Empathy

By E.P. Lande

PROMPT—Never will I forget ...

Rachel arrived at the restaurant shortly after me. We often had lunch together when I visited New York. Stylish at 62, Rachel carried a dramatic beauty, her long black hair streaked with grey framing her dark complexion artfully enhanced by Jérome. Her off-one-shoulder Issey Miyake wool dress theatrically treaded its way until, breathlessly, she reached my table.

My professorial demeanor contrasted somberly with my voguish sister, as I sat casually at the table in a tailored three-piece tweed suit, framing my London-blue lisle-cotton shirt and chartreuse-silk tie.

After ordering a glass of chardonnay, Rachel unfolded her napkin and, like a general on the verge of battle, asked, “I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?” I asked, studying my sister’s face, marked with underlying tense muscles, her eyes averting my gaze.

“I thought you disliked Linda...at least, that’s what you had me believe.”

“I can’t say I like her, but I have feelings of sympathy for her.” I lifted my bourbon and sipped, my eyes still lingering on my sister.

“How can you tell me you have feelings of sympathy for her if you dislike her? I find that somewhat hypocritical.” I studied my sister, thinking how self-centered she had become, noting a false sense of self-assurance that enveloped her as she raised her profile, gazing through me to the other diners.

“I don’t see it that way,” I said. “Linda is going through a difficult time now.” About two years before, our niece, Linda, had married her girlfriend, Aliceson. Practically every member of our family—including our octogenarian mother who was recovering from back surgery—had attended, but I had to embarrass Rachel into being there as she disliked Linda, believing her to be deceitful.

“We all have problems; hers are no different from anyone else’s.” Rachel never held back her opinions, even hurtful ones. “To tell me you now feel sympathy for her strikes me as pure hypocrisy.” Rachel opened her ultra-brief purse, pulled out her cellphone...refolding it back into her bag.

And then there was Linda’s mother—the first of her father’s string of wives—who was known to be verbally homophobic, and who had told Linda the month before her wedding that she never liked her, even as a child.

“I’m not saying that, in the past, I’ve not been critical of her,” I said, “but that doesn’t preclude me from trying to help her through a particularly rough period in her life.” I reached my hand across the table and rested it on my sister’s.

“Rough? What’s so rough about what she’s going through?” Rachel snatched her hand away.

“Divorce. Linda and Aliceson have separated. Didn’t you know?” I recalled my conversation with my niece when she told me. I understood. My wife of more than 30 years had divorced me several years before. While the legal part had been friendly, the emotional toll of both my former wife and myself had been devastating, requiring therapy. We had since reconciled as best friends.

“Yes, I knew...but what’s the big deal? They weren’t even married three years.” Looking at the menu and turning her shoulder to me, Rachel became totally absorbed in the daily specials.

“Whether it’s three years or thirty, divorce is one of the three most stressful situations for anyone....”

“Who told you that? You’re being sentimental.” Rachel continued perusing the menu.

“My neurologist.” I looked hard at my sister. “I can’t believe you’re being so cold and unfeeling.”

“I’m being realistic; she’ll get over it.” She replaced her menu on the table.

I pressed forward, leaning on the table. “Realistic? Is that what you call it? To me, you’re being hostile verging on meanness.”

“I’m just calling it the way it is. Linda has always been deceitful and a liar. I refuse to waste my emotions on her just because she’s decided to get a divorce. Can you order me another glass of this chardonnay?”

I leaned back in my chair. “I would expect, as an older person and her aunt, that you would show some generosity and help her get through this period in her life.”

Rachel looked straight at me. “If you ask me, she should just act as though nothing has happened and not make such a fuss. Did you order me the chardonnay?”

Shifting in my chair, I asked, “Is that what you’ve been doing?”

“What do you mean?” Rachel asked, surprised by my question.

“Ever since you and Steve divorced—when was it...almost 30 years now? —all I’ve heard from you are complaints and your feeling sorry for yourself.” I motioned to the waiter that the wine was for my sister.

Rachel stared at me. “Feeling sorry for myself?” She pressed both hands to her chest, trying to catch her breathe. “No one helped me, no one was there for me, no one....”

“Forgive me for interrupting, but I remember calling you as well as Steve, many times.,” I said calmly. “And, if I called, I’m sure the others, like Mom and Dad, did as well.”

“That’s not what I mean. I was alone, with a young child, and Steve was playing hardball.” It appeared to me that my sister was about to slam the table. I placed my hand on her clenched fist.

“And, if I remember correctly, it was who you who left him. Why shouldn’t he have made it difficult for you?”

Gasping for breath, “You don’t understand. For me it was like a death,” Rachel said, in an almost inaudible whisper.

“What was?” I asked.

“My divorce. It was like someone had died,” Rachel pushed out of her mouth as though something bitter or foul had found its way there.

“Why was it like a death for you...and not the same now, for Linda?” I sat back in my chair and looked at my sister...sadly, with loving compassion.

---

E.P. Lande, born in Montreal, has lived in France, Vermont and now in S. Carolina. As Vice-Dean, he taught at l’Université d’Ottawa. He has owned and managed country inns and restaurants. Since submitting three years ago, more than 130 of his stories and poems have found homes in publications all over the world, “Expecting” nominated for Best of the Net. His debut novel, Aaron’s Odyssey, a gay-romantic-psychological thriller, and To Have It All, a psychotic thriller, have recently been published in London. Dancing With Katie, an Argentine tango sweet romance, was published in 2026.