She swallowed, blinking her eyes and blaming the attic dust on their sudden burn. “Yes. I suppose it is.”
He looked back at her, his face turning thunderous as the silence between them grew thick and heavy. Finally, he half-shouted at her: “I don’t want it! I never did. I don’t want to be someone’s husband. I don’t want to hurt someone I’m supposed to love, to let someone down who I promised to—I mean, fuck! How do I even know I’d be a good father? I don’t. I’d probably be shit just like my…” He scoffed, rubbing his chin again, his eyes furious. “And forever? Forever is for chumps who think it exists.”
“Chumps like me?” she asked.
“Sure! You. And Neil. And Kate and my brother. And even Jax and Gard, buying Le Chateau and playing house like a couple of kids.”
He had his fists clenched at his sides, and though she’d thought to spar with him when she’d asked “Chumps like me?” his answer had unexpectedly disarmed her. His words were so naked, so desperate. It only took a second for her to realize that he wasn’t trying to be a dick; he was scared. Someone had done a number on him. And it was a doozy.
“And none of us will work out?” she asked in a low, even voice, trying to understand.
“How the fuck should I know? Maybe you will. Maybe you won’t. But there are no guarantees, are there? Any of you could change…could become selfish fucks who…who…”
“Who what?”
His head fell forward, and he stared at the grimy floor, all bunched muscles and coiled anger, barely restrained fury emanating from his body like heat.
She reached out gently and touched one of his fists, little by little covering it with the palm of her hand, her thumb working itself into the tight spiral formed by his fingers curled into his thumb. And slowly—so very slowly—his fingers loosened and unfurled until she was holding them, until she could lace her fingers through his and clasp their palms together.
Looking up, she found him staring down at her, his lips parted, his face set as though in pain. Raising their hands to her lips, she kissed the back of his, rubbing it tenderly against her cheek. When she lowered them, she offered him a small smile.
“It’s okay,” she whispered.
“It’s not,” he answered. “I’m…I’m not capable of—”
She raised her free hand and clapped it over his lips, frowning up at him. “Of course you are. We all are.”
He clenched his jaw so tightly under her palm, she wondered if the hinge would pop. Withdrawing her hand slowly, she looked deeply into his troubled eyes.
“Listen…you’re right, Jean-Christian. There are no guarantees. And yes, any of us could change at any time.” She raised her chin, thinking of her parents and grandparents. All still married. All still working hard to build l’chaim tovim, a good life. “But forever exists. I promise you it does. And no, it’s not for chumps or punks or hacks. Because forever takes work.” He stared down at her, his face angry but not, she realized, closed off. It made her wonder if he was listening to her. It made her continue. “That’s how I know that you’re capable—that anyone is capable. It’s not a predetermined thing like your blood type or eye color. It’s a choice. It’s a choice to love someone and be faithful to them and do the work. We’re all capable of that.”
He didn’t say anything. Not a word.
As the oppressiveness of his silence grew, she loosened her fingers from his, taking a step back and looking around the attic.
“Well, um…I didn’t mean to lecture you. I just…um, so, where did Jax find the painting?” She let her eyes rove around the dim, dusty space, feeling self-conscious about such a hypercharged conversation and wishing that she hadn’t suggested they look for more clues about the painting.
“Lib,” he said softly.
She jerked her head around to look at him, thankful for the sound of his voice and eager to hear something—anything—from him.
“Yes?”
“You really believe all that?”
“My grandparents have been married for sixty-one years. My other grandparents for fifty-seven. My parents for thirty-six.” She inhaled deeply through her nose and exhaled through her mouth, nodding confidently. “Yeah. I believe it.”
He stared at her long and hard, as though absorbing everything, mulling it over and trying to find a place for it. Finally he nodded curtly and gestured to an area behind her.
“She found it over there.”
***
J.C. watched her slip around an old steamer trunk and disappear behind a five-foot-high ornate armoire, still reeling from the force and certainty of her words.