Afraid of feeling something. Afraid of. He stopped, gathered himself, afraid of wanting someone to stay. Cara held his gaze, held his daughter, held everything fragile and frightening about this moment. "I'm afraid, too," she whispered.
"I've been running from grief for a year, telling myself if I kept moving, it couldn't catch me. Did it work? " "No," she almost smiled. It just meant I was alone when it found me anyway. The storm breathed its last gusts against the windows. The lamp flickered.
Emma sighed in her sleep. Stay, Jonathan said. Please. Just stay. The words that build houses.
Morning arrived in shades of golden blue. Cara woke to silence the particular silence of snow-covered land and cleared skies. She lay still on the seti, watching light move across the ceiling, feeling something unfamiliar settling in her chest. Hope. Terrifying.
Impossible hope. She hadn't left. Jonathan's plea still echoed in her memory, raw and real. But daylight had a way of making nighttime confessions seem like fever dreams. Maybe he'd changed his mind.
Maybe he'd been tired, vulnerable, not meaning half of what he'd said. She rose, dressed, found coffee already warm on the stove. Through the window, she saw Jonathan standing on the porch, shoulders straight, breath fogging in the cold air. He was watching the horizon where the road emerged from snow drifts. Leading away toward the rest of the world, Cara poured two cups and carried them outside.
He turned at the sound of the door. Took the offered cup. His fingers brushed hers and neither pretended it was accidental. "Storms passed," she said. "Roads will be clear by noon. " They stood side by side, watching the world reappear from beneath its white blanket.
"Everything glittered, crystalline and new, as if the blizzard had scrubbed creation clean and left only beauty behind. " "I meant what I said," Jonathan said quietly. Last night. All of it. Even in daylight. Especially in daylight.
He turned to face her. Cara, I've been surviving for 6 months. Not living. Just surviving. Getting through each day because Emma needed me to get through each day.
But these past 3 days, he stopped, set down his coffee cup on the porch railing, took hers, and set it aside, too. You're a natural with her, he said. I saw it the first night. The way you held her, the way she calmed for you. I told myself it was just skill, confidence, nothing personal.
But But I watched you sing to her last night. His voice thickened. I watched you cry while you sang, pouring out enough love to heal an army. And I realized you're not just good with babies. You're good with her, with Emma.
You love her. Carara's eyes burned. I tried not to. Why? Because loving her means staying.
And staying means she faltered. Staying means risking everything again. Opening up to loss again. I buried a husband and a daughter in the same week. I don't know if I have the strength to survive that twice.