One of the great regrets of my father’s life was losing a woman by the name of Jackie when he lived in Pensacola, Fla., but I didn’t know that when we first visited her home when I was 11 years old.
He told us we were going to visit an old friend from his younger days, but he wasn’t specific. Jackie was expecting us and seemed happy to see us. I remember her as attractive, charming and gracious. But even though I was only 11, I could tell that there was an electricity between them that meant they had been more than just friends — and still felt something deeply for one another.
Her husband wasn’t home. We visited Jackie several times during the year we lived in Pensacola, but we never met her husband. I discovered that my father also visited her from time to time at her job, sometimes taking her to lunch. But it took me several years to piece together what had gone on between them about 18 years before.