A Thousand Letters

What I hadn’t told her was that Wade had come to me that night. She spoke about him as if things were the same as they had been, as if he hadn’t come to me for comfort and left when he’d gotten what he’d come for.

And still, I understood him. But the truth of my sacrifice was too much. He’d finally consumed all of me, fueling his fire with my soul’s tinder.

He’d barely spoken, Sophie’d said, only gone from meeting to meeting, handling the funeral and the beginnings of the estate paperwork, all the details kept separate from her, which she was grateful for. She couldn’t decide anything; not what she wanted to eat or wear, whether or not she wanted to sleep, how to occupy her time in the long hours of the day.

My heart cracked and crumbled with every word. He was in pain (I knew, I could feel it as if I’d taken a part of him with me) and he didn’t know how to manage that pain (I knew this too, without a shadow of a doubt). But I’d been used up and left alone.

He was dangerous. Letting myself have hope was dangerous. And now, I would pay penance for that. Because I loved him still, and I always would. I just didn’t want to hurt anymore.

I didn’t want to speak to him, and he didn’t reach out to me, not that I’d expected him to. If there was one thing I’d learned from his return, it was that he wouldn’t come to me, ever. I’d written him a dozen letters in those three days, the old habit as easy and comforting as it was painful. I’d written the words I wanted to say and never would, sometimes on tear-stained paper, sometimes on paper that met its end in the clutches of my fists. And I kept all those words secret, sacred. I couldn’t trust him with them.

The cab pulled to a stop behind the others, and Jack got out first, extending his hand to help me out. But he didn’t let it go, just tucked it into his elbow to steady me. I looked up at him gratefully, my legs and heart less steady with every step, and he patted my hand with sad eyes that expected nothing.

I wished again that I could let myself be with a man like him. But my heart wasn’t mine to give. It never had been.

Ben greeted us at the door and showed us to the second pew, his eyes lingering for a brief moment on the point where my hand hooked in Jack’s elbow. He pulled me aside, telling me softly that Sophie wanted me with her. But first, I had to see Rick.

I was last in line behind my family, and for that I was thankful. Because when I stood next to his casket, I wasn’t rushed, didn’t have to hurry. I couldn’t have even if I’d wanted to.

He looked different, waxy and foreign but the same as always. Just … gone. I wanted to touch him but stopped myself, wishing I could hold his hand again, wishing I could smooth his hair. But instead, I leaned into his coffin ever so slightly to whisper, "For in that sleep of death what dreams may come / When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, / Must give us pause. Goodbye, my friend, my father."

The words caught in my throat, and I backed away, turning for the side room as hot tears rolled down my cheeks. I brushed them away before I pushed open the door and stepped into the room, stopping just in the threshold as the door swung shut quietly behind me.

Sophie looked up, rushing into my arms, but my gaze was locked on Wade across the room.

He stood, tall, strong, his uniform crisp and neat, dark and somber. He looked bigger, larger than life, invading every corner of the room with his jaw sharp, lips flat, eyes that cut through me, leaving me shaken. Sadie’s arms were wound around his waist, her face buried in his chest, which was covered in medals, but he looked at me for a long moment, our souls tethered.

Sophie pulled away, and the tether snapped. "You’re here," she breathed.

"I’m here. I’m always here."

His eyes hadn’t left me — I could feel them on me like a flood light, exposing me, illuminating my pain. Sadie broke away from Wade and moved to hug me. I closed my eyes and held her, and he watched me still. I couldn’t meet his eyes again, couldn’t feel the weight of them, didn’t want it. Didn’t want to know what he wanted, what he thought. Not right now. I was resigned to never know.

I pulled back and looked her over, smiling gently as I opened my clutch and found my handkerchiefs, touching up her makeup with one. I pressed it into her palm when I was finished and gave another to Sophie.

"We’ll survive today," I said, cupping Sadie’s cheek, trying to convince myself just as much as them. "Today, this will be hard, to share our grief with everyone. But we will survive, and we’ll survive whatever comes next."

The funeral director ducked quietly into the room. "It’s time."

I nodded and straightened Sadie a little more, adjusting her blazer, moving to Sophie to smooth her hair and press a kiss to her cheek, and then only Wade was left. His Adam’s apple bobbed, betraying the hardness of his face, his eyes burning with things left unsaid.

I looked away and ushered the girls out.

They sat next to their aunt, and I kept walking, planning to sit with my family, but he grasped my hand, sending a shock up my arm and to my heart, pulling me to a stop. His eyes told me he needed me, told me he was sorry, begged me as he sat and tugged my hand, and still, against all that I wanted, I took the seat next to him, my heart hammering and soul aching. Because I loved him, and that love destroyed me.

The warmth of his body transferred to mine as a friend of the family stood in at the podium and sang "The Only Living Boy In New York," one of Rick’s favorites. But I wasn’t relieved to have Wade there next to me. I wasn’t comforted. I was confused about everything and nothing, the injustice of it all stifling me through the stiff collar of my dress, which suddenly felt too small, too tight.

Rick was gone, and he’d never come back.

Wade was back, but he may as well have been gone.