by Staci Hart
Time had burned my anger down to an aching smolder — as much as I hated seeing her with him, she wasn't mine. The takeaway: I had no rights to her, and being angry or jealous about it wouldn't change that fact. But Ben's words echoed in my thoughts. We hadn't talked, and I hadn't asked Sophie who Jack was or what he meant to her. It could be nothing. It could be everything.
The more striking thing about the moment was the overwhelming desire to be the one to make her laugh. I wanted to be the one to touch her back with possession. But the world in which that possibility existed seemed like fiction, so far beyond me, so far out of my reach.
Futility. That was the thing I felt the most.
I trotted up the stairs and set the first tree under the window in the living room, and Ben headed down to grab another. I followed, finding him waiting for me, standing in the middle of the space with an accusatory look on his face.
"Tell me you're going to talk to her."
I moved past him and picked up another box. "I don't know, Ben," I answered impatiently.
"Because that was ridiculous. You two aren't fooling anyone into believing that you don't care that the other one's in the room." He stepped in front of me as I tried to pass him. "You didn't ask Sophie, did you?"
"No, I didn't." I sidestepped him, but he blocked me again.
"Wade, you have to talk to her."
"Ben, it's no use."
He still wouldn't let me pass. "You have to at least try."
My teeth clenched and released as I put the box down, since I'd clearly not be leaving until I heard him out. But I didn't want to talk about it, and I didn't have to. "And say what?"
"You could start by apologizing."
I folded my arms across my chest. "Who says I need to apologize?"
"You're telling me you were the picture of politeness when you got Shanghai'd yesterday? Because if I'm going by her body language, I'd say you weren't pleasant."
I scowled at him.
"That's what I thought. Just talk to her. You don't have to profess your undying love, but an apology might be a good place to start."
I just stood there, scowling.
"Maybe it's nothing. Maybe that guy's nobody."
I still didn't budge.
"I'm serious." He kept going, wanting me to argue, but I could see I was wearing him down. "I mean, the tension between you two takes the temperature in the room down thirty degrees." He paused, waiting. Then, he sighed. "Do it for your dad then, if not for yourself. You wouldn't want your dad to be cold, would you?"
I narrowed my eyes. "Are you done?"
He rolled his eyes and moved for another tree. "Yeah, I'm done."
"Good," I said as I picked up my box and headed back up the stairs.
As I hauled the unwieldy boxes up the stairs one by one, I acknowledged that he wasn't wrong. I also acknowledged that an apology — one which I owed her — might make her feel better, safer. When I considered apologizing for her, not for myself, I thought I might be able to do it. I longed for the hope I'd felt in bursts, wishing I could just hang on to it for a moment, wishing I could find a way to keep it.
I walked in with my last box to find Elliot struggling with the big bottom section of a tree. It hung on the box flap as she lifted it with all her strength and weight, and I set my box down, moving to her side. I took it from her, lifting it easily, and she blushed up at me, the expression hitting me in the heart — it wasn't longing I found in her face. It was regret.
"Thanks," she said softly.
"You're welcome." I moved to the base, placing it in the slot, and she began fluffing the branches as I watched, wondering if now was the time to speak or if I should wait. Uncertainty gripped me, fear skimming the edges. Just jump.
I opened my mouth to speak.
"What are you guys scheming?" Dad called from the library just down the hall.
Sophie smiled, shooting me a glance as she grabbed Sadie as she left the room. "Nothing, Dad. Need company?"
Ben set the last tree down next to the others and hung his hands on his hips, assessing the room. "I think we're going to need some coffee for this. I'll put a pot on."
And with a scheming smile, he left me there alone with Elliot.
She arranged the bottom branches as I reached into the box for the middle piece of the tree, popping it into the bottom piece with a snap, not knowing what to say, not sure how to broach anything with her anymore. There used to be a time when I could tell her anything. I wondered if I would ever know that trust again, and the thought gave me hope, the elusive, shimmering notion I wanted to feel so badly.
I picked up the tree top and stated it simply, since pretense escaped me. "I'm sorry. About yesterday." My voice was low, earnest.
She looked up at me, her bottomless eyes full of things I couldn't read.
I broke the connection when I placed the top of the tree in, pretending the scratchy plastic branches in my hand were difficult and fascinating to assemble. "It's been hard to know the right way to handle things, even small things, even things that have nothing to do with me. Especially when I'm caught off guard."
Her face was turned up to mine, but I kept my eyes on my hands, moving the branches around with no purpose. But when I finally got the courage to look at her, she'd turned her attention back to the tree.
"It's all right. I understand."
Do you? I thought to myself, wishing I could say it out loud.
Did she know I was sorry? Not just for yesterday, but for all the days before? Did she know I loved her still? I didn't know if I was prepared for the answer. I didn't know if I was ready to deal with the consequences of knowing.
"So, is Jack your …" The word boyfriend lodged itself in my throat.
"Friend," she finished for me.
Relief washed over me, but it was heavy with caution. I'd seen the way he looked at her, and it wasn't like that of one friend to another. Did she know he had a thing for her? Did she have feelings for him? Too many questions, and I couldn't ask a single one. It wasn't my place.
