough.
Orson asked Juniper:
“What do you want to be?”
“Veterinarian.”
Two years ago environmental? Different story. Fine. She's 12, can change.
“Why?”
“Animals don’t file custody petitions.”
Everyone froze.
Then she laughed.
Dark humor.
Tabitha did too after a second.
Good.
Then Orson said:
“I’m sorry I signed that paper.”
Juniper:
“I know.”
“I should have stopped Tabitha.”
“I know.”
“Do you forgive me?”
I tensed.
Old mistake.
Juniper thought.
“Mostly.”
Orson smiled.
“Fair.”
He died eight months later.
Heart failure.
Expected.
Juniper was thirteen.
At hospital, she held his hand.
No last secret.
No hidden confession.
He said:
“Breathe easy, kid.”
Maybe too on nose. Better:
“Keep telling people when they’re wrong.”
Juniper smiled.
“I do.”
He died that night.
At funeral Tabitha stood beside Willa.
I stood with Amelia and Juniper.
After service, Tabitha approached.
“Corbin.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry about Dad.”
“So am I.”
No more.
Juniper hugged Tabitha briefly.
Her choice.
Then stepped back.
The family did not become whole because somebody died.
May you like
But death no longer had to expose what everyone had hidden.
That was progress.
