EVERYONE HAS A DEATH STORY

From the R.M. Dolin novel, “An Unsustainable Life – The Book of Darwin.” November 30, 2025

Chapter 17: Everyone Has A Death Story

Darwin’s eyes dart about the busy Taos restaurant. He’s not looking for anyone or anything so much as trying unsuccessfully to conceal his anxiousness. “Thank you,” he says while fidgeting with his cloth napkin. “For joining me. I-”

“Sorry to interrupt,” the waiter says approaching the table with a bottle of wine. “Our chef and sometimes sommelier suggests this Argentinean Malbec with your cuisine. It’s subtle yet slightly robust. Not as pretentiously tannic as the California cab you selected. Care to give it a try?”

Darwin looks at the label and nods. He patiently waits for the waiter to uncork the wine and pour a splash into his glass. He swirls the wine, noises the bouquet, and takes a taste. He allows the aftertaste to linger before nodding in approval. Darwin patiently watches the waiter pour wine into two glasses, set the open bottle on the table, then depart. “I realize it makes no sense being out in this storm,” he says to his guest.

“It is unusually intense for early January,” she replies. “But this has become our annual tradition.”

“And traditions must be honored.” Darwin raises his glass. “Here’s to mom and dad who I love very much, and to my brother Vincent who I deeply miss and still, after all these years, believe will walk through that door any moment.” He pauses to reflect on his loss then re-raises his glass. “Here’s to your mom, I know how much you miss her.”

“Cheers to everyone we fondly hold in our hearts,” she adds.

They clink glasses and take a taste. “And cheers to you,” Darwin declares. “For the frost finally thawing. What’s it been, five years?”

“Six. It all fell apart just a few months before you started shopping at the grocery store. I’d just left the gallery, so it’s a hard time to forget.”

“I started shopping or you started working? What makes you think the first time you saw me at the grocery store was my first time there?”

“Allow me to correct,” she counters. “It was six years ago that you started repeatedly coming to the store when you knew it wouldn’t be busy and always making a point of choosing my checkout line even when Sandy’s was shorter.”

Darwin laughs. “Was I really that obvious?”

“Oh please, uber obvious. Especially the way you worked so hard to find something to say and how you’d stand there trying to keep a conversation going no matter how awkward it got. My all-time classic was when you started going off on how someday technology would advance so much and computers would get so tiny they’d be able to put tracking devices on Monarch butterflies. I remember asking why anyone would be interested in such a silly use of technology and you answer just as stone cold serious as a Priest giving last rights-”

“Because they can.” Darwin preempts. He chuckles. “I remember that. I’d just read a paper on evolving microcomputer trends and drew the logical extension. I was so excited I wanted to discuss it with someone and you’re the smartest person I know.”

She takes a sip of wine to camouflage her blush. “Thanks, but that’s no excuse for annoying the other customers so much they switch lines whenever they see you ahead of them. Boyd was constantly telling me to stop encouraging you.”

Darwin can’t hide his hurt feelings. “I like Boyd, thought he felt the same.”

“Boyd likes everyone. Especially patrons who don’t clog up checkout lines.”

“Fair enough, but-”

“Is everything alright?” The waiter who seems to have appeared out of nowhere is holding a small bowl of freshly minced garlic. “Is the extra garlic you requested in the guacamole to your liking?”

“Yes,” Darwin answers. “Perfect as usual.”

“Very well, I’ll inform the chef. Call me if you need anything else, otherwise, I won’t disturb date night.”

“It’s not-” Darwin reflexively replies but before he can finish, the waiter sashays off to other tables. He smiles at his guest who has that look all men know means he has some explaining to do. “It’s a remembrance dinner,” he clarifies. “Speaking of that, and sorry for saying it, but it’s just weird you guys don’t talk to each other for six years just because you didn’t want to move to New York to manage his new gallery.”

“It’d be nice if things were that simple,” Anna states. “But you know how it is, something like that starts with something small that ignites the something big that’s been silently dormant for too long. Words get said, feelings get hurt, and before you even realize the intensity of things are imploding, you’ve past the point of no return. The problem with me and dad is we always end up like bloodied boxers waiting in our corner for the next bell to ring.”