I cleared my throat, still working on the branches, and she stood and moved next to me.
"Here, let me show you how to do it so the tree looks more full." She demonstrated while I watched her, my eyes on the line of her small nose, the swell of her bottom lip, the curve of her chin.
I wanted her still, that fact was suddenly unbearable, now unburdened by the prospect of another man.
The only way I could have her was to beg for her forgiveness, apologize for pushing her, for leaving, for disappearing. But could we build on top of the wreckage of our past, or would it all fall apart, unstable and broken?
There was only one way to know — I had to try.
"Like this, see?" she said, her head tilted as she arranged the foliage, and I smiled at her, though she didn't know.
"Yes, I see."
* * *
The sunlight had shifted to hues of orange and red as we crept around the library, the air filled with classical music as Dad slept. The black sheets were nearly all hung around the room, and the furniture had been moved out and the trees moved in. The tent was in the other room, already assembled and waiting to be brought through the double doors when he woke.
Sophie and Sadie had brought in a tray of supplies for s'mores and hot dogs, downloaded a looping track of forest sounds to play, and Elliot brought wood for the fireplace and candles that smelled like pine, sleeping bags, and the planetarium. And as the sun dipped below the horizon, we were all set.
Elliot and I moved around each other silently, sharing moments: her hand brushing against mine, her lips blessing me with the smile I'd wished so much to see, and my heart squeezed and tightened and ached. Something had changed — Was it me? Was it her? — and I felt caught up in her at the prospect of forgiveness. I knew everything that stood between us, and yet it felt inconsequential, simple, a crack rather than a chasm.
I found myself watching her from a few feet away as she stretched onto her tipt
oes on the ladder to reach the top shelf, sheet between her fingers. She wobbled, nearly losing her balance — I was at her side, hands circling her waist to steady her. The curve was slight, and my hands rested in it as if they belonged there, the feeling of her against my palms and fingers sending heat through my chest. Another smile, the kind she'd always saved only for me, and as I looked up at her, I imagined her touching my face, kissing me sweetly, telling me—
I let her go and stepped back, not trusting myself.
Dad stirred, and I moved to his side with Elliot by mine. He glanced around, confused. "What's all this?"
"We have a surprise. Hang on."
I grabbed everyone, and within a few minutes, we'd brought everything in, the trees, the tent, all while he watched us with tears in his eyes, lips parted as he took it all in.
I held out my hands in display, our joy so bright, so strong, it filled the room. "You can't get to the Adirondacks, so we brought them to you."
"A camp-in?" he said with a laugh.
I nodded. "Complete with a campfire and stars. The works."
He reached for my hand with glistening eyes. "I'm so fortunate to have you."
I squeezed his fingers and said softly. "No, Dad. We're the lucky ones."
Elliot made quick work of lighting the fire as I sat with him, and Sophie lit the candles, placing them all around the room as Sadie turned on the track of rustling trees and crickets.
Dad looked around in wonder. "Smells like pine and smoke."
"But here's the best part." I killed the lights and clicked on the projector, throwing stars all around the room.
He sighed and laid his head back, eyes tracking the ceiling in wonder.
Elliot was at my elbow, watching him with the same awe I felt, but I found myself watching her. She struck me in that moment, a quiet moment, a moment of reverence.
She was all I'd ever wanted, and she was here, right here. All I had to do was reach out and touch her. All I had to do was ask.
My sisters laid out sleeping bags around the fireplace, and we turned Dad's bed, careful of the machine wires and tubes. And then we sat, telling stories, reminiscing. I watched Elliot as she roasted marshmallows, her face illuminated by the fire, the sound of her laughter filling my heart. I listened as she read Emerson's "Song of Nature," the words floating from her lips like a spell.
It was very late, the fire burned down to embers, and the house was quiet, everyone asleep but me and her, the lot of us lying scattered through the room in sleeping bags. And I found myself in the dark, found her in the dark. I found light and truth in the darkness, hiding there where I couldn't see, right in front of me the whole time.
And all I had to do was reach out and touch her.
Elliot
The room was quiet other than the chirping of crickets. Everyone was asleep except me, and I lay with my eyes on the ceiling, watching the stars next to Wade.
We were so close, close enough that I could reach out and touch him, but still so far away. Something had shifted though, the air between us charged with things he wanted to say — I could feel them in every word, every motion, as if the ice between us had begun to melt, and the boy I used to know was visible once again, though still distorted by the crystalline ice.
He was an enigma to me, every day providing a new challenge, a new fight. I never knew what I'd get. Angry and hot. Solemn and cold. Or warm, like today.
Today, the sun shone. Today, I saw him, saw the tenderness I'd longed for, dreamt of. Today, tonight, was magic.
My eyes were trained on the ceiling as I lost myself in my thoughts, and I was so intent that I didn't realize he wasn't asleep at all, not until his hand moved, reaching for mine in the dark. His fingers slipped into my palm and opened up, winding through my own, our hands clasped as if they were made to touch, as if they'd found their way home.
