Archer's Voice(107)

I glanced at her and pulled the car off the road, onto a small dirt patch next to the bank of a river. I turned to Bree just as she opened my truck door and jumped out, walking quickly along the side of the road in her little, black dress. What the hell was she doing? I jumped out too and jogged to catch up, gravel crunching beneath my feet as Bree wobbled ahead of me on her high heels.

The moon, large and full above us, lit the night so that I could see her clearly in front of me.

When I finally made it to her, I grabbed her arm and she stopped and spun around, tears still coursing down her cheeks. Don't run from me, I said. I can't call to you. Please don't run from me.

"You ran from me!" she said. "You ran from me, and I died a little more each day! You didn't even let me know that you were safe! Why?"

Her voice broke on the last word and I felt my heart clench in my chest. I couldn't, Bree. If I had written to you, or contacted you, I wouldn't have been able to stay away. And I had to stay away, Bree. I had to. You're my safety, and I had to do this without feeling safe. I had to.

She stood there silently for several minutes, her eyes on my still hands, not looking up into my face. We were both shivering, our breath coming out in white puffs.

I suddenly understood. Bree had been holding in the emotion of my absence for three long months, and my return had opened the floodgates. I knew what it felt like when emotion bubbling to the surface made you feel sick, out of control–I knew better than anyone. It's why I had gone away. But now, I was back. And now it was my turn to be strong for Bree. Now, I was finally able.

Come back to the truck. Please. Let me get you warm and then we'll talk.

"Were there other women?"

I shook my head and breathed out, looking down at my feet, then back up at her. I leaned in and "spoke" with my hands right against her body, looking into her eyes as she glanced between my face and my hands. There has only ever been you. There. Will. Only. Ever. Be. You.

She closed her eyes and fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. She opened them and we both stood there silently, our breath dissipating as it rose into the sky.

"I thought," she shook her head slowly, "I thought maybe you figured out that you were lonely," she heaved in a big breath, "and that you would have fallen in love with any girl who walked down your driveway that day–that maybe you needed to find out." She looked down.

I took her chin in my fingers and tilted her face back up to me. I brought my hand down and said, There's nothing to find out. What I know, is that you walked through my gate that day and I lost my heart. But not because it could have been any girl–because it was you. I lost my heart to you. And, Bree, in case you're wondering, I don't ever want it back.

She closed her eyes again and then opened them and I saw her body relax.

"What were you doing?" she finally asked quietly, hugging herself with her bare arms.

Please let me get you warm, I repeated, holding out my hand to her.

She didn't say anything, but she took my hand and we walked back to my truck together. When we reached it, I helped her up and then walked around to my side and climbed in as well, turning to her.

I looked out the window behind her for a second, thinking of all the things I'd done in the last three months, answering the question she had asked me outside. I went to restaurants, coffee shops… I went to the movies once. I smiled a small smile and her eyes flew to my face.

She blinked at me, her tears drying up. "You did?" she whispered. I nodded.

Her eyes searched my face for several seconds before she asked. "What'd you see?"

Thor, I spelled out.

She laughed softly and the sound was like music to my ears. "Did you like it?"

I loved it. I sat through it twice. I even ordered popcorn and a drink, even though there was a line of people behind me.

"How'd you do it?" She looked at me with wide eyes.

I had to point and gesture a little, but the kid got it. He was nice. I paused for a minute. I had this realization about a month after I'd been gone. Whenever I went somewhere and had to communicate with someone, and they'd see my scar and understand why I was gesturing, they each had a different reaction. Some people were awkward, uncomfortable, others were kind, helpful, and there were even some that were impatient and put-out. Bree's eyes softened and she was listening to me raptly.

I realized that people's reactions had more to do with them, more to do with who they were, than anything about me. It was like a bolt of lightening hit me, Bree.

Tears sprung to her eyes again and she reached out and touched my leg, just laying her hand on me.

She nodded. "It was like that with my dad too. What else?" she asked.