They stood in silence until JJ said, “I don’t know what to say. I don’t ...”
She turned again, saying quietly, “Don’t. It had to happen. It happens. Maybe one day we can talk about it some more.” She paused, her eyes fixing him, her face ruddy with the cold air, her lips full and red. “I’m glad it was you, that’s all. I’m glad it was you.”
He offered her the same smile she’d given him, inadequate but the only response he could manage, his heart overfull with blood, his thoughts flooded, sodden with knowledge for which he could never have readied himself, not that she knew, but that she understood, that she forgave him or didn’t even see a need to forgive him. Without being aware of doing it then, he took his glove off, watching his own hand as it lifted and wiped from her cheek the single tear that had traced its path there, her face cold against his fingers, Jem smiling a little as his hand fell away again.
“Shall we move on?” she asked a few seconds later, as if they were done with it, or possibly as if she still didn’t want to dwell on it; the difficulty of the journey her own mind had taken to that point was something he couldn’t even guess at. He nodded but then, catching up with himself, felt like he had to say something else, at least something, to stop feeling the fraud he was by accepting her vision of him.
“Jem, I don’t know how Ed painted me; he’s a good guy, he means well. But I kill people, that’s all I do, your dad just one more job, and it doesn’t matter what light you put on it, I didn’t do anything good there in Moscow. All I did was kill someone; there’s no goodness in it, none.”
She smiled once more, this time like it was JJ who didn’t understand, and said, “I think you’re wrong. I think sometimes there’s a goodness where you’d least expect it.” She paused then and added, “Let’s not talk about it. I just wanted you to know, to know that I understand, and, well, you know, that it doesn’t change anything. I’m glad it was you. That’s all.”
He nodded thoughtfully at the repeated phrase, an understanding taking root between them, that it was enough for now, that it was at least in the open where they’d needed it, no longer the obstacle it would have been whether she’d known about it or not.
They stood in silence then as he put his glove back on, glancing at each other once more before pushing forward, down the gentle slope ahead of them, pushing on into the open spaces of the snowfield, heading into the elusive peace of being lost on the winter landscape.
He still wanted to speak at first, to tell her again that she was wrong, or to ask her to explain how she could feel that way, how she could find it within herself not to hate him for who he was. But he said nothing, humbled by her, knowing that he wouldn’t have been able to find the words.
It was hard for him to accept, this belief of hers that there was good in him where he could see none himself, but it didn’t mean she was wrong, perhaps only that she was looking in a different way, seeing more clearly. Because he had killed Bostridge cleanly, the thing he’d been chosen for, and maybe the goodness of this friendship had arisen out of that, and the goodness of everything that had come to him with it, a sense that there was something to head for, a reason to keep going.
So he kept silent, wondering how they could ever speak about anything else again, how they’d move on to another carefree subject. Once they were lost on the flat of the snowfield though, she let herself glide to a stop, and as he slowed and turned to see if she was okay he saw her smiling, almost laughing with exhilaration, like she’d already shed it, something she’d carried from the day they’d met.
“Isn’t this great?” she said, holding her arms out at the landscape, her words steaming skyward in vapor trails.
He nodded, easing back toward her, and said, “It’s what downhillers don’t understand.”
“I know.” She looked around, shaking her head as if in disbelief at the hazy expanse of snow surrounding them. “I’ve wanted to show someone this place for so long. I mean, it’s like a miracle, you know, that it’s so beautiful, but like, so transitory. I mean, I don’t think I believe in God or anything, but this makes you kind of realize, I guess, that ...”
Her words fell away, like she couldn’t pin down what she wanted to say, and JJ said, “That we’re part of something bigger, that there’s a reason for things.”
She smiled, staring at him. “That’s it,” she said, adding with a note of curiosity, “Do you believe in God? I don’t know why I didn’t ask before.”
“No, I don’t, but I see this, and I understand why people do.”