Her eyes were glassy after the series of drinks I'd supplied, and she didn't look up as I sat down next to her in the dark room.
"He didn't come home," she said, her voice rough from disuse.
I drew a long breath, training my eyes on the fire. "No, he didn't."
"I can't believe I just did that alone."
"Me neither, but you did, and you did it well."
She chuffed.
"I mean it. You survived today, which was the sum of what you needed to do. Now it's behind you."
Her face fell, slipping into apathy. "Now I just have the whole rest of my life to live without Dad."
I swallowed hard, tears stinging my eyes again, just when I thought they'd run dry.
"Why would he leave like that, Elliot? Why would he just … just abandon us like that, right then? Today, of all days."
I didn't answer for a second, pausing to find my footing. "I … I think it's my fault."
Her face swung to mine, apathy gone, anger in its place. "If he left because of you, then he's more of a coward than I realized."
It was my turn to look away, wanting to tell her everything in my heart, but there would be time for that. Just not tonight. "I don't think it's only because of me, but … Sophie, I make everything harder for him, harder than it has to be, that's all I'm saying. It's another layer of pain atop something already impossible for him to deal with." I blinked slowly and took another breath. "I shouldn't have been here so much. I shouldn't have done this to him."
She grabbed my hand and squeezed, leaning toward me, begging me with her body to look at her, so I did.
"Elliot, you didn't run out of a funeral. You were there for me all day. You have been the strength we've needed to help us through it, even Wade. In fact, you were the only person who thought to chase him out and make sure he was all right, even though he's been cruel to you. I don't care what he said to you or why you feel like this is your fault, but it isn't. It was his choice to behave the way he has. He acts like this isn't hard for all of us."
"No, please don't say that. He knows, he just … I don't think he knows what to do with himself."
"So he runs away? It's so self-serving that I don't even know what to say. If only we could all run away when things get hard." She shook her head, leaning back on the couch, eyes on the fire and drink to her lips.
Flames licked the logs, flicking and jumping in yellows and oranges, whites and blues. "I think it's best if I don't come to the internment tomorrow."
Her brow bent, the hurt on her face in every plane and angle. "What?"
"Sophie, Wade needs to be there, and he needs to be there without me."
"But … Elliot, Dad loved you. He would want you there."
"I know, but Wade needs to be there. Don't you see? It's easier if I'm not there. He can have that final moment … it's his father. I've said goodbye, Sophie. I don't need to be there for this, not like the three of you do."
Her chin quivered, nostrils flaring as her breath hitched. "I hate this. I hate this so much."
"Me too," I said to the fire, wishing they could burn the words up, burn them down, make them disappear.
Wade
My frozen feet hit the pavement, one in front of the other, over and over, left, right, left until miles passed beneath them. The sun went down, dropping the temperature even more.
I'd found my way home for a moment, and I stood across the street in the falling snow, willing myself to walk up those stairs, through that door.
But I couldn't.
Nothing was right, nothing in the world. The air was too sharp. The city too loud. The sidewalk too hard, sending shocks up my legs with every step.
Thoughts had appeared and disappeared like ghosts, saying everything before dissolving into vapor. He was gone. I left my sisters, left his funeral. I failed him, and I hated myself for it. I left Elliot. She gave herself to me because that's who she is, because she gives everything, and then I pushed her away. I could have had her back, but instead I ruined her. I'd ruined everything.
I had all the excuses. I had no excuse.
I had all the feelings, all the thoughts. I could make no sense of them.
It was late, and I was so cold and so far away that I decided to hail a cab. I hadn't realized just how cold I was until I tried to give Dad's address — my address, the house was mine now — and my lips and tongue were sluggish, forming the words like Dad's after the stroke. And as the heat hit me, hit my hands, my legs, my feet, they started to tingle and burn, the frozen nerves firing painfully, coming back to life.
But I didn't want to feel, not anything. Not my icy hands, not my icy heart. I didn't want to face my sisters after leaving them, because I couldn't explain. I had no words for what I felt, no way to tell her that I couldn't pretend. I couldn't be calm for the sake of others. I couldn't listen to people like Elliot's father, who didn't know Dad at all, tell me how much he'd be missed. That they were sorry for my loss. I couldn't stand next to Elliot and pretend I was fine.
She was my curse, the wound that never healed, the truth-bringer. I couldn't hide my feelings around her, couldn't mask my pain for my father. And the truth was, I didn't know who I was anymore, didn't know what I wanted, didn't know how to live.
That was what Dad wanted. He wanted me to live, and I didn't know how.
I'd failed him there, too.
My hands and feet were on fire by the time we reached the house, and I took comfort in its darkness, hoping everyone was asleep as I climbed the steps and unlocked the door.
Everything was quiet, the house all shadows, but as I hung up my coat, I saw the fire flickering in the library and made my way down the hall.