Page 43 of Courage, Dear Heart

A small tremor starts in my chest, but then his hand comes into view, resting palm up between us. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t try to force the gesture, just leaves it there—a quiet offering. An invitation.

I stare at his hand, at the strength in it, steady and waiting, and something inside me loosens. The weight pressing on my chest feels lighter, if only by a fraction, and in this moment, I realize he’s giving me a choice. Not demanding, not pushing—just letting me know he’s here, that he’ll stay right beside me if I need him to.

I reach out slowly, and when my fingers meet his, warmth spreads from his palm to mine, a reassurance, atether. I close my eyes, and for a brief, impossible moment, the grief recedes, a little, under the quiet strength of his hand in mine.

Tears fill my eyes and not for the first time, I’m grateful for the secluded booth we’re sitting in. I’ve never told this to anyone but Sheila and the therapist. I tried to talk to my mother, but she didn’t listen. What is it about this man that compels me to open up? “At first, I thought he wasn’t speaking because of a sore throat. The doctors said as much. I was so buried under the weight of grief I didn’t realize how many days had passed and Jamie was still silent. It was a few weeks after the accident, when we were spreading CJ’s ashes, that it dawned on me that Jamie hadn’t said a word since. In my numbness, I never even noticed how much time had passed.” Guilt, my old companion, settles on my shoulders and wraps itself around my neck like chains. Its weight suffocates me, locking stale air into my lungs, and I have to make an effort to release it and breathe again.

“You blame yourself,” Elliott says, “and it’s okay to feel what you’re feeling. It’s normal to be angry and scared and sad. And it’s okay to feel guilty and frustrated and helpless. Those are all normal reactions.”

I look down, unable to hold his gaze.

He pauses and waits until I meet his eyes again. “But you must know it was not your fault. You were in shock, still processing what happened.”

I shake my head. “And yet I’ll never forgive myself for failing Jamie when he needed me the most and for failing him still. My grief made me blind to his.”

Elliott presses his lips together. “The guilt and responsibility you’re holding onto are misplaced, and it won’thelp in any way. It won’t give him his voice back and it won’t make you feel better. I can’t imagine what you went through—are still going through—but none of it is your fault. Not the accident and not Jaime losing his voice.”

“Then why do I feel responsible for everything?”

He holds my hand between both of his. “Because you’re human and kind and because you love without measure or restraints. And I envy you for that.”

“You envy me?” My voice is low and sharp.

He nods, the movement nearly imperceptible. “I do. Because I’ve never felt that kind of love. And I’ve never been loved that way.” He lowers his voice to nearly a whisper. “But I want to.”

My heart squeezes with too many emotions to name. Here is this powerful, stoic man admitting his longing for something that had so easily come to me. Even through the pain of my loss, if I had been given the choice of never having met CJ or having my life unfold the exact same way, I would have chosen to live it again, despite the pain. His words, the loneliness I sense in him—a mirror to my own—humble me.

TWENTY

Elliott

She doesn’t sayanything for a long while. Around us, the sounds of clinking glasses and the low murmurs of conversation fill the space. If it weren’t for the competing smells of foods and a waiter walking by with a tray, it would have felt like we were in a church or temple. A place for confessions, shared secrets, and deep thoughts.

She looks at me like someone readying themselves for battle or jumping off a cliff.

“Do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow?”

A cliff, then. She’s taking a risk on me. Initiating the next step. Something loosens inside my chest. Relief that she didn’t take offense to my confession. Hope that she’s starting to trust me. “I’d love to. What time, and what can I bring?”

She wrings the napkin. “At seven. And Jamie would not be opposed to some cupcakes.”

I grin. “I’ll bring cupcakes. And some wine. Do you have a favorite?Red or white?”

“I’m not much of a drinker. Bring whatever you’d like. I’m sure it will be fine.”

Her phone buzzes, and Jillian brushes her fingers over it to stop the alarm. “I have to go. It’s back to work for me. Thank you for inviting me. This was lovely. I don’t get out much.”

“You are most welcome. I enjoyed having lunch with you. We should do this more often. Have a lunch date once or twice a week as our schedules allow.”As our schedules allow?Why am I talking like I’m in a business meeting?

She giggles. And the sound releases something inside me. I did that. I made her smile and laugh and giggle. I gave her that small joy. And I want to give her so much more.

The smile that crosses her lips is teasing. “Sure, I’ll check my schedule and get back to you. Maybe have my people contact your people.”

I shake my head. “Sorry for the corporate speak. It slides in every so often.”

She reaches for her wallet, and I place a hand on her wrist to stop her. And because I want to touch her. “It’s on me. You’re cooking me dinner on Saturday. I haven’t had a homemade meal in a long time.”

Her hand relaxes under mine. “Thank you. Hopefully, my cooking won’t disappoint you.”

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