“My dad really asked you to marry him over the phone?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“I asked whether he had no shame.”
Peter laughed.
“That sounds like Dad.”
“He was dying and still irritating.”
“That definitely sounds like Dad.”
We sat quietly.
Then Peter asked:
“Did you love him?”
“Yes.”
“As much as my mom?”
Wrong question.
I understood why he asked.
“I didn’t know your mother.”
He waited.
“But Walter loved her enough not to call me when he finally learned the truth.”
Peter looked toward the creek.
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
I smiled.
“Because love isn’t a measuring cup.”
He looked at me.
“I loved Walter when I was nineteen.”
“I loved Harold for forty-six years.”
“And when Walter came back, I loved the old man he had become.”
“Those loves don’t need to defeat one another to count.”
Peter nodded.
“I think I needed to hear that.”
