Between Will and Surrender

by Margaret Duarte

  Instead of cringing under his stare, as I used to, I smiled at him with all the warmth I could muster. “You deserve to be happy, Cliff.”

  His eyes took on a silvery sheen as though melted by my unexpected kindness. A jolt coursed through me at the fuzzy realization that I’d been part of the problem, always retreating and turning a cold shoulder when he’d frowned at me rather than expressing my true feelings and standing up for myself. I’d gone into hiding, closing him out, and now, I didn’t have the energy to start over again. I didn’t love him enough for that.

  “When you look at me, I sense censure and disappointment,” I said, “like you’re afraid that if you don’t watch me every minute, I’ll be gone.”

  “I love you, damn it,” he said between clenched teeth.

  Okay, maybe the silvery sheen of his eyes more closely resembled the color of duct tape, which brought to mind the jingle, “If it’s not stuck and it’s supposed to be, duct tape it.”

  “Is that why you’re always criticizing me?” I said.

  “I can’t believe this,” was his reply.

  We sat in silence until I became aware of the soft music and murmur of conversations. I slid my magazine, journal, and pen into my purse.

  “You’ll be sorry,” Cliff warned.

  I stood and walked away.