A Thousand Letters(56)

"Time?" I asked as I sat, my heart weak and broken. "I asked for time once, and you wouldn't give it. I've given so much." The words trembled and broke.

He stood, and I watched the expanse of his back and broad shoulders flex and release as he reached for his pants. "I'm sorry. Forgive me."

"No," I whispered, an answer and a plea. I'd known our fate, knew my sacrifice, but that knowledge was no consolation. My facade fell, my braveness gone — I couldn't take everyone's pain like I had so willingly. I couldn't give any more because I had nothing left.

He pulled on his pants hastily, stuffing his feet in his boots. And then he was at the window, dejected and desolate, ashamed and repentant. The rest of his clothes and his coat were in his hands as he opened the window, casting a tortured glance over his shoulder at me before disappearing into the falling snow, his footsteps vanishing within minutes as if he'd never been there at all.





17





Blank





The page is blank

Like new fallen snow,

As is my heart,

As is my soul.



* * *



-M. White





* * *



Wade

My hands lay on the surface of a mahogany table, palms pressed against the glossy surface, with my eyes on the reflection of the funeral director sitting across from me. Everything was in order, the details for tomorrow approved, and I'd just signed the rest of the paperwork, finalizing the funeral.

None of it fully reached me through the fog I'd been wandering through for the last two days.

Everything felt far away, distorted and fishbowled, like looking through the wrong end of a telescope. We were all grieving differently. Sadie was inconsolable. Sophie spent her time wavering between finding calm for Sadie's sake and crumbling, beside herself. And I was numb, grieving by not grieving, completely empty. There were too many things to do, too many people to talk to, and I was too busy to feel anything at all. Even in the dead of night, I lay in bed, not sleeping, not thinking, just watching the moonlight stream in through the window, warming to the blues and purples of dawn. And when the clock told me it was the right time, I would get up and dress to face another day.

"Mr. Winters?" he asked from across the table.

My eyes snapped to his. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

He smiled genuinely. "It's all right. I just asked if you had any other questions for me?"

"No." I pushed back my chair and stood, and he did the same, mirroring me as I extended my hand.

"Then we'll see you tomorrow. Just call me if you need anything before then."

A curt nod was my only response, and I turned to leave the room. I was fifteen blocks from the house, but I didn't hail a cab — instead I buttoned my felt coat and flipped the collar up against the cold, burying my hands in my pockets. But the cold seeped through, slipping into my skin, muscles, bone, and I welcomed it, wishing it would turn me to stone.

There was only one moment since the day he died when I could still feel, and I felt everything, my grief compounding in layers.

As he lay in the hospital bed with the light shining in on him, still, gone, I stood disbelieving at his side, knowing what I had to do. First was Sophie. I'd heard the phone drop to the ground, then Ben's voice telling me they were on their way.

Then I called Elliot.

Her voice split me open. The second she gave me a response, I'd disconnected, unable to take anything more.

And when I looked at him again, I knew into the depths of my soul that he was gone.

I knew I was gone too.

I left the house, not knowing what I was doing or where I was going. And I walked. I walked until the sun disappeared and the snow began to fall, walked until my feet carried me to her. And as I stood in front of her window, I knew what I needed, what I wanted, the only thing I had left.

Her.

That was the moment I came alive. I crawled through that window and into her arms. I poured myself into her until I was empty again.

I'd been empty ever since.

I left simply because I couldn't stay. I'd made a mistake, crossed a line in going there, unable to see past myself. And when I left, I broke her again with my clumsy, numb hands.

The emptiness was complete. I couldn't feel her in my arms. I couldn't feel my heartache. I couldn't feel my soul or my feet against the pavement. All I had was the stinging cold to let me know I was alive.

The house was full of quiet movement as Ben, Lou, and Jeannie worked on setting it up for the wake. Something was baking in the kitchen, but I couldn't eat, hadn't eaten, knew I should. Instead, I hung my coat on a peg in the entryway and spoke to no one before walking up the stairs and into my room, closing the door behind me with a snick.

The light at my desk was still on, shining down on the blank paper like a spotlight, waiting for me to find something to say. How do you write a few words to sum up a man's life? How could I explain what he meant to me, to the world, on a sheet of paper? How could I describe the loss that had consumed me, leaving nothing? Because I had nothing. Nothing to give, no words to speak.

But I pulled out the chair and sat down, staring at the paper, blinking and breathing, heart beating, autonomous, lost to myself. The pen was heavy in my fingers, the words heavy in my mind, and when the ball-point touched the paper, words slipped out unbidden, unwanted as the tears fell from my eyes, unabashed, unashamed. And I realized then that I wasn't empty. I was broken; the sharp pieces of what was left of me were buried under shock that had collapsed, decimating me. But they resurfaced like the undead, cutting their way through the wreckage to open me up once again.