When We Meet Again by Kristin Harmel

out how she’d judge this Peter Dahler guy so incorrectly. If what Jeremiah said was accurate, she was completely in love with him, and then he just dropped off the face of the planet.”
    “First of all, you have to remember that your grandmother was basically just a kid at the time. What was she, eighteen or nineteen? Think of all the dumb decisions we made at that age.”
    I nodded and looked away. Did sleeping with Nick count as a dumb decision? Or was it just the leaving that was the stupidest thing I’d ever done? “I guess.”
    “And who’s to say she was cautious back then?” Myra continued. “Maybe that experience changed her. Maybe this Peter guy was responsible for making her a different person.”
    “Do you really think one bad experience has the power to change a person’s character that way?”
    “I think thatif you love someone enough and they hurt you deeply, it can change you forever.”
    I swallowed hard, thinking for the first time that Peter Dahler leaving my grandmother had a certain parallel to the way I’d left Nick. But maybe Peter Dahler had had his reasons, like I had. Maybe he’d never meant to hurt my grandmother. Maybe he’d been trying to do the right thing and had only realized later that he’d made the biggest mistake of his life. When I thought of it that way, the note with the painting made more sense. “I think I have to find out what happened,” I said, glancing at Myra.
    “I agree that it’s worth trying to track down an explanation,” Myra said slowly. “After all, the painting has to mean something, right? But you have a lot on your plate now. Don’t you need to be going after some more freelance work? Figuring out your next move?”
    “I have some money in savings, and I haven’t taken a real vacation in years. Maybe this is worth taking a little time for. And who knows? Maybe at the end of it, I’ll have learned something. Maybe I can write one of those first-person pieces for Redbook or something. Or one of those Modern Love essays for the New York Times . I’ve always wanted to write for them.”
    “I just don’t want you getting hurt.” She paused. “I mean, are you planning to involve your father in this?”
    I looked away. “He is involved, isn’t he? I mean, this is his history even more than it’s mine.”
    “That doesn’t mean you have to roll out the red carpet for him to hurt you like he did when you were a kid.”
    “You think I’m making a mistake,” I said softly.
    “Are you?”
    I shrugged but didn’t say anything. I didn’t know the answer.
    “No offense,” she said after a moment, her tone a little gentler, “but your family is already a bit of a mess. Who knows what you’ll find out? And talking to your dad right now, Emily? I just don’t know. Maybe there’s something to be said for the past remaining in the past.”
    I considered this for a moment. “But the thing is, the past never really stays in the past, does it? You can’t bury it, because it influences everything.”
    “Are you quoting your column at me right now?”
    “I just have the feeling that figuring out what happened will change my life somehow.”
    Myra looked at me for a long time before speaking. “Or maybe the best way to change your life is to look inside yourself. But that’s harder to do, isn’t it?”
----
    “Emily? Geez, it’s been a while,” Scott said when he answered my call just before eleven that evening, after Myra had gone home.
    “I hope I’m not calling too late.”
    “Nah, you know me. I’m a night owl.”
    “I remember.” It was one of the problems that had plagued our short relationship. I liked to get up early to work, so on weeknights, I was usually in bed by ten thirty. Scott, on the other hand, loved to go out, and he often got frustrated when I told him I’d prefer to turn in. I was always a zombie the next day when I stayed out late, whereas Scott seemed to thrive on refueling with multiple cups of Starbucks in the