He clears his throat, tears forming in the green eyes that did her in all those years ago. She remembers the last time she saw him cry, that day at the hospital when the bottom fell out of their lives.
“Do you still blame me?” she asks.
He takes a deep breath. “No. And I think you’ve blamed yourself enough for the both of us.”
He meets her eyes squarely. There’s a sadness in his that she hadn’t been able to see through the haze of her own grief and guilt, and she fully understands, for the first time, that their dreams share the same ghost.
“But a lot of it’s on me, Kate. I’m sorry about the fighting. About work. About… about texting you that night. I was tired, and angry. I shouldn’t have—”
“I shouldn’t have answered.”
There’s silence, and in it Kate hears that last message, the one that changed everything, and for a moment she can’t breathe. Sometimes a tragedy brings people together, and sometimes it’s too big to overcome. A great millstone too heavy to shift, and impossible to carry.
“I still care about you, you know,” Adam says. “I always will. And I’m sorry I didn’t care enough when it really mattered.”
“I care about you, too,” she says. She involuntarily rubs the base of her ring finger with her thumb, surprised to see that the groove has mostly disappeared. “Do you want your rings back?” she asks.
He shakes his head. “No. I mean… they’re worth something, right?”
Kate frowns. “I don’t want to sell them.”
“No, no. I just mean they’re a reminder, I guess. That at one point, things were good. Great, even. I’d like us to remember we had that. I think it’s hopeful for the future, right? Maybe we can both find that again somewhere.” He pauses. “The guy that left, are you…?”
Kate nods. “Yeah. Ian.”
There’s a flicker of sadness, but nothing malicious. No jealousy. “I hope I didn’t mess anything up for you.”
Kate shrugs, straightens. That’ll be her next reconciliation. “No, it’ll be okay. I’ll sort it out.”
They sit for a while in the cold sitting room as the finality of it all comes to rest on them. Kate wonders if this will be the last time they ever see each other, and the ache of their shared loss stirs inside her. No matter where they go, or who they’re with, they’ll always be connected to one another by that thread. The one woven from the battered fibers of their unraveled life.
“Well,” Kate says finally. “You’re never going to get a taxi to come back out here. Let me drive you to the station.”
Half an hour later, Kate is standing up at the kitchen counter, picking at a small bowl of cereal after she dropped Adam off at the train. With his arrival, she and Ian hadn’t eaten breakfast, and though she felt she should eat something, her appetite is lacking. She feels genuine relief after the conversation with Adam, a true sense that some of the weight she’s been carrying for the past year has lifted, and she’s grateful for that. But she’s on edge for Ian to bring Audrey back so she can explain everything that just happened. Tell him how she really feels. They hadn’t even had a chance to enjoy the afterglow of their first night together before it was interrupted.
When she hears the front door open, she sets the bowl down with a clatter and hurries to the hall, but Audrey is alone. “Where’s Ian?”
Audrey gives her an exasperated look. “He’s left,” she says. “He needs space. I told him to walk me to the door and I’d be fine.”
Kate wants to rush past Audrey and find him, but instead she steps forward to take Audrey’s coat. “How are you?”
“What I am is desperate for a cup of coffee that doesn’t taste like wood chips,” she says. “No wonder everyone feels utterly wretched in hospital. Go put on a pot, and we shall discuss the whole thing.” Her voice is quieter, weaker than usual.
Audrey is already settled with Sophie on her lap when Kate brings the coffee into the sitting room. Wordlessly, Kate sets the mugs down on the side table, then builds a fire to warm the room.
Audrey takes her mug and inhales deeply. “Dear God, I thought they were trying to hasten my already imminent demise with that pig-slop instant brew.”
Kate bites her lip at the dark humour. “Audrey—”
“I know, I know. I shouldn’t jest.” She takes a careful sip, though Kate doesn’t fill Audrey’s mug as full as she used to. “But still… as I said last night, we should, er, hurry things along. I’ve more to say. As do you,” she adds, white brow furrowed over her cup. “I understand your ex-husband made an appearance, and that this was a great surprise to Ian. Why didn’t you tell him?”
Kate sighs as her insides squirm. “I wanted to see where things were headed. I didn’t think I needed to yet, and I didn’t want to talk about it. It had no bearing on us, really. I had no idea Adam was going to drop in like that. But Ian took off before I could explain; he wouldn’t even listen.”
“He was reacting to the fact that you had lied to him, Kate. You know why he—”
“Yes, I know,” Kate says. “I know about his fiancée.”
She bounds up out of her chair and goes to the frosted window, looks out over the white lawns surrounding the inn. The snow is entirely undisturbed. Not even a rabbit track runs through it. It covers up everything beneath in a smooth layer of powder.
“Oh, Kate,” Audrey says. “Have I not taught you by now what not to do? The only way avoidance will serve you is to exhaust you completely. You can get some distance on it, think you’ve won, but when you finally stop to rest, you’ve got no energy left to face it once it catches up to you. If you have any hope of moving forward, of a future with Ian, you must deal with your past, just as I have been,” she adds. “It has been painful and complex and I don’t like it. But it’s necessary.”
Kate fiddles with the gold rope on the curtain. If she isn’t careful, it’s going to fray between her fingers.
She can still repair things with Ian. She’s sure he’ll hear her out if she’s as transparent as he is with her. She knows now how rare it is to find someone so open, but the openness does make them more vulnerable, more easily hurt. She should have seen that.
She sits back down in the chair, kitty-corner to Audrey. “I’ll give him some space for today, if you think he needs it,” she says. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
Audrey nods. “Never, ever lose anyone you don’t have to,” she says. “Life will take your loved ones without warning or permission, as we both very well know. And we must endure those losses as part of life. But never let petty circumstance and disagreement separate you; life is too short to let pride get in the way of love.”
Kate opens and shuts her mouth. Love.
“It may be,” Audrey says, “that when all is said and done, you aren’t right for each other for the rest of your lives. But we never know how much time we have left, Kate. Seize even temporary happiness and peace. Please. I wish I had.”
She pats Kate’s forearm. Her hand lingers there, and she gives a little squeeze, her knotted knuckles protruding. Kate takes a deep breath, and finally a sip of her own coffee, her mind turning to Audrey’s loves: Ian’s grandfather, and Ilse. She looks up at her aged friend and sadness clutches at her heart. However much time Kate herself has left, it’s certainly more than Audrey.
“How did your fingers get like that?” she asks quietly. “You still haven’t told me.”
Audrey lifts her hand and rests it on Sophie’s back. “Ah. Well,” she says, caressing the knuckles. “Someone thought I was playing the wrong sort of piano.”
