A Thousand Letters(32)

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.