Page 84 of In a Word, Yes

“I don’t mind. I’d love to hear.”

A pause, and then, “I guess you could say sadness followed me from one season of my life to the next, and the way I coped was by becoming super intense about my work. Which isn’t all bad. But sometimes I’ve overstepped, charged into God’s territory, when I’d have done better to wait for direction.”

“Sadness?”

He looks down at his hands. “It has to do with my dad. I don’t want to cloud your impression of him. He was a good man, and in most ways a good father. I looked up to him.”

“You must have. You followed him into the same career.”

“For sure. But he didn’t have the skills to deal with his emotional pain, with the kind of hopelessness that can creep into our line of work. I’m talking about being a cop. ’Cause when you opt for a daily, up close view of the underbelly of humanity, well—”

“I can’t imagine,” I say. “Seems like it takes a special person to work in such a hard field.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know that it takes a special person, so much as it takes the right training, to process stuff in healthy ways. Law enforcement culture doesn’t make space for vulnerability. Officers assume they’re supposed to let their emotions scab over and then scab over again, and somehow it will all be okay. But I learned from watching my dad that it continues to simmer below the surface. In my dad’s case, that led to bouts of depression—serious depression.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“That’s mainly why we moved to Washington. My parents’ attempt at a fresh start. A Hail Mary pass.”

I gather this is when my mother lost touch with Wyatt’s mother. And I’m worried about where this is leading, about what happened to his father, and whether I’m equipped to respond in a helpful way to something so tender. At the same time, I can’t remember the last time I sat with a man so willing to talk about matters of the heart. I’d be crazy to shy away.

“Do you ... care to talk about what happened to your dad?”

Wyatt licks his bottom lip. Inhales. Cool air and silence stream into the delicate spaces between and around us.

I lift my chin to the deepening darkness. Wyatt follows my gaze.

Eventually, he rests his hands in his lap, shoulders relaxed. “Dad—well, he eventually sought help, but not until he’d been forced to take early retirement. Disability is really what it was, but we weren’t supposed to talk about it in those terms. Anyway, it was too little too late. At least that’s how I see it, looking back. Because a year later ... a year later we buried my dad.”

“Oh, Wyatt.” I offer steady, gentle eye contact. “That’s ... that’s got to be so hard.”

“Massive stroke,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m grateful he’s out of pain, you know. I hold on to that. And I look forward to seeing him healed and whole in eternity.” He forces a light laugh.

After a moment, I say, “Meanwhile, you focus on changing the culture in your work environment. That’s commendable. It matters. But still, there’ve got to be times...”

“When I was a kid, reading saved me. Through books, I could keep living even while it felt like something was dying, you know?”

“I do. Books are safe.”

He smiles softly. “It’s why I hope to write one. Now I try to acknowledge the darkness when it comes. Look evil and suffering in the face, and then...” Wyatt eyes the stars. “And then fix my mind on higher things. ‘Whatever is true, whatever is noble...’”

“‘Whatever is right, whatever is pure...’” I supply.

Wyatt’s eyes circle my face, my hair. “‘Whatever is lovely...’” His gaze drops to my mouth.

Tempted as I am to pretend I don’t notice the softness in his eyes, warm and coppery in this light, I’m not that great of a pretender.

I blink, and the moment is gone.

We sip our tea.

I clear my throat. “Are you this ...openwith everyone?”

“I kind of said it before. I feel like we’ve known each other a long time.”

“In a way, we have.”

I really ought to return the favor, open my story to Wyatt. But who would want to hear that?