Ficlets

Remembering Keen

She seemed to be debating mentally with herself. Indecision was written plainly on her face. “You wouldn’t like it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “It would make you mad.”
I was confused, “I don’t… understand.”
“You,” she said slowly, “Would not believe the agony Keen is in right now. He feels so guilty about everything.”
“Keen?” I asked, even more confused.
“Cynthia’s Dad,” she explained, a pained look crossing her face as she processed my reaction. I’d flinched.
I pondered that for a moment, wondering how this had anything to do with my question. “He feels guilty because he’s an alcoholic?” I guessed.
She shook her head slowly, then paused, and nodded, “Yes and no. Yes, he does. But that’s not all of it. He… feels guilty… because he never told her… something.” Suddenly she frowned, “Now I’ve said way too much. I really need to learn how to keep my mouth shut.”
“Is that even possible?” I speculated, momentarily distracted.
She laughed, “Probably not.”

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