The Lost Apology
“I’m sorry, but—”
“No, you’re not sorry,” he said.
“But—”
“There you go again, trying to justify your decision—the choice you made. Erich Segal got it all wrong. Being in love means forever having to say you’re sorry. Putting the needs of your family ahead of your own. An apology with an explanation is really no apology at all.”
“What would you have me say then, Paul?” Carla’s voice sounded thin with digital distance.
“I don’t want you to say anything. I want you to come home, to your husband and our daughters.”
“It’s my job, Paul.”
“Your job is to take the assignments CNN gives you. They didn’t assign this one. You asked for it, then clamored for it, next kicked and screamed to get it. They didn’t want to send you because they knew the risks.”
“It’s a once in a lifetime story.”
“And what do I tell Mindy and Stacy when their once in a lifetime mommy doesn’t come home?”
“Nothing’s going to happen, Paul.”
“I wish we wish we could be as sure.”
When Carla said nothing Paul feared the call had dropped.
“You still there?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Carla, you’re in a Middle East nation that’s just overthrown its government. You don’t belong there.”
“I’m a journalist. I belong where the story takes me. And I have my team with me.”
“Oh, that makes me feel much better—three guys, one of them armed with a camera. I’ll be able to watch, live, the first ever rape-execution of a Western journalist. I’m sure Sid will get some creative shots.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”
“You’re a woman, blond, in a Muslim nation that treats women like property and resents Westerners—especially Western women. I’ve seen what’s going on. The streets are filled with thousands of unruly people.”
“Celebrants.”
“And what better way to celebrate than by abducting a white blond woman and—”
“Don’t say it, Paul.”
“You think by not saying it that it won’t happen? You think you’re invincible because you are woman? Damn Helen Reddy.”
Carla said nothing.
“This is all about you and your career. Always has been.”
“You knew what you were getting when you asked me to marry you.”
“Did I? I knew what you were—a journalist. What I didn’t know was how selfish you can be.”
Carla went silent again.
“Carla?”
Silence.
“Shit,” Paul said. Already sorry for his last comment and wondering how much of it Carla had heard, he thought the call had merely dropped and that she would call back.
But she didn’t.
***
Sid refused to tell Paul anything of what he witnessed, saying only, “You don’t want to know.”
Paul didn’t know if not knowing Carla’s fate only made it more horrendous. He had a fairly fertile imagination.
Paul suspected he was suffering a sort of survivor’s guilt, not being able to tell his wife how sorry he was—no “buts” about it—for calling her selfish.