She screamed for me to help her, and I couldn't. I just, I held her hand while she froze to death. And the baby, the baby never took a breath. The silence in the room was absolute. The wind outside seemed to recede, irrelevant in the face of this cavernous grief.
Eli turned his head. In the darkness, their faces were inches apart. She could feel his breath on her cheek. "I hear her screaming every time the wind blows," he whispered. That is why I cannot.
That is why I am half a man. I buried my heart in that drift. Maggie's heart hammered against her ribs. She reached out under the quilt. Her hand found his.
It was cold and clenched into a fist. She covered it with her own. "You are not half a man," she said fiercely. "You are a man carrying a mountain. " At her touch, a shock went through him. She felt his hand spasm, his fingers opening to grip hers.
It was a desperate grip, painful and urgent. He shifted, his body turning toward her. For a heartbeat, the space between them vanished. He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. She could feel the heat of him, the smell of soap and man and sorrow.
She wanted him to hold her. She wanted to bury herself in his warmth and forget the cold, the dust, and the ghosts. Eli, she breathed. He shuddered. His hand tightened on hers, pulling her slightly closer.
He was on the precipice. He wanted her. God help him. He wanted her warmth, her living, breathing presence to chase away the ice in his soul. But then the wind shrieked again.
A loose shutter banged against the house. He froze. He pulled back as if she had burned him. He snatched his hand away and rolled onto his back, putting the distance back between them. "I cannot," he rasped.
"I cannot. " Maggie lay still, her hand still reaching into the empty space where his had been. The rejection stung, but it was different this time. It was not disgust. It was terror. "Sleep, Maggie," he said, his voice flattened hard.
She curled into herself. "Good night, Eli. " He did not answer. The next morning, the wind had died. The silence was back, but the air was still thick with suspended dust. They rose before the sun.
The awkwardness in the kitchen was palpable, thick as the grit on the table. They moved around each other like repelling magnets. Careful not to touch, careful not to look too long. Eli drank his coffee standing up. Maggie fried the bacon, her eyes on the pan.