“I said you look better than you did at the funeral. But that was a truly awful day. Are you really better?”
Kathleen thought a moment before she answered. “I don’t know, Carrie. I manage to do my work at the Republic, but with little enthusiasm. I feel as if I’m missing something in me that I had as a young reporter. I guess I thought I was doing something good for society--I was reporting to the world the inequities of the system, the injustices that government throws at the average guy on the street. I don’t think readers give a damn any more about those people who have fallen through the cracks of modern life. All they want is the sensationalism of the moment, the ten second sound bite that feeds the public the misconception that the world is manageable.”
“Maybe it’s you who doesn’t give a damn,” was Carrie’s terse reply.
Kathleen absorbed Carrie’s remark for a moment.
“No. My lack of enthusiasm is because I’m trying to sort myself out, trying to understand the person inside of me who lived as the wife of Scott Buckley, bound by the Roman Catholic Church to do my duty. I have these two people in me, Carrie-- one is this hard-boiled reporter and the other is this--this obedient, subservient wife. I don’t know how in the name of God I shook off one role so casually and put on the other.”
Carrie looked Kathleen straight in the eyes. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself. Everyone has parts of different personalities in them, Kathy. Be a little forgiving of yourself and your sins. So what if you fell in love with a charming, rich man, and he turned out to be a bastard and you learned to loathe him? Do you think you’re supposed to pay for that mistake, that error in judgment, all of your life?”
“I haven’t resolved that yet.”
“With who, yourself or God?” Carrie
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish