Austen Box Set

by Hart, Staci

  The hand that writ it; for I love you so

  That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot

  If thinking on me then should make you woe.

  O, if, I say, you look upon this verse

  When I perhaps compounded am with clay,

  Do not so much as my poor name rehearse.

  But let your love even with my life decay,

  Lest the wise world should look into your moan

  And mock you with me after I am gone.

  Sadie sniffled, and I turned to find her tucked into Sophie's side on the couch. But that didn't affect me as much as the vision of Wade standing behind them with his eyes cold and silvery, as solid as he was broken. He was on fire, and he was frozen. Lou was at his elbow, her brow furrowed with concern.

  I closed the book, looking to Rick with my heart climbing up and up. "I'm sorry. This was a mistake."

  He reached for my hand. "No, just too true. But we need truth." He looked over my shoulder, motioning to his children. I tried to pull away to make room for them, but he tightened his grip, telling me silently to stay as they appeared at my side, Wade the closest.

  "Don't be afraid," Rick said gently. "Don't hide. I'm here." He let go of my hand and touched Sadie's heart. "I'm here."

  Tears slipped down my cheeks, and Wade broke, his face bending, his hands fisted in the sheets as he dropped to his knees, his forehead pressed into the mattress.

  "My boy," Rick whispered, cupping the back of his head. "I'm sorry to leave you."

  Wade's shoulders shuddered, and I pressed my hand over my mouth, but the pain wouldn't stay down, stay in — it poured out of me, raw and burning.

  "Don't be afraid," Rick said again as he looked us over, his voice thick and rough.

  "Don't be afraid," he whispered to himself, eyes closed.

  The girls bent to hold him, and I stepped back to give them room, to let them be, this family who I loved so much, unable to catch my breath, unable to see them through the curtain of tears. Wade hadn't moved, but as I backed away, he reached for me blindly, grabbing my hand, pulling me back. And I sank to my knees next to him, our fingers twined together; we existed only in our grief.

  In that grief, time moved without purpose, an absent ticking from somewhere in the room, meaning nothing to us as we were swept away. The surge of emotion overwhelmed us, and when it ebbed, it pulled back through the sand with a whisper, taking us with it.

  Wade didn't let go of my hand, just sat once he'd calmed with our hands tied together in his lap, his head bowed and shoulders bent. And when he finally looked up, his eyes held honesty and truth I wasn't prepared for. That moment broke my heart again, just when I thought it couldn't be broken any more.

  He let me go, and we moved to stand, finding Rick smiling at us proudly with a quivering chin and eyes full of hope.

  "You're what I give to the world, what I leave behind. I am proud." He said it slowly, every word with intention, with concentration, as if it were the most important thing he'd ever say. "Now, we have truth. Hold onto it."

  We nodded, smiling back through fresh tears.

  "Now, ice cream."

  Laughter burst out of us, Wade's coming through louder, clearer than the rest, warming my soul. And I realized how much he'd needed that, needed Rick, needed to be. It had set him free, if only for a moment.

  Jeannie and Lou were in the doorway, hanging onto each other while they watched us. Jeannie moved her hand from her mouth, wiping her tears as we dispersed, moving for the kitchen, but Wade stayed behind, leaning in to speak softly to his father.

  I closed the door behind us as we left, hoping he could say all that he needed.

  "I wasn't sure if we should have stayed or gone," Jeannie said to Sophie as Sadie gathered bowls and Lou unpacked gallons of ice cream from the freezer.

  "It's all right," Sophie answered. "I'm glad you stayed. You should spend as much time with Dad as you can."

  "Thank you for that. I … This is almost as hard as when we lost your mom." She smoothed Sophie's hair. "I'm just so sorry."

  Sophie breathed deep, grey eyes shining. "Me too."

  We piled up bowls full of ice cream scoops, different flavors in different bowls for him. I arranged them on a tray as everyone made their own bowls, and we filed back into the room. Sophie and I sat on either side of Rick, taking turns giving him samples of all the flavors we brought. I was on his bad side, so I made sure I was swift enough not to let any fall from his lips.

  He chuckled after swallowing when I'd caught a particularly drippy bite. "I'm like a baby."

  I smiled. "You're far too handsome to be a baby, Rick." It was true — he and Wade looked just alike, with a strong jaw, gray eyes, and dark hair, though Rick had shocks of gray at his temples.

  "Nah. Need a bib. Reminds me of Sadie and the sweet potatoes."

  Sadie rolled her eyes. "Oh, God. Not this again."

  Wade laughed around a mouthful of ice cream, catching my eye with the spark in his, reminding me so much of days long ago spent just like this. I saw him, the boy I loved, in that moment.

  "Man." He shook his head at Sadie. "I've never seen such a mess. I told you she didn't like them, Dad."

  "You were right," Rick said.

  Sadie pointed at him with her spoon, her gray eyes flashing. "Orange vegetables are unnatural."

  Wade was still chuckling, poking at his ice cream with his spoon. "You were screaming like crazy, and Dad was doing the purple prose plane."

  "What in the world is that?" Jeannie asked, amused.

  Wade leaned on Rick's bed and crossed his ankles. "An airplane that runs on overly-descriptive prose. Here comes the silvery jet on the wings of the storm, into the gaping maw of the giant!" He laughed again. "Sophie hit the edge of the bowl with a screech, and it flipped around about a hundred times, slinging orange goop all over the kitchen."

  "Hyperbole," Rick said. "Three times." He opened his mouth for another bite, and I heaped a spoon of double chocolate fudge in.

  Wade shook his head, smiling into his ice cream. "Sophie just sat there with her mouth in a little 'o' and eyes as big as silver dollars, covered in orange slop, and then we all died laughing."

  I switched out the bowl for mint chocolate chip and waited for him to finish his orange sherbet. Rick's brow quirked.

  "Things taste different."

  "Better or worse?" I asked.

  "Neither, just … different. Farther away. Smaller." He opened up for a bite, and I fed him.

  Jeannie stood and began collecting bowls. "Let me clean up, and then we should get going."

  Rick smiled, and I noticed his lids were heavy.

  "Tired?"

  He looked to me when I spoke. "A little."

  "It's been a big day. I should probably go too."

  "Back tomorrow?" he asked hopefully, and I smiled.

  "Of course."

  He seemed comforted by that and refused another bite from Sophie. So we moved around straightening up in the library and kitchen. Jeannie and Lou left first, and I didn't miss Lou holding Wade close or touching his hand before she walked away. I said my goodbyes in the library, making plans for the morning before seeing myself out.

  The sounds of the girls and Rick talking and laughing carried through the hallway and to me, setting a smile on my lips as I pulled on my coat and scarf. My hand was nearly on the doorknob when I heard my name softly, gently on his lips.

  I turned and found Wade before me, but something had changed, something in his eyes. It wasn't forgiveness I found there, but layers of a newfound emotion, indiscernible to me. His hand lifted just a degree, and I imagined him reaching for me before it dropped again. He searched my face, the words he wanted to say warring behind his eyes.

  "Thank you," he said after an agonizing moment. "Thank you for being here for Dad, for us. I know … I know it's not easy."

  "It's not easy for any of us. I'm not alone in that."

  "No," he said simply. "You're not."


  "Thank you, too. For letting me be here."

  His voice rumbled, velvety and solemn. "I wouldn't keep you from him, Elliot."

  My name again, three syllables on his breath.

  I nodded; my voice failed me.

  He looked down at his shoes and back up, hands slipping into his pockets as he took a step back. "I'll see you tomorrow."

  "Goodnight," I answered quietly and closed my hand over the doorknob, turning it to step into the cold night where I found a glimmer of hope caressing the moon.

  So Easy

  Hurt is so easy,

  Loss so simple

  In its complexity,

  And to fall into

  The arms of the dark

  Is effortless.

  - M. White

  Wade

  My sisters and I had spent the morning reading to Dad, hours spent in silence other than the cadence of verse and rhyme as he watched the window as if it held answers. I'd been reading Thoreau for an hour, comforted by the connection to Dad without the pressure of our own thoughts and fears.

  The day before drifted in and out of my thoughts. He was home, and the anxiety of his homecoming was finally behind us after so much waiting, so much anticipation. We had all been left reeling. I hadn't expected to come home to Elliot's words, to the truth of the moment. It had opened me up, and I had spilled out, unable to find composure or control when my father held my face and called me his.

  And she was there, by my side, as lost and broken as we all were, backing away, trying to disappear again when she held a place next to us. I couldn't let her do it, couldn't let her shrink away. So I stopped her, took her hand not knowing that it was me who needed her.

  I didn't know until my eyes found her hands resting in my lap wrapped in mine, so warm, so soft, that connection to her like a breath of life.

  When the moment had passed and were all smiling again, the ease and normalcy (that word, that feeling, a thing which I sought and feared) surprising me and somehow not surprising me at all. We slipped into it simply, the fight and anguish burned down and away.

  I watched her leave the room last night, saw the gentle curve of her shoulder, the slight curl of her fingers, the tip of her nose when she turned for the hall. She was so familiar to me still, and I followed her almost against my will. There was so much I wanted to say. She'd brought me comfort while exposing a crack in the wall I'd built, and a sliver of light shone through, a warm slice of a feeling I hadn't been lucky enough to find since we'd parted ways.

  I wanted to tell her that. I wanted to touch her face, breathe her in, feel her in my arms. But standing there before her with her eyes begging me to speak, the words left me.

  The words I had weren't enough. They'd never been enough. They'd never be enough.

  But I wanted them to be, always wished they had. She might have even forgiven me, but I didn't deserve her forgiveness.

  The afternoon sun spilled in through the window as I read on, the words of Thoreau on my lips, sinking into my heart.

  And each may other help, and service do,

  Drawing Love's bands more tight,

  Service he ne'er shall rue

  While one and one make two,

  And two are one;

  In such case only doth man fully prove

  Fully as man can do,

  What power there is in Love

  His inmost soul to move

  Resistlessly.

  Two sturdy oaks I mean, which side by side,

  Withstand the winter's storm,

  And spite of wind and tide,

  Grow up the meadow's pride,

  For both are strong

  Above they barely touch, but undermined

  Down to their deepest source,

  Admiring you shall find

  Their roots are intertwined

  Insep'rably.

  Dad took a heavy breath and released it, and I watched him.

  "Want me to keep going?"

  He turned his head to smile at me, looking tired. "Lunch?"

  Sophie stood from the couch. "I'll get you some. Mac and cheese?"

  "Bacon?" he asked hopefully.

  She laughed. "Is there any other way?"

  He chuckled back, and Sadie got up too. "Let me help you," she said, and they left the room.

  I closed the hardbound book. "Feeling okay?"

  He shrugged one shoulder. "Tired."

  "Well, you should sleep after lunch. Once the nurse comes, it'll be impossible. All that poking and prodding."

  "Like a science experiment." He smiled, swallowing before asking, "Know when Elliot's coming?"

  I shook my head. "I think she's at work this morning. That's what Sophie said, at least," I added.

  He nodded. "It's hard for you, with her here." It wasn't a question, but an observation, and I answered it honestly.

  "It is. But it's all right. I'm all right."

  "I know you'd never tell me otherwise." He reached for his water, glistening as the light shone through it, but it was just out of his reach. I stood and sat on the edge of the bed, picking up the water to bring the straw to his lips.

  "You're probably right about that. But it's okay. It's getting easier."

  "You still love each other."

  My heart stopped painfully in my chest, restarting with a jolt. "I'm not who I was before, and neither is she."

  "That's true. You've grown on your own, but Thoreau wrote: Above they barely touch, but undermined / Down to their deepest source, / Admiring you shall find / Their roots are intertwined / Insep'rably."

  Emotion surfaced like an oil slick, slinking with every color. "You're right. But please, don't ask me to dig through that, not right now. It's … I don't know how to sort through her and me. One thing at a time."

  He swallowed, gathering his strength to speak. "I won't ask, son. I won't force your hand. Just want you to know I understand. I see you, and her, and your pain."

  His words trailed through that oily feeling again, the colors of my emotions swirling in their wake. "I don't want you to worry about me or Elliot."

  He laid back, and I set the glass back down, moving the rolling tray close to his bed. "It's easier than thinking about myself."

  We shared a silent moment, watching each other. I saw myself in him in large ways and small, counting every similarity as the clock on one of his shelves ticked incessantly.

  "Are you afraid?" I asked quietly.

  He nodded. "But there's nothing to be done, no way to fight. So, I'm resigned. I feel … feel myself letting go. But I don't worry about me. When I leave, you'll stay. I know … I …" He struggled with the words, frustrated, wanting to communicate, so I waited patiently for him to find his strength. "Fifteen years have passed, and sometimes the pain is as fresh as the second she left us." He closed his eyes briefly and opened them again, reaching for my hand. "These days are about saying goodbye, and the luxury is one I want to take advantage of. I'm grateful for it." The words were labored by the end, his energy waning from exertion.

  "So are we." The words were solemn, and grief struck me again, regret washing over me alongside it. "I … I'm sorry I haven't been here. I'm sorry I wasn't the son I should have been. I should have come home more, been present, stopped … stopped running away."

  His brow dropped, eyes soft and full of understanding. "Wade, you are everything I wished for. I am proud of you, and not once have I resented you for finding your way in this world. Not once."

  "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.

  S
top 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.