“Vincent and I would draw down like that sometimes, but it was always one-and-done then everything was forgotten. I know the boxing ring you’re talking about though; I’m kind of somewhere in that spectrum with Ilene right now. I haven’t said anything, but our relationship’s been somewhat strained lately and-”

“Pardon the interruption.” The waiter has once again returned. “Quick question on the shredded beef burrito, do you want the red and green separate, on the side, or spread all over in a random mix?”

“Smothered,” Darwin abruptly answers for his guest. “Green on red, poured but not stirred.”

“Very good sir,” the waiter confirms. “I’ll inform the chef. Once again, forgive the intrusion and enjoy your appetizer.” With that the waiter vanishes into the same mystical portal from which he instantly appeared.

With their chili confusion cleared up, Darwin’s no longer interested in looking under the hood of his life so reverts to Anna’s. “Are you going back to work in his gallery now that you’ve reconciled?”

Anna waits for Darwin to finish topping off her wine. She holds the long thin stem between her hands, slowing rotating the glass but not taking a drink. “He wants me to, but I’m happy at my other gallery and I’ve only been there a few months so it’s not like I can up and quit. He accuses me of working for his competition, says it’s humiliating but I don’t see it like that. The Taos art community is highly interdependent and there needs to be a certain number of galleries to be relevant. Since each artist has their own voice and style that either connects or doesn’t with patrons there really isn’t any competition.” She considers her position while enjoying a small sip of wine. “We’ve never really been on the same page when it comes to that. I worry he’s painting me into a corner. On the one hand, I really like that things between us are better but better shouldn’t come with strings attached and with him, strings are always attached.”

Darwin gives Anna space to finish her thought by methodically dipping a tortilla chip into their shared bowl of guacamole and adding a few extra shakes of salt onto the combo. When Anna doesn’t have anything more to add, Darwin decides it’s on him to keep the conversation going. “Relationships are hard.” He takes another tortilla chip and repeats his guacamole plus salt ceremony. “I guess because we’re all wired weird. Maybe not all of us. You’re not but I definitely am. At least how I interact with world is.”

Anna reaches across the table to gently place her hand on Darwin’s. “We’ve known each other a long time dear,” she softly states. “You’re no more or less unique than any of us. I’ll concede your special brand of uniqueness is an acquired taste but you’re not out of bounds.” She smiles warmly while looking Darwin in the eyes. “You’ve been dancing around something you want to tell me all evening, why don’t we agree context has been set so, we can proceed to content.”

Darwin finishes his current guacamole and salt combo and washes it down with wine. “The thing is-”

“Alright guys,” the waiter announces. He sets a large round tray of food on a folding stand the busboy sets up beside their table and begins offloading the contents. “One carne adovada, extra red chili for Señor. One shredded beef burrito Christmas for the lovely Senorita. One warm flour tortilla and three sopapillas. Is there anything else for you folks?”

“More tortilla chips,” Darwin answers.

“Right away Señor.”

Darwin looks at his carne with satisfaction. “Bon Appetite, Mademoiselle.”

“Oh Darwin,” Anna teases. “You do know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

“That’s because I practice a lot when I’m alone.”

Anna looks at Darwin with perplexed confusion and is about to respond when-

“Here you are, Señor,” the waiter trumpets. He set a new basket of freshly fried tortilla chips on the table and removes the empty basket. “Buen apetito.”

“Gracious,” Darwin replies, pleased with his multi-lingual repartee.

With the waiter gone and their food getting cold, Darwin and Anna eat mostly in silence, occasionally making comments on the spiciness of the food or the quality of the wine. When Anna finishes as much of her burrito as she can, she pushes back her plate and prepares to auger deeper into whatever it is Darwin’s been dodging all evening. “One of the things I admire about you,” she beings. “Is your ability to almost engage people in something meaningful that requires you to expose a vulnerability. On that note, how about we get back to whatever it is you’ve been trying to tell me but don’t want to talk about.”

Darwin mops up the last of his surplus red chili with his remaining fold of tortilla. He pours the last of the wine, grabs his glass, and settles back into his chair. “What I admire about you,” he coyly states. “Is the way you won’t let go of a thought, it’s gentle yet unrelenting.” He slowly sips his wine, letting the tannins dance on his tongue before swallowing. He stares at Anna with the blankness she’s seen before as his patented way of stalling. After a prolonged delay in need of a swift kick in the ass, Darwin continues. “Do you think I’m a good person?”

Grateful to finally have something to work with, Anna is about to respond when the waiter magically appears from nowhere. “A to-go box ma’am?” the he asks.

