Most of All You: A Love Story(82)
I watched Ellie as her expression turned from shock and confusion to sorrow and pain. Her eyes moved to me, and I saw such deep hurt in them, I reached for her. “Is this why?” she asked on a broken whisper.
Confusion rolled through me. “Is this why what?”
“Why you love me? Is it because of …her?” She nodded down at the doll as a tear slipped from her eye. “Oh,” she let out a shuddery breath, “it makes sense now.”
“God, no, Eloise. I love you because of you. I loved you before I even knew your real name.”
“But …” She looked so devastated, and it made my guts twist. God, I’d never imagined she’d react this way, that she would think I’d what … made her into some living, breathing version of the figure in my hand?
I held it out to her, stepping forward and placing it in her hands, wrapping my own around hers. “It’s only a doll, Ellie. A piece of rock.”
I let go of her hands and she held it up, studying the details of the small girl, the peaceful smile, the long, flowing hair, the flowers held in her tiny grasp. She’d been the last one I’d carved, and because my skill had grown with each figure I created, she was the most beautiful, the most detailed. I could see Ellie’s hands shaking as she held her.
She sucked in a small sob and stepped back, losing her grip on the doll. It seemed to happen in slow motion. Ellie’s eyes widened as she stepped forward and attempted to catch Lady Eloise. For a second I thought she had it, but her finger only grazed it, sending it farther from her hand, speeding to the floor where it hit with a smash and broke into a hundred pieces. I froze where I stood.
Ellie let out a keening cry as she fell to her knees in front of the shattered girl. “Oh my God. Oh no. Gabriel, I’m … I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” She used her hands to sweep all the pieces together into one small pile. Her hands were shaking so badly now, I wondered how she even managed the chore.
I moved to go down to her, when she suddenly sprang up and ran to the table near the front door, where there was a plastic bag. She ran back and kneeled down again and scooped the pieces into the bag. “I’ll fix it. I … I … I can fix it. If …” She let out another sob.
I came out of the strange trance I’d seemed to go into, the picture clearing as I fell to my knees in front of her. “Ellie, love, stop. Please. It doesn’t matter. It’s okay.”
She shook her head sharply from side to side. “It does matter. She was—”
I pulled her into my arms, smoothing her hair. “Shh. It doesn’t matter,” I repeated.
“You always say that. You always just accept everything. But it does matter. It does.” She sucked in a big, shaky breath and started to cry. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Anguish rose in my chest to witness the depth of her suffering. It seemed far too deep and boundless to really be all about a broken doll. God, what should I do? How could I ease her pain? I stroked her hair and kissed her tear-streaked cheeks. “Ellie, sweet love, you’re breaking my heart.”
She burrowed into me, crying harder, and all I could do was hold her in my arms until her tears finally abated. Finally, after what seemed like a long time, I helped her to her feet. She insisted on taking the plastic bag of broken parts with her, clutched to her chest. I called and told George she was sick and I was taking her home.
You can’t fix me, you know.
No, I can only love you.
*
That night, I made love to her, attempting to show her with my body all the love I had in my heart. I held her in my arms and whispered words of love and devotion to her in the darkness, and she nestled into me, accepting the comfort I so badly wanted to offer her. But her silence told me she’d retreated into herself and I just had to hope she’d come back to me again by the time the morning came.
But when the sun dawned, I opened my eyes to see that she had pulled an upholstered chair up to the window. She was curled up in it, watching the small sliver of sun as it appeared. I sat up on one elbow. “Morning.”
She sat up and turned, her expression soft and sad. “Good morning,” she whispered.
“What are you doing over there?”
She bit at her lip and turned her face to the window for a second. She stood up and came back to the bed, sitting at the edge. The look on her face was so filled with sorrow, my heart started beating faster. “I think you know I have to go, Gabriel.”
“Go? Go where?” Panic filled my chest and I sat up.
She took a deep breath as if she was attempting to calm herself. “I’ve been up all night, just thinking—”
“Ellie, if this is about that figure—”
She shook her head. “It’s not, not really. I mean, I think I know your feelings for me don’t exist because I happen to have the same name as the stone figure you carved.” She sighed. “I just, I can’t keep doing this to you, Gabriel. I can’t keep doing this to me.”
A lump formed in my throat, and I moved forward on my knees, taking her into my arms. She didn’t resist; on the contrary, she melted into me as she always did. “I love you so much,” she breathed. “And I know you love me, but I can’t stop questioning why. I’ve tried so hard and everything inside me just …hurts. I’m so lost, and I don’t think I can find myself here. And I need to, Gabriel. I need to find myself. I need to figure out who I am without you. I need to figure out what to hold on to and what to let go of.”