by Staci Hart
"I thought I had more time." My voice cracked, and he squeezed my hand.
"So did I," he said gently. "We all did. But do not regret that. That is one thing I will ask of you. For of all sad words of tongue or pen, / The saddest are these: It might have been! Stop running away so you don't spend the rest of your life wondering. Whittier knew this, and so do I. So should you."
I was left without words as Sophie and Sadie brought lunch in on trays, so I sat at his side, his words settling into my mind as I fed him.
Stop running. I had no choice. I was here. She was here. But I didn't know how to face my past. I'd been running for seven years, and there could be no full stop. There would be no sixty-to-zero, not without slowing down first or my brakes would catch on fire. But I thought about that crack in the wall again, and looking through it, I found the smallest hope.
We talked about nothing and everything, taking every small second where we could. And when he was finished eating, he fell asleep. When we left the room, we stood in the hallway without purpose, as if the hours of the day had been reset to mark the times when we could be by his side.
Dad would be asleep for an hour or two, and I didn't want to sit, didn't want to wait in that quiet room, didn't want to be still. I loathed the unscheduled time, the lack of structure I'd become so accustomed to missing, throwing me off kilter. I longed for the action of my body to distract me from the things I couldn't change, so I pulled on my coat and opened the door to find peace.
Instead, I found Elliot.
She wore her blue peacoat and yellow hat again, her eyes dark and wide with surprise at meeting me on the steps of the house.
"H-hi," she breathed, eyes moving behind me to the door. "Is everything okay?"
"He's fine, just resting."
I didn't offer more, and she looked away, the color rising in her cheeks. "Oh."
I cleared my throat, not sure what to do or say, caught in the stretch of the moment. "The girls are inside," I offered after a second.
She smiled politely. "All right, thank you."
But something came over me as she moved to walk past. "I'm going for a walk, if you'd like to come with me."
She stopped, her gaze meeting mine with shock, and I was sure mine reflected the same thing. "That would be nice," she answered softly, sweetly, and something in my heart thumped and rattled like a loose bolt with every beat.
I said nothing more, just started down the stairs and she followed. I wanted to be near her, but I was afraid of her, afraid for my heart. Indecision and uncertainty slipped over me like a fog as we walked quietly through the city and into the park.
The silence wasn't companionable; it was heavy with years and words between us, and it stretched on so long, there seemed to be no breeching it gracefully. It was the collective story of us in a twenty-minute span of footsteps.
We ended up at the Glenspan Arch, a place we had been a hundred times, what felt like a hundred years before. The small river ran gently next to us, and I could hear the steady hiss of the cascade just beyond the arch.
"Do you remember the first time we came here?" she asked, the words gentle and hesitant as we approached the stone bridge, nestled in the arms of the forest.
"You'd never been anywhere in the city, which was weird, considering you'd lived here your whole life," I mused. Once I'd met her family, I'd understood completely. They were self-serving, uninterested in participating in life outside themselves, and they'd do anything to drown out Elliot's light, to cull her spirit.
Those thoughts I kept to myself.
She nodded, smiling as her eyes drank in the world around us. "I thought we'd stepped into a fairy tale."
In a way, we had. I'd kissed her in the shadows of this archway, surrounded by the echo of the stream. I'd held her hand along this path, my world illuminated by her. It was a dream, a myth, a story from a long time ago.
"Do you come back often?" I asked, pushing the memories away, wondering why I'd brought us this way, although in the back of my mind I recognized that anywhere we'd have gone would have brought the past back to me.
Elliot shook her head. "I don't have much time these days, not without the kids. And bringing them here wouldn't really be relaxing." She chuckled. "I've come a few times to write, though."
Finally, ground I could stand on. "Sophie told me you got your Lit degree. Congratulations."
"Thank you. I don't know if I would have gone, if it weren't for Rick. He's always believed in me, even when I didn't believe in myself."
"He does that. Decide what you'll do with it?" I asked as we slipped into the cool shade.
"I haven't had much time to think about it."
I made a noncommittal sound through my nose, which did little to hide my disdain at the thought of her family. "Because of your sister's kids?"
She nodded, face tilting down to her shoes, sending a wave of regret through me.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to judge. It's just …"
She smiled at me, lips together. "It's all right. I know how you feel about them. But those kids are the center of my universe right now. Mary needs the help, and I'm not sure what I want to do. Not much I can do besides teach."
"You could write."
"I do write."
"You could submit."
"I knew what you meant," she said lightly, her words echoing off the stone. "Those words are part of me, a real part of me, not fiction. They're my thoughts, my beliefs, my pain and joy. To subject my heart and soul to judgment is … well, it's terrifying."
"I can understand that."
"Maybe I'll be brave enough someday."
"You are brave. You're one of the bravest people I've ever known."
She laughed. I frowned.
"Braveness isn't always loud. Sometimes it's silent. There's braveness in sacrifice and kindness. It's in doing a thing that needs to be done, even though it's hard, and even though it hurts."
