A Thousand Letters
"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.