A Thousand Letters

by Staci Hart

  The blocks passed under my feet in a haze until I was standing on the stoop with my hands shaking as I tried to unlock the door. When I walked in the door, I found Ben waiting for me in the living room. His jaw was set and his eyes narrowed.

  I kept walking, passing the entrance to the room, not ready to talk. I didn't know that I'd ever be ready.

  "Wade," he called after me, his voice firm.

  "Not now," I answered as I reached the stairs.

  "Stop."

  The command gave me pause, and I turned to face him, exhausted and drained. "What do you want from me?"

  "Just to talk for a minute."

  I eyed him, and he put his hands up in surrender.

  "I'm not going to yell at you."

  I relaxed only by a degree.

  "But I might say some stuff you don't want to hear." He didn't wait for me to respond, just gestured for me to follow as he headed for the kitchen. "Come on. You need a drink."

  I watched his back for a second before following him, still wary.

  "Sit," he ordered, and I did, at the island bar. He poured us each a neat whiskey and handed mine over, which I took gratefully, sagging into the counter, propped up by my elbows.

  I took a sip, and so did he, setting his drink on the surface. Neither of us spoke for a long moment.

  He was the only safe place I had left. So I told him the truth.

  "I was wrong."

  Ben only watched me, letting me breathe.

  My eyes were on the amber whiskey. "All this time, it's been me. I've hurt everyone I love with my own words, with my own hands."

  "Elliot?"

  I nodded. "I went there today. I needed someone to blame, and I chose her. I wanted to blame her for everything: Dad, my life, us." I ran a hand over my mouth, ashamed. "What is wrong with me? Why do I destroy the things I love?"

  "Because you don't know how to give or receive love anymore. You've been this way as long as I've known you."

  I took a drink, the heat burning a trail down my chest.

  "War never healed anyone, especially not you."

  I shook my head, still unable to meet his eyes. "I don't know who I am anymore, Ben. Do you?"

  He took a long, heavy breath and let it out. "Sometimes I do and sometimes I don't, though the longer we've been away from the war, the more often I feel like myself. But we can't just shake off what we've seen, what we've done, what we've survived. It's a part of who we are now."

  I swallowed, my voice low and shaky. "I don't want to feel like this anymore."

  "Then you've got to change."

  "I don't know how."

  "I do."

  I picked up my drink to take a sip. "Please, enlighten me."

  "You've got to own up. You've got to be honest with yourself and with the people you love. You've got to apologize and make amends." He shook his head. "You're so busted up inside, and still you keep smashing the bits with a bat as penance. To make yourself pay over and over again when all you need is forgiveness. Forgiveness that they'll give you, if you'll only ask for it."

  "I don't deserve their forgiveness."

  "Your sisters will forgive you. They love you, and they need you, especially right now."

  "And Elliot?"

  His eyes were sad. "There's only one way to find out. And if you don't feel like you deserve her forgiveness, then maybe you should think about how you can earn it."

  I considered that as I stared at the whiskey, looking for answers. "For so long, I've just compartmentalized everything. It was the only way I could survive her, survive deployments. You know how it is. You just pack everything away and focus on the task at hand. And since I've been here, I haven't been able to. I can't pack it away because the task at hand is the thing itself. There's nowhere to hide from it. Not from Dad. Not from Elliot. And all of my feelings were displaced. Today I put it all on her, and part of me, a big part of me, expected her to take it. To look at me with those eyes of hers like it was her fault."

  "But she didn't?"

  "She didn't."

  "Good. You earned this, Wade. There's no one to blame for what's happened, and you can apply that across the board. But you're responsible for your actions, and your actions have hurt just about everyone around you since you came home."

  I nodded, drained and tired. "And now, I make amends."

  "You make amends. Starting with your sisters. When they come home, at least."

  "They're not here?"

  "They came home, changed, and left again. We talked before they left — Sadie's at her friend's, and Sophie's staying with Elliot."

  I stretched my neck, tipping my chin to look up at the ceiling. "They don't even want to come home," I muttered.

  "They're hurt and grieving. It's not just because of you. This house is a reminder of your father, and I don't think they want any more reminders. Not today."

  "Can't blame them." I took another drink, considering drowning myself in the bottle on the counter.

  He watched me again. "Want to talk about your dad?"

  I shook my head. "It's too deep — I can't see the bottom."

  "Anything I can do?"

  I pushed away from the counter and stood, shaking my head again. "Thanks. I … I'm just going to go upstairs for a while."

  "I'll be here if you need me," he said, his eyes earnest and sad. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

  "Me too," I answered softly as I made my way to the stairs, climbing them to the top.

  I paused in front of his room, still just as he'd left it the night before the stroke, less a few things we'd taken to the library. His side of the bed had a dip in it where he'd lain every night. His shaving kit was still in the bathroom, having let his beard grow in his last days. His things, all of his things, the reminders of him we could never erase, didn't want to erase.

  Tears stung my eyes as I turned and headed for my room, another space frozen in time. I found myself at my closet, duffle bag at my feet. Then my hands were inside, fingers closing around the wooden box I took everywhere with me. And I sat on my bed and opened it as I did so often, looking for answers in the past.

