A Thousand Letters

by Staci Hart

  I'd thought so much about why I couldn't move on, what it was about him that I couldn't forget. I didn't know that I believed in soulmates, but I believed in compatibility and chemistry. I believed in the feeling of being so tied to another person that you didn't want to be without them. I believed in love that doesn't die, mostly because I'd lived in that hell for seven years, regretting all the reasons we were apart, wishing for forgiveness, wishing I'd made different choices, used different words, just … wishing I'd done it all differently.

  But wishing and hoping had given me nothing, only prolonged my loss.

  And now, he was back. He was home. And he didn't want to see me, didn't want me there. It was clear in every muscle in his body, every molecule in the air between us — it only telegraphed anger and betrayal, even after all this time.

  I placed JoJo Moyes where she belonged and walked around the corner for the Diana Gabaldon book in my hand. Outwardly, I was sure I looked perfectly fine, but inside, I was on fire, consumed by my losses. It was my version of a magic trick: it was easier to keep the truth to myself, because what could anyone else do? I carried the weight of my choices around with me always, and no one knew. No one needed to suffer along with me.

  As I put away the rest of the books, I thought ahead to the afternoon when I'd see Wade again.

  Sophie had asked me to come over to prepare the house for Rick's homecoming, and I would be there despite my fears, despite the warning that rang in my heart. I was torn between the want to be there for her and the knowledge that I wasn't wanted by him, opting in the end for Sophie, for Rick, for myself. I only hoped we would find a way to look past ourselves. But it was all up to him. It had always been up to him.

  Wade

  It was too quiet.

  My sisters and I sat in Dad's library, rearranging the room for the hospital bed and equipment hospice had dropped off a few hours before. The only sounds in the room were the shuffling of books, the smoothing of sheets, the crackle and pop of the fire, and the occasional sniffle to betray what we were all thinking but couldn't say aloud.

  This was the room where my father would die.

  We'd spent the morning at the hospital with Dad and had sorted out the final details with hospice, then had come home to get everything ready for him. I'd moved out his heavy, mahogany desk — a relic passed down through generations along with the house, which had been in my family since it had been built — and we'd managed to create a space for the bed next to the window, leaving two armchairs and a couch, in case one of us needed or wanted to sleep in there. That was phase one.

  Phase two was to fill the room with his most precious worldly possessions.

  First and foremost were his books, which lined three of the walls. Thousands of books, some of which had lived in that room for nearly a hundred years, some Dad had acquired through his years of teaching literature, some that we'd given him as gifts. But those books fed his mind and soul through his entire life, and he'd be with them in the very end, even if he couldn't read them anymore. We'd read them for him.

  Everything else was secondary, and my sisters were already planning what they'd bring down for him. We moved through our actions like ghosts, our thoughts turned inward, and we guarded them like we would a wound. None of us knew how to share our grief.

  The doorbell rang, and the girls looked to me. They'd be looking to me for everything now.

  "I'll get it." I turned to leave, my footsteps echoing in the too-quiet entry.

  I pulled open the door to find Elliot, and my world shrank even more, consisting only of the two of us for seconds or minutes, I couldn't be sure. Her hands were deep in the pockets of her navy peacoat, a yellow knit hat on her head, and eyes so big, so full of sadness that I pushed away the urge to reach for her, wrap my arms around her small frame, hold her until we both felt right again.

  I cleared my throat and stepped out of the way to let her in, saying nothing with words, only with my straight back, dropped brow, narrowed eyes, using my body as a weapon against her.

  I had to keep her away.

  I had to keep my heart away from her, because when she was near, when it came to life, the sensation was too much, too painful.

  But how I wished it wasn't so.

  If only.

  She lowered her gaze and stepped in, walked past me without addressing me either, but she seemed smaller than before, as if she wanted to disappear, fade away. I wished for the same; she spun me around too quickly, and I couldn't find my footing.

  Elliot set her bag down just inside the door and Sophie hurried over to her. They embraced, my sister's face tight as she hooked it over Elliot's shoulder.

