Home Again
She led Angel to the bench and sat down beside him. They stared at the marker for a long time, each lost in memories. Finally she drew the flannel shirt more tightly around her and stood up. “I’ll give you a little time alone,” she said, turning to leave.
He grabbed her hand. “Don’t go.”
She gazed down at him, seeing the pain in his eyes, the fear and the frustration and the loneliness, and it threw her back to another time, long ago, when he’d looked at her like that and said the very same words. Slowly, still holding his hand, she sat down.
Quietly he said, “I would change it all if I could.”
She didn’t know if he was speaking to her or Francis, but it didn’t matter. The confession wrapped around her, connected them. “I know what you mean.”
He laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “How could you? You’ve never run from anything in your life.”
She sighed. “That only shows how little you know me, Angel. I’ve made a lot of mistakes with our daughter, and I think I took Francis for granted. I thought he’d always be there for me.” She tilted her chin and stared out at the endless acres of grass, watching tiny knife blades of night steal across the headstones. “I was afraid of Francis and Lina. They both loved so easily and so well. Unlike me. I could never seem to get it right, especially with Lina. I was always afraid I’d do the wrong thing, or say the wrong thing, and she’d leave me … just disappear one day and never come back.”
He was silent for a minute, then he touched her chin, forced her to look at him. “Like I did.”
She couldn’t pretend his betrayal had meant nothing. “I kept waiting for you to come back.”
“It wasn’t you, Mad.”
She tried to laugh. “I didn’t see anyone else standing outside my bedroom window.”
The smile he offered was sad. “It was me. I was scared of you and me and the baby. Scared of what I felt for you. How could I know…” His gaze held hers. She waited, breathless and a little afraid of what he would say next. He turned, stared out at the night sky, and when he finally spoke, his voice was raw. “How could I know I’d never feel that way again?”
The words were magical. She felt them wrap around her, squeeze her heart. Answers came to her, spiraling one after another, weaving themselves into a whole that terrified her. He was talking about the past, she knew that, and yet it felt like the future.
In the end she said nothing, and the quiet slipped between them.
“Say something, Mad.”
She turned to him, knowing that her eyes were full of the emotion she was afraid to release. “What can I say, Angel? You want to know if I’ve ever felt that way again? The answer is no.”
“Do you think you could?”
She knew that the answer, once given, could never be taken back. She’d be throwing her vulnerability at him again, giving him the power to break her heart. She thought about saying nothing, or lying, but she knew it was useless. Somehow, she’d already given him that power. “Yes,” she whispered.
A quick smile tugged at one corner of his mouth and he turned quickly away, staring once again at the headstone. “I’ve got a long way to go, Mad. I’m not the man I was
before … but I’m not anyone else yet. I can’t make any promises.”
Surprisingly, the words that should have hurt gave her hope. The old Angel would never have been so honest. “We’re not kids anymore, Angel.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that everything doesn’t have to happen overnight. It means that trust isn’t given as easily or taken as casually. There’s a lot of water under our bridge.”
“Yeah.” Angel fell silent again. Finally he pulled a piece of paper from his breast pocket. “I want you to read this,” he said, handing it to her.
She frowned in confusion at the sudden turnaround. “What is it?”
“Just read it,” he said.
She took the piece of paper and unfolded it, smoothing the wrinkles against her thighs. The first three words hit her hard. Dear donor family.
She looked up at him.
“It’s a letter to my donor family. I worked on it for six hours, but it still isn’t quite right. I thought you might want to help me….”
Madelaine saw the uncertainty in his eyes, the need, and it touched her deeply. Forcing her gaze away, she read the letter, and when she was finished, she was crying. Very carefully she folded it back up and looked at him. She started to say that it was perfect, but she couldn’t speak.