I turned my head to find him looking at me, his eyes catching the dim light of the room.
"I'm sorry," he whispered so softly, I wondered if I'd heard him at all.
"Me too," I whispered back, my voice too small.
His thumb shifted, stroking the back of my hand gently, and I was overcome, overwhelmed as I wondered if it were a dream. There were no words to speak aloud, the thousands of words we needed to say hanging in the air. But I didn't want them, not in that moment, that perfect, painful moment. I existed in the space between our hands, between the beating of our hearts, between the breaths we slowly sipped, savoring the moment I'd imagined for so long.
There was no certainty in what would come next, when the words found our hiding place and made themselves known.
Minutes passed, the clock on a shelf in the room ticking as we looked into each other's eyes and forgave and begged and hoped. And then, our twined hands weren't enough. He released me to drag my sleeping bag closer, and when he reached for me, when he pulled me into his side, I melted into him. His arms wrapped around me, and I closed my eyes, sure now that it was a dream, a beautiful dream.
I was whole again in his arms.
He held me tight, and I thought he might feel it was a dream too, as if we could hang on to each other and make everything all right, erase the past. I'd imagined it a hundred times, remembered a hundred moments like this, but different; this moment was pure, the honesty breaking me and healing me as we lay beneath the stars, spinning silently in the center.
"I'm scared," he whispered, his breath stirring my hair where his cheek pressed, warm and alive.
"I know," I answered, because I was scared too. And he held me in the dark in the silence until our hearts beat together and our minds slowed, slipping away into the solace of sleep.
Wade
The sun hadn't yet risen when I woke, but she was still in my arms, her body pressed against mine, our legs wound together. It had been so long, so very long, and I didn't want to breathe, didn't want to move for fear I'd wake her and the moment would end.
We'd said nothing, and we'd said everything, and I knew she understood me, understood how I felt, what I wanted, what I needed. We were connected, as much now as we'd ever been. Because with her in my arms, I knew she was all that mattered.
She had to know that I loved her, must have felt that love in the same way I'd felt her love for me, transmitted through her touch, through every breath.
But I wanted to tell her, wanted to speak the words, and as I held her in the early rays of dawn, I formed them in my mind, imagined the admission, reciting the things I needed to say. The things she needed to hear.
She stirred against my chest and sighed, and I squeezed her, slipping my hand into her dark hair, holding her against me.
We lay that way for a while, quiet, still until light slipped slowly into the room, and Dad coughed from behind us.
Elliot pulled away slowly and met my eyes, a flash of understanding in their depths with a smile full of promises before she stood and moved to his bed. He was still half in sleep, eyes listing lazily as he took in his surroundings and smiled.
"You took me camping, Elliot," he said, reaching for her face to cup her cheek.
"We did. And that's not all."
He smiled wider. "More surprises?"
"More surprises."
"Something to look forward to."
I stood and moved to the bed to sit on the edge. "Morning, Dad."
"My boy. Thank you."
"Did you sleep well?"
"I liked having you all here with me. Made the night less lonely, less foreign."
My chest ached. "Well, maybe we'll make a habit of it."
"I wouldn't complain."
Elliot checked her watch and her bottom lip slipped between her teeth. "Would you mind if I ran home and helped out with the kids for a bit? I'll be back around lunch."
"Not at all," Dad said, patting her hand. "We'll be here."
Her eyes met mine and looked down, her cheeks flushing, sweet lips smiling gently, innocent and beautiful. "All right. I'll be back in a few hours, okay?"
<
br /> "Can't wait," he answered and yawned.
"I'll walk you out." I followed her as she collected her things, pulling on her coat and hat as we stood silently in the foyer.
All of the things I wanted to say piled up in my throat, and my fears seeped in again, exposed by the daylight. It wasn't the right time or the right place. I should have told her last night, I thought, chastising myself for wasting my chance as she took her time situating her hat, waiting for me to speak.
But I couldn't. There would be time, but that time wasn't now, in the hallway, as she was trying to leave.
"I … I'll see you in a little while, Elliot." I hoped she heard the meaning, the promise in my words.
She nodded and smiled, the tension between us almost unbearable as she turned for the door. "All right, Wade."
She walked out the door, and I'd lost the chance completely, stupidly, cowardly. But I was already planning the moment when I could tell her how I felt, when I would tell her everything.
I only hoped she'd forgive me.
14
Chasm
The wind
That blows across the chasm
Between us
Pierces my soul.
* * *
-M. White
* * *
Elliot
I sat with the kids as they ate lunch, musing over all that had happened in a lovely haze.
The night before was still on my mind, in my heart, occupying my thoughts. I had the shining sensation that everything would be all right, somehow, some way. He touched my hand and wiped away the past. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me back into his heart. He whispered to me in the dark and gave me hope.
I hadn't wanted to leave, but I'd been away from the kids and knew the little window would do Wade and me good. It was too much to process — I needed time to collect my thoughts, my feelings, so we could talk. Maybe we could go for a walk, go back to the cascade. Maybe he would kiss me under the bridge. Maybe everything would be all right.
