"I mean, I can ask them, if you want to pay for it with your money. And if they have room, I guess that would be fine. But I still need you to pick them up every day."
I blinked, simultaneously surprised at her solution and not surprised at all. "O-of course," I said, not thinking twice about doing it. I only had a few weeks left with Rick, and I wanted to be there as much as I could, whatever the cost, regardless of the slight.
She looked back at her screen, thumb scrolling. "Unless Charlie will help out, but I doubt it. You know how busy he is."
I pursed my lips and nodded. "All right."
"'Night, Elliot. Get some rest."
"'Night," I echoed and descended the stairs to the bottom floor, then into my room where I closed the door behind me with a snick.
I loved the room, loved the creaky floorboards and the dark wood wainscot, loved the old brick fireplace and elaborate mantle. The house had been built in 1910 and remodeled, but they'd left so many of the original fixtures that it still held the charm it had always had.
Mary's words and the stress of the day didn't ebb as I made my way through my room putting my things away, changing into more comfortable clothes, finding myself on my bed, notebook in my lap, pencil flying as I poured my heart onto the page, thinking of everything and nothing, possessed by my emotions.
My family and my responsibilities at home, my sister … today I felt stifled and trapped, but it was less about them, I knew.
It was Rick lying in a hospital bed. It was Sophie crying in my arms. It was Wade standing before me, a man I didn't recognize, though I knew him all the same.
Wade.
He was home, appearing at the edge of my universe after what felt like a thousand years without him. Changed was the word that circled my thoughts. Hardened, colder. The boy I knew was gone.
No, not gone — he was there, somewhere. But I couldn't see him; I could only see what he'd become. I wondered how much of what he was now was due to me.
I set my pen down in the crease of my notebook and leaned back, my eyes on the fireplace as I thought back to the night he asked me to marry him, the last time I was truly happy, even though it was only for a moment.
It had been summertime, just after his graduation, a bittersweet affair. It was a celebration of all he'd accomplished and a moment that marked the beginning of the end. Because once he had graduated, he'd enlisted in the Army.
The lights were off that night so long ago, and I lay in bed, waiting for him with the moonlight bathing my room, casting long shadows in the corners as I listened for him.
In two days, he would be leaving for boot camp, and we'd made a pact, a vow to stay together until I finished high school. Then I'd graduate, and he'd come back from his first deployment, and we'd marry. It was going to be the longest year of our lives and then … well, after that I didn't really know what would happen. I could get an online degree, find a place for myself wherever we were. Maybe I could go to a local college, transfer when we were re-stationed. Make it work. And for Wade, I'd make it work.
That didn't mean I wasn't scared. Because anything could happen in that year. He could meet someone else. He could change his mind. Or the unthinkable could happen: he might not make it home from the war.
I remembered breathing through the pain in my chest, wishing I could say that love would conquer all, that our love was too strong to break. But life didn't work that way, and believing in that particular fairy tale wasn't something I could ever be so innocent as to pin my hopes and dreams on.
When a quiet thump sounded from outside my window, I sat up in bed, smiling, my worry forgotten.
Wade.
My heart filled up at even the thought of his name, blooming, spreading warmth through my ribs. And he opened the window, perched on the fire escape platform. His face was in shadows, but I could see he was smiling — the high curve of his cheeks gave him away.
I whispered his name, and he whispered mine as he climbed into bed with me, wrapping me in his arms, and I closed my eyes, breathing him in, wishing I could make the moment last. But the clocked ticked on, and instead I made a tally of everything I could. The feeling of being surrounded by him. The smell of his soap. The hardness of his chest under my palms. His soft lips against mine.
He laid us down and looked down at me.
"Hey," he said in a whisper.
"Hey," I said, smiling.
And then he kissed me again. He kissed me with a thousand promises on his lips, his fingers tracing my jaw, tilting my chin, telegraphing his love through his skin against mine.
When he pulled away, he watched me for a long while, and I memorized him some more. His dark hair, a little mussed. The line of his jaw. The curves of his lips.
"I love you, Elliot," he said softly, as he'd done a thousand times. "I've loved you from the second I first saw you. I might have loved you before I'd ever met you. I think … I think I'd been waiting on you, and I think if I hadn't met you, I'd have just gone on waiting."
My chin trembled, his departure too soon, too close. There wasn't a way to make time stop, so all I could do was love him as much as I could in the time I had. My hand cupped his jaw, and emotion climbed through my chest as I tried to speak.
"I love you, too. More than anything."
He turned his head to press a kiss into my palm before pulling me up to sit face to face with him. I'd never forget that moment — half of his face in moonlight, the other in dark, save his eyes that shone, looking into mine with depth I'd never be able to put into words, as much as I'd tried.
His eyes turned down as he reached into his pocket, and when he opened his hand, what sat in his palm stopped my heart.