"Please, come. We need you."
My cold hand cupped my mouth and I nodded, realizing after a moment that he couldn't see me. "Okay," was the only word to leave me.
The line disconnected.
I pulled myself up and gathered my things, stunned from shock, muttering blindly to my family that I had to go, unable to say where or why, unable to utter the words.
At first I walked, my mind tripping and skittering over the impossibility, over the inevitability, and then I ran, tears streaking my face. And then I was walking in the door of the house, the loss overwhelming me.
His absence was tangible, as if his spark lit the house, and now it was too still, too quiet. Sophie rushed me when I entered the library, and we fell to the ground in each other's arms. I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't move, but my eyes found him where he lay in bed. He looked peaceful, as if he were sleeping as the nurse by his side solemnly disconnected him from the machines. Ben and Sadie sat on the couch, Sadie sobbing, Ben's face colored with the things I felt as he held her up. And Wade was nowhere, gone.
The light caught glimmering glass scattered all over the floor, and I saw the gears, the casing — a clock, smashed and broken, and we sat among the wreckage.
* * *
The day crept past us in a strange warp where hours were minutes and minutes, hours. We stood by his side and held his hands and cried. We said our goodbyes and kissed his skin as it cooled.
The funeral home came and took him away. A van from hospice came and collected the equipment. The nurse gave us condolences and left us there with an empty room and empty hearts.
Wade never came home.
Ben called with no answer, and we waited in vain as the daylight slipped away, crawling across the room imperceptibly until it was gone. And we sat in silence in the dark, no one possessing the energy to turn on a light, the twilight sifting through the glass from the clock on the ground, still chronicling the time without the need of its gears.
Sadie fell asleep first, and Ben carried her to her room in the dark. I took Sophie to hers, putting her into her bed, sharing a final burst of tears, trying to hold each other together for a moment longer before she fell asleep too.
Ben was downstairs, standing in the living room with his eyes trained on the sidewalk beyond the glass, and I stood next to him in silence. I couldn't stay, I told him — I needed out. And he promised he would be fine there without me, that he'd call if that changed. That he'd wait for Wade. It was my only solace as I pulled on my coat and stepped out into the bleak night.
The cold pressed down on me, the air charged as I walked home, and the snow began to fall in slow, lazy swirls, gathering quickly, a blanket of white against the dark of the night.
The house was quiet when I walked through the door, and I headed downstairs, numb from the cold and my loss. My room was warm and familiar, and I stripped down in the dark, unthinking, automatically, leaving my clothes where they fell. I shook as the cold seeped from my bones, kneeling naked by my fireplace to light it, not knowing why it was important, but it was. A fire had gone out and a new one was lit, a spot of warmth in the cold, a light in the dark. And then I slipped into my bed and lay beneath the blankets shaking, with my eyes on the flickering flames, a ward against the black of night.
Time moved, though I didn't, not as the shadows deepened or the temperature fell. Not until the window opened, and he slipped inside.
He was lit half in flames, half in shadow, his eyes sharp with pain and soft with sorrow. Snow dusted his dark hair and the shoulders of his jacket, and I sat slowly, holding the blanket to my breasts, dreaming with my eyes wide open.
Broken. Broken and sorry. He'd flung away the no, the why, stripped his soul bare, and what he was, what was left was the truth: he was broken, maybe irreparably. But I could be what healed him, mended him. It was why he came here, I knew, and selflessly, this was what I wanted, for him to be whole again. Selfishly, I wanted nothing but him, only him, broken or whole. Anything was better than nothing at all.
He begged me to understand without speaking, and I did. I understood when he moved to my side, the cold wafting off of him, touching my skin in tendrils. I knew when he touched my face, his hands warming the moment our skin touched. And when he breathed, I wished to be his air.
My eyes never closed for fear if they did, I'd open them to find him gone.
I felt his lips a second before they closed over mine, agony and hope, a fire burning in the empty space left by death. But around the edges was the solace in submission, after seven years of wanting, of waiting and loss, of loving without return. Our bodies came together, winding around one another with the memory of home and pain and love in our hearts.
His hands were around my back, my arms around his neck, our lips laced with relief and regret, with apology and forgiveness, deepening with every heartbeat until he tipped his head, pressing his forehead to mine, our breaths ragged and eyes closed.
"I need you," he whispered. "I love you," he breathed. "I'm sorry," he begged.
"I'm yours," I sighed, and he kissed me again, his heart broken and singing and flying into the sun.
He stood next to my bed, watching me as he pulled off his coat in the firelight, undressing as I sat with the sheets pooled around my waist, breath shallow, body on fire.
His body was strong, no longer that of a boy, but a man, hardened and chiseled by his work, scarred from the war with cuts and burns. I reached for him, tears falling as he sat next to me, my fingers tracing the ruts and tight skin. His fingers circled my wrist, and he brought my palm to his lips, eyes closed, reverent and solemn. And when his eyes found mine again, they were alive with regret, with intention.
He held my face in his big hands, eyes searching mine, and he tilted me gently, laying me down, kissing me with lips that knew me, knew my soul. Lips that had burned their imprint on me so many years before, a brand I'd never been able to wipe away, a brand that ignited again under his touch.
His fingers trailed down my body, pulling my hips into his like they'd never forgotten me, like they knew they owned me. It was his skin against mine, his lips and my own. Our legs scissored, bodies flush, hands roaming, touching, reveling in exploring every familiar curve.