  Could I earn her trust again? Could I earn her forgiveness?

  I wanted to more than anything.

  And with newfound resolve and clarity, I began to devise a way to make it right.

  22

  The Truth Lies

  The truth lies

  Still and quiet,

  Waiting for the moment

  It finds its voice.

  * * *

  -M. White

  * * *

  Elliot

  "I'll get it," I called as I trotted up the stairs to answer the door late that afternoon, finding Sophie on my doorstep looking defeated. "Oh, Soph," I said softly and pulled her into my arms. She leaned against me for a long moment before pulling away.

  "Thank you for letting me stay with you tonight," she said as we walked in and I closed the door.

  "Of course. Come on, let's go downstairs before they catch us." I nodded toward the living room.

  "Let's. I can't handle conversation about the weather. Not today."

  We headed downstairs and into my room where the fire was going, the two of us climbing into my bed and under the covers. Sophie lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, blankets up to her neck. She sighed.

  "Maybe I'll stay here forever."

  I chuckled. "I think that almost every day." I watched her profile for a second before speaking. "Tell me about today."

  The color rose in her cheeks and nose, her eyes tightening as they filled with tears. "It was harder than anything before. Harder than finding out. Harder than when he died. Harder than the funeral. This time, I knew what it meant. I knew I'd never look at his face again, never hold his hand, never hear his laugh. It was so very final." A tear slipped down her temple and into her ear.

  There was nothing I could say, so I offered nothing but my attention and heart, waiting patiently until she spoke again
.

  "Wade and I fought last night, then this morning before we left. He's just completely checked out, giving us nothing. He left us at the cemetery as soon as it was done. I just …" Another tear fell, her voice hitching. "I feel so alone. Isolated. Like no one understands or cares or can reach me. You're the only one who's been there for me through all of this, really there, whenever I needed."

  "And I'll always be here."

  "I thought when Wade came home, we would bear it together. But I was wrong."

  My chest ached at the thought of him, pain blooming at the sound of his name. "I think he's grieving the only way he knows how."

  "I know. And I know I shouldn't be angry with him for that, but I am. I'm angry with him for so many reasons. You know, I confronted him about you."

  I took a shallow breath. "You did?"

  "He said you were part of the reason he left the funeral. I just … I don't understand any of it, Elliot. It was so long ago. I know … I know things are hard for you both, but I just can't believe he'd let that get in the way of Dad."

  "It's not just about the past, Sophie," I started, not sure how to explain the details of everything and nothing that had happened between Wade and me.

  Her brows pinched together, and she turned her head to meet my eyes. "What do you mean?"

  "He … he came here the night Rick died."

  She blinked. "To talk?"

  "No, not to talk."

  Her mouth made a circle as she gasped. "Oh."

  "He left just as quickly as he appeared. After the funeral I think … he thinks I'm with Jack. He's confused and scared. Angry. When he was here this afternoon—"

  "He came here?" The words were an accusation.

  I nodded. "He wanted answers, but I don't have any. I've given him everything I can." I let out a heavy breath. "Jack was right. I make excuses for everyone who hurts me, bend and bend under everyone else's weight."

  "I can't believe Wade would do this," she spat. "I can't believe he'd come here, sleep with you, leave you, treat you the way he has. It's not fair, Elliot."

  "Don't. Don't do that, Sophie. I can take care of myself. And you know what else? It's my fault I've been treated this way by him — I let him do it. But no more. I just … I can't keep doing this with him, and I told him as much."

  "Elliot, I'm so sorry. I hate him right now, for what he's done and not done. But I miss him and need him too. I don't know which emotion is stronger."

  "Don't hate him for what he can't control."

  "He can't control himself?"

  "Right now, I don't think he can." She didn't speak, and neither did I for a moment. "I miss him and need him too."

  "Do you think he'll come around?" she asked quietly, and I rolled over onto my back, staring up at the ceiling alongside her.

  I sighed, chest aching as I gave the only answer I had. "I don't know."

  * * *

  Sophie left early the next morning after we set a date for the next day to start packing up Rick's things. She didn't want to wait, she said, felt like she needed to do it before she went crazy thinking about it. I only hoped she was ready.

  So I'd spent the day alone writing; the kids were still in full-time daycare, and my family happily carried on without me. I'd heard almost everyone leave early in the day — Charlie gone to work, Dad and Beth gone out for who knew what. But Mary was home after working the night shift, though she'd been asleep for most of the day.

  It was early afternoon before I ventured out for lunch, setting my leather-bound journal next to my bed with my stomach rumbling. Once on the main floor, I realized the house wasn't as empty as I'd thought.

  Voices wafted in from the kitchen, low and angry; an argument. I heard Mary's voice, the sniping, hissing tone sharp and quiet, like she was trying to keep it down. And I heard a man, but not Charlie. I stopped just before I reached the threshold when I realized who it was.

  "Keep your voice down," she whispered.

  "I told you what would happen, Mary," Jack bit, something in his tone dark, with an edge that sent goosebumps sprinting up my arms.

  "But Elliot? For fuck's sake. It's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of. You and her. As if she could ever have a real chance with you."