  "I'm so glad you're here," Sophie said, voice trembling.

  "Of course I'm here. I'll always be here for you."

  Sophie pulled away and swiped at her cheek. Sadie was waiting just behind her, twisting her hands, lip between her teeth, and Elliot moved to her, pulling her into a hug, rocking her almost imperceptibly. But I saw it. I saw everything Elliot did for what it was — kindness. She never acted under pretense or expectation.

  It was one of the many reasons why I'd loved her.

  Elliot let her go, but slipped her hand down Sadie's arm to hold her hand. "The room is coming along. What can I help with?"

  Sophie glanced over the room. "I was just going to go upstairs to gather up some of his things to bring down."

  "Great, I'll come with you." She unbuttoned her coat, her eyes finding mine for a fraction of a second before she followed my sisters. That tiny sliver of time could have been a year for what it did to me.

  "I need some air," I grumbled, my heart drumming in my ribs as I blew past the girls, down the stairs, and to the backyard.

  Yard was a generous word to use — it was a twenty-by-twelve patch of concrete and brick with an outdoor couch and two chairs, lined with bushes and flowers. But in Manhattan, it might as well have been an acre.

  I couldn't sit, not with a hundred thoughts of Elliot zinging through my head. So, I paced. Confusion, that was the primary emotion. Having her there, seeing her, remembering her … it stirred everything in me that I worked so hard to keep down. Regret. Love. Longing. And now of all times when I had no reserve energy? When I needed everything I had in me to keep my mask in place so that I could bear the days to come?

  I felt exposed, thin, too small to contain all of the things I felt, too weak to fix a single thing.

  But I had to find a way. I had to, not only for Sophie, who I'd promised, but for my father. He needed her here as much as he needed the rest of us. She was one of us, part of us. Part of me.

  That was the part I couldn't process. That after all this time, after all the lies I'd told myself, she was a part of me. It was as fresh now as it was the day we said goodbye, and I hated myself for my weakness.

  Elliot was a shock to my nervous system, a bucket of ice water down my back, and the clarity it brought stung all the way to my bones.

  I'd read an article once about a theory that when adults returned home, the family slipped back into their old dynamic. I'd found it to be true — Sophie would call me a know-it-all and I'd call her immature. Sadie would turn into a fawn, deferring to me for everything, telling me about her life with the same enthusiasm she had when she was five. And being around Elliot took me back to the years I loved her.

  But I didn't want to love her anymore. I didn't want to hurt anymore.

  My phone rang in my pocket, and I pulled it out, answering without looking.

  "Hello?" I snapped.

  "Hey, man."

  "Ben," I said, relieved to hear his voice, sighing as I raked a hand through my hair. "Sorry, didn't know it was you." I paced the length of the yard.

  "Well, I'd hate to be whoever you thought I was."

  I chuckled at that, just a puff of a sound.

  "How are you holding up?"

  The truth was that there wasn't enough time and there weren't enough words in the English language. "As well as
I can. What time is it there?"

  "Eleven."

  "Late."

  "Nah, not too bad. Hadn't heard from you today. Figured I'd check up on you."

  "Thoughtful," I said, almost smiling.

  "Well, I'm nothing if not thoughtful. And kind. And well-mannered."

  That elicited a snort out of me.

  "What? I'm well-mannered."

  He'd done it. I smiled. "You eat like a hog."

  "Only when it's MREs. You can't take too long to eat them or you'll start thinking about what you're putting in your body and gag."

  "Aw, come on. Cheese tortellini isn't so bad."

  "It is when it's got sand in it. And everything in Afghanistan has sand in it."

  I chuckled. "Well, at least we're in Germany now. Nothing but beer and brats as far as the eye can see."

  "I'll take it." He paused for a moment. "How's he doing?"

  A lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed it. "He's okay. We're getting the house ready for him … he'll be home in the morning."

  "And your sisters?"

  "They're …" I sighed, feeling tired. "We're a mess, Ben. All of us. And the only thing we can do is take every day from breath to breath."

