Mary had as good a reason to avoid John as he did to avoid her. She knew it hadn't been his fault, but she was angry, angry that he'd raised their boys in the life she'd hated so much, and still hated. Looking at him now, the anger faded away, at least the anger toward him. It was almost like she was looking at her father. And no one was to blame but herself.
She wanted to smile, to do something to ease the tension that was obviously in the air, but there was really only one thing she could say.
"You know, don't you?"
There was no need to clarify what she was asking. They both knew.