Anna graciously nods, thinking that should sufficiently dispatch him so she can get back to her interrogation.

“And will anyone be interested in desert?” the waiter persists. “Tonight’s flan is next level.”

“None for me.” Darwin answers as Anna shakes her head with a no.

“Okay then,” the waiter concludes. “You folks take your time; I’ll be back with the check.”

As the waiter departs for what should certainly be the next to last time, Anna smiles softly and restarts. “There’s a part of me that thinks there’s a part of you that enjoys almost telling me what you brought me all they out here in a snowstorm to talk about.”

“And the other part of me?” Darwin inquires while squirting honey into his sopapilla.

“Ah!” Anna laughs. “Darwin’s desperate demographic. The part that needs me to know whatever it is you want to tell me but is uncertain how to do it and worries about my response.”

Darwin chuckles. “Therein lies the rub, eh?” He finishes the last of his wine and leans back in his chair grinning. “Tell me more about this desperate Darwin fellow. I assume you mean it in the context of a dashing and daring desperado wooing the hearts of many a fair maiden.”

“Oh, you are good,” Anna laughs. “You’re like Houdini with your linguistic slight of tongue but I’m not falling for it. I see right through you. A sometimes-dashing desperado for sure, but mostly someone who wants to remain a stranger to the world so he can continue hiding behind the mask he wears, his camouflaged distraction from having to take responsibility.”

“Responsibility!” Darwin fires back. “I’m the most responsible person I know. I take care of Murphy. I go to Chicago once a month to help Ilene with Issac. I help the planet with my self-sustaining life, and I’m good to my neighbors.”

“Yes,” Anna confirms. “You have all those qualities but that’s not what I’m talking about. Those things are the way you meet your obligations to the planet, your family, and your community, but what about your responsibilities to yourself?”

“What the hell responsibilities do I have to myself?”

“Forgiveness,” Anna states. She pauses to finish the last of her wine and to let the magnitude of her assertion sink in. “I’ve never seen anyone burden themselves with as much guilt as you, and I grew up Catholic. You’re guilty about what your software company did, about Vincent’s death, about how hard it’s been for Issac. I’m pretty certain you’re feeling guilty right now for eating your entire meal and screwing Murphy out of a doggy bag.”

“Actually,” Darwin counters. “I’m counting on your left-over burrito to make nice with Murphy.”

“That’s exactly what I mean! I come at you with some pretty deep stuff, and you immediately run to the fluff letting you remain on the surface of things.”

“Just so we’re clear, you’re not planning on sharing your burrito with Murphy. Perhaps we should talk about that problematic psychosis?”

“Don’t be making this about me, I’m wise to your ways.”

“Okay then, you pick my poison. You seem pretty good at highlighting all my flaws so, tell me, which one of my many rabbit holes do you want us to deep dive.”

“What I want is-”

“Pardon me folks,” the waiter politely interrupts. He’s holding a to-go box. “I just happened to be the neighborhood and thought I’d check to see if you need anything. More wine? Perhaps you’ve rethought dessert or maybe some coffee?”

“Two coffees,” Anna orders. “One with cream and sugar and he’ll take his straight up with an added shot of espresso.”

“Right away ma’am.” As the waiter turns toward the kitchen, he winks at Darwin and adds with a devilish grin, “looks like a long night for Señor, eh? Muy bueno.”

Darwin shoots the waiter a hard glare as he saunters off.

“Can you believe that guy?” Anna asks.

“It’s outrageous.” Darwin blusters. “Just because I’m having a nice dinner with a beautiful woman doesn’t mean I’ll be putting out, unless of course you plan on picking up the check, then I’m kind of obligated.”

Anna smiles at Darwin’s off-handed compliment and his ability to once again exploit a distraction. Darwin throws his cloth napkin on the table in faux outrage and pushes back his chair. “I think I need to have a conversation with that fella.”

“Sit down!” Anna demands. “You’re not having a conversation about anything with anyone but me. She waits patiently for Darwin to settle back in his chair and reclaim the napkin he’s been fiddling with since they first sat down as if it were some kind of protective shield. She’s about to restart when-

“Breaking news,” Darwin interrupts. “In case you haven’t already heard, the Cubs just signed this reliever from the Twins. If he can help the Cubs this season the way he helped the Twins last season, the bullpen could actually be good for once in their life.”