  He sighed too. "You know, I've got plenty of leave saved up, and I'm sure I can get Sanders to approve me, if you want me to come. I think I can be there in a couple of days. All you have to do is say the word."

  I slowed my pace and sat down, dropping my head into my free palm. "There's no point in you suffering through all of this too. I can't give you any of my energy if you're here. I'm already on reserve as it is."

  "Psh, I'm easy — all I need are three hots and a cot."

  It might have been nice, having him there as a buffer, but I couldn't accept the offer no matter how much it could help. He didn't need this in his life. "I'll be all right. But thanks, Ben. I appreciate it."

  "Anytime," he said, sounding a little disappointed. "If you change your mind, just let me know."

  "I will."

  "So how is it, being back in the States?"

  I looked around at my childhood home, feeling nostalgic and out of place. "It's weird. It's always weird."

  "Feels like another life." He paused for a second, and I wondered warily what he was about to say. "So, have you seen her?"

  Even without hearing her name, she invaded my mind. And Ben knew. He knew all about her, knew about us, knew she was friends with Sophie and all about her relationship with my dad. He knew everything about me — we'd been together since my first tour in Afghanistan.

  He was my best friend. My only friend.

  "She's here right now," I answered.

  He drew a breath and let it out. "How bad is it?"

  I ran a hand over my face and stood to pace again. "Bad. I can't deal with her on top of …"

  "Yeah."

  "But she's going to be around. A lot. And I have no idea what to do about it."

  "How's it gone so far?"

  "I don't know, man," I said, frustrated. "I'm not prepared for this, not for any of it, and she's the last thing on my mind right now," I lied.

  "Liar."

  I rolled my eyes. "What do you want me to say, Ben? I don't want to see her, but she's here and she'll be here, and I've just got to deal with it however I can."

  He sighed. "Fair enough."

  The doorbell chimed, and I stood. "Goddammit," I mumbled. "I've gotta go. Somebody's at the door."

  "All right. Just hit me up and let me know how things are going."

  "I will," I said as I charged through the hallway, hanging up and shoving my phone back into my pocket. I pulled the door open with a whoosh that sent the blond ponytail of the woman on my stoop swaying.

  Lou, my cousin by marriage, stood on the front porch holding a casserole. She was tall and blond with high cheekbones and wide, blue eyes, and I'd never been so unhappy to see someone smiling than I was right then.

  "Wade!"

  "Hey, Lou. Come on in," I said gruffly, and she obliged without protest.

  "I'm so sorry," she said as I closed the door. "For everything."

  I cleared my throat, not sure what to say. Luckily, she didn't wait on me.

  "Jeannie wanted me to bring this casserole by so you had dinner tonight. She would have brought it by herself, but she's at work and didn't want you to make plans." She offered the covered dish to me, and I took it.

  "She could have just called," I grumbled under my breath as I set it on the hall table. Sophie and Sadie appeared at the top of the stairs with Elliot behind them. There were too many people, too many things happening, too much chaos, and I felt strangled by it all.

  "Lou!" Sophie called, hurrying down the stairs to hug her.

  She wrapped her arms around my sister. "Sophie. I'm so sorry."

  Sophie's breath hitched. "Thank you." She pulled away and glanced at the casserole. "Oh, this is so thoughtful. God, I hadn't even thought about what we'd do for dinner."

  Lou's brow dropped. "Have you eaten?"

  We all shook our heads.

  "Well, let me get it started for you, then."

  "You don't have to do that, Lou," I said, hating that she felt obligated, wishing she would go. Wishing everyone would just go.

  She smiled over at me. "Oh, I don't mind. I love taking care of people."

  Lou hadn't seen Elliot standing behind the girls — this wasn't uncommon, most people didn't see her unless they were looking right at her. I was unfortunately not one of those people.

  "Oh, hello. We haven't met," Lou said, and I caught a hint of confusion, tinged with wariness.

  "Elliot," I said, and her eyes darted to me at the sound of her name just as my heart stopped at the feel of it on my lips. "This is my cousin, Louisa."

