“Caitlin?”
“Who’s this?”
“It’s me.” Then, quickly at her intake of breath, “Don’t worry. I’m not trying to get you to take me back.”
“Will you stop calling me?” she says, over my words. “Please. I could tell—”
“Go ahead. Call the police. Have your boyfriend amputate my face. I deserve it. I deserve it. Just listen a sec, okay?”
I take her silence as agreement. Out front, someone’s mowing the lawn, and I say, “Look, I know you couldn’t like me anymore, not after what I did. I know that now. I just…” Why is this so hard? “I’m just sorry. I thought I meant it before, but I didn’t know. I mean, it’s like apologizing for stepping on someone’s foot. You say you’re sorry, but you don’t really understand how bad you hurt them.”
I stop talking, out of words. Caitlin fills the lull.
“So beating me up is like stepping on someone’s foot?”
She sounds tired.
“No. No. I’m screwing this up and I don’t deserve you even listening to me, but I get it. I mean I understand how bad … how much I hurt you. How much I could have…” Neysa’s eyes haunt me, and finally, I say, “Look, I’m just sorry. You didn’t deserve what I did to you. I loved you so much, Cat.”
The lawn mower stops, and silence fills the room. Caitlin’s voice startles me.
“I can’t believe that anymore, Nick.”
The line goes dead. I hold the phone until its angry clatter reminds me to hang up.