All Anna can do is watch Darwin’s childish attempts at avoidance and laugh. “You can keep firing off all the distractions you want but just so we’re clear, we’re sitting here until Tuesday, if that’s what it takes for you to tell me what you’ve been ducking and dodging all night.”

Darwin flashes Anna his version of a devilish grin. Since distractions don’t seem to be working, perhaps charm can. “Boy, you’re really not going to let this go, are you?” He pauses to provide space for Anna’s response, but when she simply sits in silence refusing to fill the void, the pressure mounts. “I asked you a moment ago if you thought I was a good person and you answered by not answering. Remember, you said I’m good at meeting obligations but dodge responsibility. That’s a harsh thing to say and so we’re on the same page, we’ll be revisiting this issue of obligations once I’ve paid the check.”

Darwin is convinced his last little pun is either enough of a joke or sufficiently flirtatious to get them on a tangent, but Anna’s not taking the bait. “Like you said,” she counters with teasing seduction. “Any conversation about obligations comes later and will depend on how this conversation unravels.”

A prolonged silence ensues with both sides wondering how long it takes the other side to weaken. Darwin nervously taps his fingers on the table conceding there’s no way out. “I think I’m a good person,” he states. He pauses to let his fingers dance about the table keeping his eyes on them rather than Anna. “At least I try to be,” he quietly adds. “That has to count for something.” He pauses again in vain hope Anna will say something. “At least that’s the argument I’ll be making to Saint Peter at the gates.” He again pauses to allow Anna to respond, surely there’s enough meat on the bone now to open a tangent but no, Anna just sits in silence, which is the hardest of all responses to respond to.

While difficult, Darwin restarts. “I don’t so much burden myself with guilt as you claim, for me it’s a matter of atonement and there’s a difference. Some may say a difference without distinction but for me it’s huge. A man burdened by guilt is like being cast into an infinitely deep dark wilderness with no hope of escape. Atonement is when a man owns his transgressions and dedicates himself to building a path back to sunshine by fixing whatever the hell it is he broke. You’re right though, I’ve done stuff I need to fix and there are things that have happened that, while not directly my causing, still need to be atoned for.” He pauses to think about the path he’s on with Tien and where he hopes it will lead. “The thing is dear one, my journey out of the wilderness is about so much more than me. On the macro scale there’s my debt to humanity and my need to fix what I broke at Berkeley. On the micro scale there’s my debt to Vincent, Ilene, and Issac, and in between is everything else that guides, and at times, consumes me.”

“Am I to suppose I fall in your in-between?”

Darwin flashes a seductive smile. “Baby, you’re my micro, my macro, and everything in between.”

“Oh, Señor Olinski,” Anna responds like a flustered Southern Belle. “You charm me with the skills of Satan himself and while it may allow me to let you pick up the check, it doesn’t offset your need to finish what you came here to do.”

Darwin grins back playfully. “Damn, I really thought that one was going to be my escape.”

“You just get yourself back to work mister, or we’ll be here all night.”

Darwin nervously looks around for that waiter who can always be counted on to create a distraction but the bastard’s nowhere to be found. Reluctantly, he restarts. “As I was saying, and I’m looking for a simple yes or no here, am I a good person?”

Anna responds without hesitation. “Of course you are. It’s a silly question. I wouldn’t be sitting here letting you buy me dinner if I didn’t think so.”

“Ha, ha.” Darwin pouts. “I’m serious. How am I a good person?”

Anna again responds without hesitation. “Let me count the ways. You’re a good person in the macro way you care about humanity, the environment, your mountain, and your mustangs. You’re a good person on many micro levels, in the way you donate elk to locals, how you come to the aid of anyone in need like you did for me that day in Red River, how you’re so devoted to helping Ilene and mentoring Issac. You’re a good person for all the ways in between in how you live your life and how you show yourself to the world. Yes, dear Darwin, you’re a good person. What I want to know is why you’re in crisis over it?”

Darwin fumbles with his napkin before deciding to set his shield aside. “Because Ilene doesn’t think I am.”

Before he can continue or Anna can react, the waiter returns. “Alrighty then,” he announces. “One coffee with sugar and cream for senorita and un café negro para el señor, with an added shot of espresso.” He sets the drinks down and looks gregariously at his patrons, “will there be anything else?”

“Probably more coffee later,” Anna concludes. “We’re gonna be here a while.”

