Page 118 of Courage, Dear Heart

And now we stand on the sidewalk, waiting for her driver, and more awkward silence. Not even Sheila can save me from the weirdness that followed us outside. Or Jamie wanting to hold both my hand and Elliott’s at the same time. Seeing Elliott again helped me make a decision. I can’t stay in the city and avoid him. I can’t stay in Sheila’s apartment for weeks on end until I can find a new place to rent that’s still in Jamie’s school district. Come September, my son starts first grade. I was so worried about him enrolling in public school and not being able to speak. Relief floods me every time I think about him talking and making new friends. Even if he doesn’t talk much yet. He’s relying on his own voice moreand more every day. It surprised me when he ordered his own food.

Jamie lets go of our hands and skips to a large planter, studying a butterfly fluttering around the flowers.

Elliott steps closer, his shoulder brushing mine. “He’s talking so clearly.”

Sheila and Leonora walk a few feet away, giving us some privacy.

My trepidation eases. Jamie is a safe subject. “He is. He still using sign language, but he’s been talking more the last few days.”

Elliott’s gaze follows my son like an attentive parent. “Have you talked to his therapist yet?”

“I did, yesterday.”

His gaze flits to me. “What did she say? Why did he decide to talk now?”

I study his profile, deciding how much to reveal about the part Elliott might have played in Jamie’s healing. “She thinks that it’s probably a combination of factors. He’s maturing, distance from the accident . . . and also you.”

“Me?” He frowns.

I nod. I don’t hold back. I owe him as much. “The steady presence of a positive male role in his life. A father figure, per se, is what she said.”

His eyes widen. “I don’t know what to say. I didn’t do anything special, but if I had a minor influence in his recovery, I’m so glad.” Elliott’s gaze goes back to Jamie, and he watches him in awe. “He’s such a brave little boy. How is he since the fire? Is he okay?”

“He’s doing better than anyone expected. The therapistsaid that the fire may have given him a sense of power to gain his voice back.”

“How?”

Images of what happened flash through my mind. “Because he saved me, saved us. He woke up first and came to me and used his voice to wake me up. He blamed himself when his father died, as young children tend to do. He thought that his talking during the accident somehow caused it. But with the fire, his voice saved us. In his mind, he’s redeemed himself.”

Elliott presses a hand to his chest like he’s trying to soothe a deep, unseen ache. “That’s a lot of pressure for such a young child. And to have that awareness.”

“The therapist said that most of it is working on a subconscious level. But he knew that to save me, he needed to use his voice. So he did.”

“Incredible.” He watches Jamie with a smile.

I brace myself, crossing my arms over my middle. Delaying the inevitable. All around us, the city keeps moving forward. Cars rush by, people walking with intent, while I wrestle with words I need to say and don’t want to.

I drag in a deep breath scented with the smell of asphalt and pretzels from a nearby cart. “Elliott?”

He looks at me and his expression falls. The smile is gone. He knows something he doesn’t want to hear is coming. “Yes?”

I take a breath. “I’m going to Ohio. Jamie and I are going to stay with my parents for a while.”

The silence that follows is an anchor dragging both of us down into the dark waters of uncertainty. His jaw tightens, his mouth pressing into a firm line. His brow furrows, theworry I’d glimpsed earlier now etched across his handsome face. He nods slowly, but it’s a hesitant, resigned motion, not acceptance.

“For how long?” His voice is quiet, weighted by the fear of my answer.

I stuff my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out to him. “Until I figure out what to do next. I need to get my head on straight, figure out where Jamie and I go from here. Everything’s gone, Elliott. I need to give my son some stability, even if it’s just for a little while.”

His eyes drop to the sidewalk, his shoulders sinking with each word I spoke. “I understand.”

But he doesn’t. It’s clear by the hollow sound of his voice, the defeat in his posture, and the sadness in his eyes that he doesn’t. And I don’t want to explain myself and my mother and why I have to do this now. He’s trying so hard to hide all of this and failing. My heart lurches in my chest, protesting, screaming at me to stay, to reach out for him, to tell him how I feel. But my mind is made and even though it pains me, I need to see this through.

“Elliott...” I give in and reach out to rest a hand on his chest. His gaze finds me, and the pain in his eyes slices through me. “This isn’t goodbye. It’s not forever.”

His lips part, but no words come out. He simply nods again. “I understand,” he repeats. “You need to do what’s best for you and Jamie, and I can’t fault you for it.”

I step closer, my fingers splaying on his chest. “We’ll be back. New York is our home.”

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