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“He kept this on his desk,” she said. “Until the day he died.”
“I don’t remember him standing off like that,” Ted said, studying the photo, his brow furrowed.
When he said he forgot his towel?”
“Yeah, I remember thinking he was being dramatic. It was hot enough for him to dry off without a towel,” I said.
“Well, he walked home that day because you and Ted were talking about girls. He realized you’d never once asked him who he liked.
You never asked what he was into. He felt invisible.”
That hit something. I saw Ted’s hand curl tighter around his mug.
“Shouldn’t you have an oath or something, Jennifer? Confidentiality and all that? You shouldn’t be telling us all of this.”
“Yes,” Jennifer said with a small smile.
“But that was when I was Rick’s therapist. That ended when we developed feelings for each other. I’m here as his…
She sighed deeply.
“Look, he knew you didn’t mean any harm. But he carried that silence for years. He once told me that being near the two of you felt like standing in a house where the door was open, but he was never sure if he was welcome inside.”
She told us about the high school dance Rick never attended, even though we were convinced that he had.
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