Told my secret must be known:
Word I was in the house alone
Somehow had gotten abroad...
Word I was in my life alone,
With no one left but God.
― Robert Frost
Sarah was gone, out of my life forever and I was desolate. I thought for once I could be strong―do the right thing, but I was wrong. I couldn't bear it.
I'd hurt her, or more likely, she'd kill me, but it didn't matter. I thought I remembered our past, but the moment she was gone it all came crashing back in a tsunami that overwhelmed me.
Now I knew what I should have guessed―that you can be in your truth but still experience a lack. Well, this was worse―I was devastated.
I wanted her back but that would be selfish and cause her anguish. And I couldn't bear that.
I felt the powers that hang fated over our lives were tormenting me―taking delight the way malicious boys torture flies mercilessly.
I never dreamt I had another life prior to what I shared with Bethany and Lillian, so why was I tormented with these new memories when they would serve no useful purpose but depress me?
I should be phoning Clare and Nat and Tess to tell them I was free from threat, free to live my life in peace, but I wasn't free. I recovered my memory only to be trapped in another tragedy.
I must have picked up and put down my cell a dozen times wanting to call Sarah, but I knew that would be unwise and simply prolong our misery.
Long goodbyes are just other ways of crossing boundaries and blurring over lines prolonging the inevitable or sustaining the lie that there's a remedy when there is none.
But Sarah said I'm not the kind of guy to blur lines. Funny, for a woman with a firm grip on life, she'd be so far off in her image of me. I just want to stop all the clocks and die because these choices leave me desolate and are too much for me.
The next few days are brutal. I don't shave of go for a jog―I don't do much of anything but sit by the fire with my mental album of memories. Who needs pictures when your mind recalls everything?
The third day there's a knock on the door and I open and stare into Sarah's lovely face.
"You haven't been out in three days, Marcus. I was worried about you."
"Yeah," I lie, "I've been decompressing―the strain and all. I guess it got to me."
"You are such a bad liar," she says and hugs me.
I'm trying really hard not to cry and suppressing it just causes spasms, a wave of dry heaves that can't disguise the way I feel.
She doesn't let go, which makes it worse, and tries to soothe me by whispering it's okay, when we both know it isn't.
Finally, my spasms subside and I grab her by the shoulders, holding her away from me at arms length, so I won't be tempted to kiss her. "Do you want a coffee?"
She nods and follows me back into the kitchen, but as I turn around my resolve crumbles and then she's in my arms and I'm kissing her.
She reaches out and touches my cheek--the one she bruised. "I guess this is going to be harder than we thought."
"Well, you could always slam me up against a wall. That works well at breaking a spell."
"Is that what you want?"
"No," I say, shaking my head," what I want is you, but I have no idea how that's going to work."