  I couldn't breathe from the second I heard my name, hanging in the air like an omen. And I stood paralyzed in the hallway, unable to do anything but listen.

  "It's not ridiculous. She looks a lot like you, you know. But smaller, softer. Those big, brown eyes that just want to give you everything you ask for." He sounded like a snake when he spoke. I slowly realized that's what he was after all, and I was just a mouse he thought he'd caught.

  "Don't do that," she said, her voice hard and biting. "Don't you do that, make it sound like you were interested in her. You only did this because of me, to get me back. To piss me off."

  "It worked, didn't it?"

  She made an infuriated noise. "I fucking hate you."

  "No, you don't. You love me, and I'm through waiting." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, cajoling her, persuading her. "Just leave Charlie. That's all you have to do. Come with me and all of this will be over. You won't have to deal with Elliot or the kids or anything you don't want to. I'll take care of you, you know that. Please, Mary. I love you." He kissed her; I could hear the soft sounds as I told myself to move.

  She sighed. "I love you too. I just … I wish it were easier."

  "It's never gonna get easier, babe. And we've waited long enough to be together. No more sneaking around. No more secrets. No more lies. Just us."

  Move. I took a breath and stepped into the doorway to find them in each other's arms, his hand cupping her cheek, her eyes hot and locked on his. Until she saw me.

  They burst apart like shrapnel.

  "God, Elliot! What the hell are you doing?" she yelled as the flush rose in her cheeks.

  "I could ask you the same thing," I said with more calm than I felt. My eyes met Jack's, and he at least had the decency to look ashamed of himself.

  Mary's gaze bounced between me and Jack as panic set in, visible on her face, in her voice. "How much of that did you hear?"

  "Enough."

  Jack straightened up, his face tight. "Elliot, it's not what you think."

  I ignored him. My eyes were on my sister, the liar. "I can't believe you would do this to Charlie."

  "Oh, please." She tightened up her face and deflected, shooting insults at me to justify her wrongdoings. "Don't pretend you know what it's like. You've been alone your whole life — you don't understand what it means to be married or have kids. You don't understand what it's like to have a demanding career or real responsibility. You sit around all day and write in your stupid notebooks and hang out with Sophie and take care of someone else's kids because you have no life. It's pathetic."

  My eyes narrowed, and I drew myself up, feeling taller, bigger, wider than I had before, fueled by my anger, by the betrayal. "You're right. I don't know what it's like. I don't know what it's like to be selfish and self-absorbed because I work every day not to be like you. I don't know what it's like to hurt everyone around me so I'll feel better about myself because I try to put other people's needs above my own, even yours. I don't know what it's like to cheat on the man I promised to spend my life with—"

  "Because you have no one," she scoffed. "You are so pious, Elliot."

  I glared at her, emboldened. "And you are such a bitch, Mary."

  Jack's face bent in anger at Mary. "Leave her alone, Mary."

  "What?" she shrieked, gaping at him, betrayed.

  I ignored her, instead leveling him with a look I felt burning from deep in my belly, undeterred by his standing up for me. "And you. How could you do this to Charlie, to your best friend? To Mary, even, who you say you love? How could you? You used me to hurt her, but I'm not a weapon or a tool to be used by you or anyone."

  "I'm sorry," he said, looking not at all sorry, "but I only did what I had to do to get he
r back."

  I shook my head. "I should be hurt that you didn't really care about me, but I'm not — I never wanted you. I'm only sad that you used me to hurt the people I love." Wade. Charlie. I looked them both over. "You have until tonight to tell him or I will."

  Mary's face turned a furious shade of red, her eyes flashing. "You can't do that."

  "I can, and I will." The words were flat, direct. "I will not lie for you. I will not hurt the one person in this house who's been there for me. I will not betray your children by lying for the sake of you, who cares about no one but herself."

  Jack turned to Mary, taking her arm. "It's fine. Let's tell him tonight. Together."

  She ripped her arm away and turned on him, fuming. "No. I won't be blackmailed by her."

  "You're going to tell him anyway. Why not make it tonight?"

  "She won't do it," she said, looking at me, but talking about me like I wasn't there. "She doesn't have the guts. Sweet little Elliot, the doormat."

  "Try me."

  Something in her eyes faltered, like she was seeing me for the first time, but she slammed the door closed on the thought when Jack reached for her arm again.

  "Mary, we'll tell him tonight."

  "I don't want to," she yelled petulantly.

  His face hardened. "Because of her or because of me?"

  "Don't do that, Jack. Don't make this about you and me."

  Something in him changed, something fundamental, and it was like an iron curtain slamming between them. "You've had me waiting for years. Years. And I was stupid enough to think you'd actually go through with it." He stepped away, and her face sprang open with regret.

  "Jack, wait! I want to tell him … I'll tell him, just not—"

  He brushed past me. "No, you don't. You won't. I should have known," he said to himself as she chased him down the hallway toward the door. "It's really too bad you couldn't be more like Elliot. She would give anything for the people she loves. You can't even give yourself to me, not in the way that matters."

  "Wait! Please, talk to me." She grabbed his arm, and he spun around.