We stepped out of the arch and into the soft light of the forest, and she turned her face to mine, though I couldn't meet her eyes. If I met her eyes, I might say more, might say too much. And I couldn't do that. I told myself it was in the interest of self-preservation and not because I was afraid of her, of what it might do to me if I opened myself up and let her back in.
After a moment, she looked away.
"I suppose I don't really see myself that way."
"No, you never did. But that doesn't change the fact." The subject was dangerously close to the truth of my heart, and I turned it to something safer. "Dad's doing well today. We read to him, and he's able to speak better than he has yet. Longer sentences, more articulation. But he's exhausted. It's a lot for him."
"For all of you."
"For all of us. You're a part of this, Elliot."
Her name, a word still foreign, though familiar as if it were my own.
"The nurse will be here in a couple of hours," I continued, "and I think Jeannie and Lou are bringing dinner again. Will you be staying?"
She nodded as we approached the cascade. "If it's all right."
I pulled her to a stop across from the waterfall with my hand cupping her elbow, frustration and agitation mounting. She still wanted to disappear, as if she held no power. She didn't know she held all the power over me; my heart was in her hands as it ever was.
In her face, I found surprise tinged with regret and want. A mixture of wishes and apologies hung on her breath.
"Please, stop," I demanded.
"Stop what?" Her voice was quiet, the words trembling ever so slightly.
"Stop apologizing for your presence," I said, persuasion heavy in my words, in my heart. "Stop assuming you're not wanted. You have every right to be here with us, for us, for him. So stop disappearing. Stop hiding from what you wish for. Stop sacrificing yourself for everyone else."
Her eyes held their sadness close. "It's not so easy as that."
"It is." I'd pulled her closer without realizing it, unable to help myself. My hand was
still on her arm, and before I could stop myself, she was pressed against me with her hand resting on my chest. "Elliot, it's always been that easy. That's what you never understood."
I let her go and stepped back, feeling the loss of her with the snap of cold air between us. The pull of her was undeniable, even after everything — time couldn't erase her from my heart.
When I looked her over, I realized I didn't know her anymore, and she didn't know me. I wondered distantly, as one watches the horizon, if I was only in love with the idea of her, a version of her that existed in the past. Or maybe it had never existed at all outside of my mind.
I was in love with a girl who had dreams, a girl who loved quietly and without expectation. But the girl before me had her dreams dashed, and she loved submissively, putting everyone else before herself until she found herself buried and gone.
Maybe she had vanished after all, the seven years had passed by, erasing the features I had loved so well.
I walked away, and she stood rooted to the spot for a few heartbeats before moving her feet. And feeling her there by my side, I knew I was wrong. I loved her still, and that love was real. And I only wanted her happiness, but I had no rights, no means to provide it.
We circled back, walking the edge of the pond called The Pool in silence, waiting for the moment to be behind us, waiting to get back to the place where we could pretend. Waiting for the polite pretense that covered the truth where we couldn't see it. Didn't matter that we could still feel it.
But I didn't want to feel it, not now. I didn't want to feel her there, the pull so strong that I could barely fight it. I hoped I could find the strength to hold up the wall between us, wondering for a beat what would happen if I let it go, let it fall. Let myself fall back into her. Would she catch me, or would I tumble to the ground?
A flash of relief hit me at the thought of submission; I imagined yielding to her would be to breathe again, knocking the dust from my lungs. Just the illusion of that comfort was transcendent.
But it was just that — an illusion, a falsity, fictitious and fabricated by my desire to find my way back to the fantasy of her.
10
Bring It On Home
Home is not a place,
Not a smell,
Not a face,
But a space
In your heart.
* * *
-M. White
* * *
Elliot
My hands were ice in my pockets as we walked in silence, his thoughts rolling off him in waves as we walked through the park, saying nothing.
He was right, and he was wrong. True and false. Yes and no. The words warred through him, through me.
The fight was the same as the last we'd had, and the years had changed little about it. He was the same as he always was; there was nothing I could say to change his mind. There never had been, though I wished I'd given him the answers he'd wanted so long ago. But the ship had sailed and left me on the shore. And his words now were right, and they were wrong.
He was still angry, still hurt, and even as he spoke of the ways he wished me to change, he pulled me closer. Hot and cold. One extreme or the other.
I was left reeling.
My breath was shallow, my chest hollow, my pain dull and aching. I could think of nothing to say; there was nothing to defend. But I found no words of agreement either.
Same fight, but everything else was different, somehow more true than it had been the first time, his words an arrow, sharp and barbed, running me through.
How could I explain that when he'd left, he'd taken me with him? How could I tell him he was all I wanted, and when he was lost to me, I lost all hope?
I couldn't. I could barely whisper the words to my own heart, never mind where his ears would hear.
So I walked next to him in the cold, feeling ashamed and wrong, feeling that I'd been put back in my place. I accepted it, shrinking back into that small space where I could hide, disappear, even though he'd asked me not to while he pushed me into the role with his own hands.
I didn't know how to exist any other way, not anymore. My light had gone out when he left me years before.
