Home Again

“Thank you, Mark,” Cedar said. “I…I had a nice time, too, even though I was working, per se. But…well, I’m going to say good night to Joey and be on my way. I want to get home and make some notes on what took place with Joey while everything is fresh in my mind and add them to his file on Monday. My professional duties aren’t over yet for today.”

“You put in longer hours than I do, and I’ve been called a workaholic.”

“I love what I do.”

“But is it enough to fulfill the woman as well as the psychologist?” Mark said, raising his eyebrows.

“We’ve been over this ground, Mark,” Cedar said. “I’m centered on my career. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see Joey.”

Cedar hurried across the room and went down the hall, stopping at a closed door with a sliver of light visible at the bottom. She knocked. A moment later, Joey opened the door.

“I just wanted to say good night, Joey,” Cedar said, smiling. “Thank you for a lovely evening and for cooking such a delicious dinner. I enjoyed being with you very much.”

“’Kay,” Joey said. “Did you like being with Uncle Mark, too?”

“Sure. He’s a nice man. You might consider spending more time with him, instead of being alone in your room. Think about that. Okay?”

“’Kay. Bye. Thank you for my chef’s apron, Cedar. I’m going to keep it…keep it…forever.”

“I’m glad you like it. I’ll see you at my office on Monday.”

Joey nodded, then stepped back and closed the door.

Cedar stood in the hallway for a long moment, sending mental messages to Joey just to let go and cry, to bury his sad little face in his pillow and weep until he had no more tears to shed.

She sighed, then walked slowly to the living room to retrieve her purse from the chair where she’d placed it. She’d been so deeply in thought, she hadn’t been aware that Mark had moved to stand close beside her.

“Mark,” she said, “I’d like to ask you a personal question which you don’t have to answer if you prefer not to.”

“That sounds ominous, but ask away.”

“When your sister and brother-in-law died in that accident, did you cry?”

Mark frowned. “Why would you want to know that?”

“Because if you did, and if the opportunity presented itself, you could tell Joey that there’s nothing wrong with men crying when they’re sad and that you’re not ashamed about your tears. Maybe Joey’s father preached the old philosophy ‘real men don’t cry’ and that is playing a major role in Joey’s refusal to shed those very important tears.”

“Oh.” Mark shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, yanked them out again, then stared at the ceiling, his shoes, anywhere but at Cedar. “Well, I…well, yeah… I cried because I was really busted up about what had happened, but…I don’t think my telling Joey that would be helpful at all.”

Cedar placed one hand on Mark’s upper arm. “Oh, but it would be helpful,” she said. “And it would mean far more than me, a woman, telling him that crying when you’re sad is perfectly fine.”

“No, Cedar, you don’t get it. It was not easy to let go like that. I guess I made up my mind when I was a kid that tears sure as hell weren’t going to change the crummy stuff that I was dealing with, so what was the point?”

“Crummy stuff?”

Mark waved one hand in the air in a dismissive gesture, causing Cedar to drop her hand back to her side.

“That’s not important now,” Mark said. “It’s old news best forgotten. We’re talking about Joey’s baggage, not mine. What I’m trying to say is that the only way I could cry for Mary and John was to…was to get drunk as a skunk. I really don’t think you want me to give Joey a shot of whiskey and tell him to wail his little heart out.”