  Lou gave me a little look, smiling. "By marriage," she added, propping the dish on her hip to free her hand, which she extended. "Nice to meet you."

  "Nice to meet you too," Elliot echoed meekly.

  Lou smiled. "I'll just be a second. Wade, did you want to help me out?"

  Elliot and I glanced at each other and away just as fast. "Sure," I answered, following her into the kitchen.

  She headed straight for the oven and turned it on, setting the casserole dish on the counter as I wondered exactly what I could help with. So I leaned on the counter and watched her, feeling useless and uncomfortable.

  "I really am so sorry, Wade."

  I shifted and folded my arms. "Thanks."

  Her eyes were full of pity. "I know I haven't always been part of the family, but Dad and I have always felt like it, thanks to Rick."

  I nodded, not sure what I was supposed to say.

  "Anyway," she continued, turning for the cabinets next to me. "We're here for you guys. Just let us know what we can do to help. You've got my number, so call whenever. I mean it." She picked up a stack of plates and wobbled a little — I was at her side in a flash, steadying her. Her cheeks flushed as she looked up at me, smiling. "Gosh, thanks, Wade. I'm such a klutz."

  "No problem."

  I took the plates and turned, not wanting to give her the wrong idea. In part because she was looking at me like she'd wanted me to kiss her. The thought was another in a myriad of events and feelings that I couldn't find a way to process.

  Aunt Jeannie had married her dad after I left, so I didn't know Lou all that well, but from the first time I'd met her, she'd had a thing for me. She was always flirting, and though she wasn't unpleasant at all — in fact, she was beautiful — I'd never even considered her. That didn't stop her from trying.

  The oven beeped, and she practically bounced to the casserole, popped it into the oven, and set the timer for twenty minutes.

  "This'll be ready in a jiffy," she said with a smile. "I can't leave until you're fed and taken care of. Come sit down, take a break. This can't be easy on you."

  I took a breath and let it out, taking a seat, not comforted by her endeavor to 'take care' of me. But I didn't think she'd take no fo
r an answer, and I found myself without the energy or means to argue. She was trying to help, and the alternative was trying to avoid Elliot. The kitchen suddenly seemed as good a place as any to do just that.

  Lou smiled and popped open the fridge, returning with a beer that she expertly popped the top of before handing it over, looking pleased.

  "So, tell me what's been up with you? My God, I feel like I haven't seen you in years, but it was just Christmas-before-last, right?"

  I took a long pull of my beer and nodded. "I wasn't here very long."

  "Right, just dinner on Christmas Eve and then Christmas morning?"

  "Yeah. I had to get back, but at least I didn't miss Uncle Jerry's drunken Bing Crosby karaoke."

  She laughed. "The best part was the dried eggnog on his crotch. He looked like he'd been partying at a strip club instead of a family holiday dinner."

  I relaxed a little, laughing at the memory of old Jerry swaying, eyes glassy, with a microphone in his hand and a crusty white stain next to his zipper. She laughed too, leaning on the island on her forearms, which incidentally put a little slice of tasteful cleavage in my line of sight.

  I kept my eyes on hers, hoping I didn't look encouraging.

  "I wish you could have stayed longer," she continued. "My Granny Eugenia played the ukulele Christmas night, and we had a repeat Jerry performance, though less drunk and somehow more lewd."

  I chuckled. "Had to get back."

  "You don't get much time off, do you?"

  I took another drink to give myself a second to cultivate my answer. I had plenty of time off, and I could have taken more, if I'd wanted. I just didn't. It was easier that way, to bury myself in work, in my other life, my easy life where I knew where to be, when to be there, and what to wear. I didn't have to decide. I could just be, and that life, that new life was what I'd devoted myself to for seven years. The old life seemed like a dream most days, a story about a man who didn't exist anymore.

  I set the beer on the counter and twisted it in a circle. "Nah, you know how it is. Things are busy, and flying home, especially when I'm overseas, isn't always an option."

  "That's too bad. We miss you when you're not here."

  I took a drink, hoping she wouldn't wait for an answer. She didn't.