“Very good,” the waiter says. He scurries off, needing to hustle up tips from other non-lingering patrons.

Anna cautiously samples her hot coffee. She smiles warmly at Darwin before sternly stating, “Don’t even think about not finishing that thought.”

Darwin stirs his coffee to even out hot spots and takes a sip. “She didn’t so much say it as implied it.”

“Because?”

“The last time I was there, not last week’s trip, but the time before, she tells me when I’m leaving that I shouldn’t stay with her and Issac anymore. Said it isn’t proper. I have my theories as to why she would suddenly say that and this last time up I check with the concierge, and he confirms that Ilene’s been seeing some.”

“You had to know that would happen?”

“I did, but so soon?”

“Darwin, it’s been five years. What pray-tell was your timeline?”

“I don’t know, when Issac leaves for college.”

“That’s a mighty long time to go without someone buying you dinner.”

Darwin understands Anna’s innuendo even though he’s not happy about it. “I get you. I guess I’m just not ready. Anyway, I didn’t say anything to Ilene, when she wants me to know, she’ll tell me.” Darwin takes a sip of coffee and stares at the cup once he sets it back on the saucer. “It’s actually a good thing,” he restarts. “It’s kind of like getting a divorce, now I don’t have to feel obligated to make sure she’s okay and can focus on Issac.”

“That’s a very mature and healthy way for you to process.”

“I think so, but here’s where I struggle, what if this someone she’s suddenly seeing becomes someone who matters? I can learn to live with that but what if he decides down the road to replace Vincent in Issac’s life? I absolutely cannot live with that. Even if I could, where the hell does that leave me?”

“Finally!” Anna exhales, relieved they’ve peeled the onion to its core. “This whole ‘am I a good person’ crisis is because you’re competing with someone you’ve never met and who may never even matter.”

“In some Möbius strip kind way you’re right, but I don’t think that’s my catalyst. It’s like you said earlier, there’s always something small, some unrelated something that’s ignites into something much bigger, something that’s been silently dormant for too long. On my last trip to see them, Ilene pulls me aside as I’m leaving to talk about my relationship with Issac. She’s got this bizarre notion that my floating in and out of Issac’s life is not healthy. Says it will cause him to grow up unable to build lasting attachments. I don’t know where the hell she gets this crap, probably from some Harvard trained shrink with absolutely no meaningful credentials. Does that make any sense to you at all? If you ask me, diminishing my role in Issac’s life is more likely to cause him to have attachment issues.”

“Did the two of you reach some kind of understanding?”

“Yes and no. Yes, I now have a crystal-clear understanding based on Ilene’s tone and beliefs that this is a decision I have no say in.”

“And the, no?”

“No way in hell I’m going to abandon my nephew. I never told you, because I thought it was an issue that resolved itself, but right before Vincent died, he shared this huge concern he had about the way Ilene was mothering Issac. He seriously thought she was ruining him, turning him into some neurotic namby-pamby mamma’s boy. I owe it to Vincent to make sure that doesn’t happen and that’s what I do when I’m there. I mentor him in the ways of becoming a strong man of character and integrity but-”

“Are we ready for more coffee?” The waiter with immaculate interruption skill asks. “Perhaps you’ve reconsidered desert, the chef’s tiramisu is next level.”

“Nothing for me,” Darwin quickly decides.

“Another coffee for me,” Anna caveats.

“Un café con crema y azúcar,” the waiter says with Spanish first language fluency as he shuffles off to the kitchen.

Anna immediately dives back into Darwin’s reveal. “But?”

“I sort of mentioned Vincent’s concerns to Gwen two trips ago and I think it got back to Ilene. She’s pretty pissed off. I tried apologizing but things didn’t end well between us.”

“How bad is it?”

“She told me not to visit anymore.”

“Ouch, that bad? What do you plan to do?”

“I don’t know, that’s the deal. Writing a letter seems absurd. Just showing up unannounced is out of the question, especially if she’s got something going on with someone. At the same time, I’m not walking out on Issac. He’s already lost his dad, and I couldn’t do that to him. All I can do is tell Ilene the next time I’m coming and hopefully things have calmed down. The thing is, Anna, and our remembrance dinner shines a spotlight on it, everyone has a death story, there’s no escaping that. It’s most likely not their own but it hits them as if it was all the same. Ilene and I share a death story, we just have different endings, and what remains an open mystery is who’s got authorship on the next chapter.