A Thousand Letters(44)

She watched me for a second, assessing me. "Question."

"Answer."

"Who broke your heart?"

I blinked at her.

She waved a hand. "I'm sorry. You don't have to answer that. I'm also notorious for asking questions I don't need the answers to. It's just that I've been hurt too, and it took me a lot to get past it. I was … resistant to relationships for a long time, so … I get it. I mean, if that's what happened to you." Her hand waved again. "I'm rambling."

"It's okay. You're right," I said, surprising myself, still brave from finding my voice with Jack. "I was engaged a long time ago."

Her eyes widened. "I had no idea."

I nodded. "We were young, in high school, and my father didn't approve because of our age. We broke up when he left for the Army, and I didn't see him for a long time. Until just last week, actually. He's my best friend's brother. It's his father who's dying."

Her mouth popped open in surprise, and she covered it with her hand. "Oh, Elliot."

"And I think I'm still in love with him." The words were quiet, and I didn't know why I said them, the things I never said aloud. But she was safe in the sense that she was completely separate, unaffected, with only my best interest at heart. It hurt just as badly as I thought it would to speak the words, but I found comfort in the admission, an acknowledgement.

"Does he know?"

"I don't know. But it doesn't matter. There's just too much between us. Pain. Time. Change."

"Does he love you?"

I shook my head, my heart aching. "I can't know. Sometimes I think he does, and others …"

Her brows pinched together with sadness. "Elliot, that's …"

I tried to smile. "Honestly, it's all right. I wish things were different, but they're not."

She watched me for a beat. "You should talk to him."

A small laugh passed my lips. "I wrote him hundreds of letters when he left, and he never responded. That silence was my answer. And when we've tried to talk since he's been back, it's only devolved and dissolved into us hurting each other. It's over and done, years ago."

"But you love him. Maybe you're wrong. Maybe he loves you too, and if you guys just talked about it, everything would be fine. You could be together."

"It's so much more complicated than that."

She stood, her face quirked with purpose. "You've just got to find a way to tell him how you feel, that's all. At least find out for sure how he feels. Because look, what if you're wrong? What if there is a way and you just haven't found it yet? You can't give up, not if you really love him. You've got to fight for him."

Out of nowhere, I felt exhausted, weighed down by the futility of Wade, of Rick, of my life. "I don't know how much fight I've got. If I fight and lose—"

"But what if you fight and win? Isn't it worth knowing?"

"Of course, but … Cam, it's not the right time."

She took my hands. "Just think about it, okay? Be open to the possibility, and take the opportunity, if it arises. Does that seem reasonable?"

I squeezed her hands, thankful for someone who believed in me more than I believed in myself. "Very reasonable."

She smiled. "Good. And see? People love telling me their secrets."

And I couldn't help but laugh.





13





Truth in Darkness





In the darkness

In the cold grip of night

When the light disappears

And the shadows swallow the sharp edges

This is where

The truth lies.



* * *



-M. White





* * *



Wade

"Here," Sophie whispered as she handed me a tent and a couple of sleeping bags. We stood in the foyer, Elliot passing things in from the stoop that she'd brought, all my concentration spent on keeping my eyes everywhere but on her. "Take this into the living room. We'll put it together there."

"I'll bring up the trees, too," I whispered back, and she nodded, smiling.

It was too much to resist, and I looked at her, but she wouldn't meet my eyes — hers were on the ground as she brought in a couple more sleeping bags. I walked past her to deposit everything in the living room. She looked fresh and crisp, her cheeks rosy, dark hair falling over her shoulders, and I watched her as I passed through the room again, willing her to look at me. But she wouldn't, just kept her eyes on her task or on Sophie as they moved things into the living room quietly.

She had every right to ignore me.

I trotted down the stairs and into the basement, grabbing the first Christmas tree I came to. We'd bought half a dozen on clearance the day before, and I'd hauled them all downstairs so they'd stay out of sight.

I kept on wishing things between us would get easier without effort, kept on hoping maybe she'd walk through the door and somehow I would be able to find the words. If nothing else, I hoped for cordiality at least, to be polite, pretend. It was so much easier to pretend.