I was turned so inward that I didn't feel that his frustration had ebbed, softened, though the tension between us snapped as we approached the steps to his house.
He stopped in front of me, bringing me to a halt.
"Elliot, wait."
My heart thumped in my throat as I waited for him to speak, looking up into his hard face.
He grappled with something — I could see it behind his eyes as they searched my face, in the set of his lips as the seconds ticked by. He didn't know what to say any more than I did. But at least he was strong enough to try.
"I … I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Your choices, your wishes are none of my business, and they haven't been for a long time."
The heat in my cheeks spread. "You weren't wrong."
He looked down. "I'm not right either."
I could feel his regret, his hurt, and I only wanted to take it away. I only wanted to make him whole again.
I only wished I knew how.
"Wade, really," I soothed. "It's all right. This … this isn't easy for any of us. Least of all you. Don't worry about me."
He met my eyes, gray and cool as snow. "I always have. Can't stop now."
I opened my mouth to speak, but he turned and started up the stairs.
"I really am sorry. For all of this," he said with his back to me, and then he opened the door, leaving me standing on the step, my soul staggering.
After a breath, I gathered myself up and walked in behind him, hearing a new voice from the library.
"Ben?" Wade muttered, hanging his jacket hastily before striding away with bewilderment on his face.
I watched his profile as he stood in the threshold of the room for a second, face illuminated by the sunlight streaming in the window, and he lit up from the inside with pure joy.
I didn't move until he bolted into the room, laughing.
I hung up my coat and hat and stepped into the room to find him embracing a man whom I'd never seen before. He was as tall as Wade, with dirty blond hair cut almost identically, and he smiled a big, gleaming smile as they clapped each other on the back before pulling away.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Wade asked, grinning like a little boy on Christmas morning. I found myself smiling too, infected by their happiness, by the lightness in the room.
Ben smirked and shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He looked dashing, cavalier, without a care in the world, though his eyes hid a heaviness and sadness behind their twinkle and spark.
"Thought you could use backup. That, and I'm a terrible listener."
Wade laughed again, shaking his head as he looked Ben over. "Goddamn, I can't believe it. I mean, I can believe it, but I didn't think …"
He was still smiling, though it shifted, colored with unsaid understanding. "Good to see you too."
Wade stepped around him to display him to the crowded room. Sadie sat at Rick's feet on the bed, and Sophie sat in an armchair. Lou waited on the couch, apparently next to where Ben had been. Consequently, she was looking at him like he was a warm chocolate chip cookie.
Selfish relief slipped over me at the thought of her being interested in Ben rather than Wade.
"How long have you been here?" Wade asked Ben. "Have you met everyone?"
"I just got here a bit ago, and I've met everyone but you," Ben said as he turned to me, flashing his friendly smile as he approached. His eyes were dark and his face boyish, full of mirth and levity, a breath of fresh air in a room stifled with the weight of the world. "I'm Ben," he said, extending his hand.
"Elliot." I took his big, strong hand and smiled. "Lovely to meet you."
Recognition flickered behind his eyes. "Same to you."
"Do you work with Wade?"
He stepped back, eyes cutting to Wade, the smile still on his lips. "I do, off and on sinc
e our first tour in Afghanistan. I've been following him around ever since."
"It was good of you to come," I offered, and Wade nodded, still beaming. I glanced around the room, realizing there wouldn't be enough seating for all of us. "Let me go grab a few more chairs."
"I'll help," Sophie said as she stood, giving me a meaningful look, falling into stride as we walked out of the room.
Once in the hallway, she sighed.
"Everything okay?" I asked, taking her arm.
She nodded as we walked into the dining room. "It's fine. I mean, relative to everything, it's fine. Things feel better, but it's so strange. I'm glad he's home, but it's underscored by the waiting. Sadie's trying, but she's so young and leaves whenever she can to be with her friends. I think … I think she doesn't know what to do. None of us know what to do."
"How could you know?" I asked quietly, looking into her eyes.
She glanced away, shaking her head, her brow heavy with worry. "I don't know. And Wade … I think he's struggling more than any of us, but he insists he's fine. I just wish there were something I could do."
"You know how he is. When he needs you, he'll ask, and if you try to force it out of him, it'll backfire." The words were matter-of-fact, a truth.
"I just hate it. All of it. Everything. It's not fair, Elliot." The words wavered, and I held her at arm's length, searching her face until she met my eyes.
"You're right. It's not fair. It's cruel and ugly and unjust. But we'll endure it for your dad because this is the sum of what we have to offer him — our love."
She pursed her lips and nodded, eyes shining. "I'm just so glad you're here."
I pulled her into a hug. "I know. And I'm not going anywhere."
She held on to me for a moment before breaking away, sniffing once as she turned for a chair. "I can't believe Ben came just to be here for Wade. The room already feels lighter, doesn't it?"
"It does. Wade's face! Did you see his face?" I beamed at the image in my mind.
Sophie mirrored my expression. "I haven't seen him smile like that in ages."
"They must be close."