Steady as the Snow Falls(30)

His footsteps halted, and he stood, bared and open-an unbeatable man  struck down by the lightning of chance. The slope of his shoulders  hinted at his desperateness, and Harrison's eyes cried, though not a  single tear appeared. "Every day I breathe is a lie."

Beth's eyes stung, her head shaking to deny his words. His life was not a  lie, but a truth. Harrison's confession was not a weakness, like he  believed. His breakdown was not something to feel shame over. It made  him stronger to Beth, because even the strongest of individuals fell at  times. What made them strong was that they got back up, every time.         

     



 

"It's okay," she said in a choked voice. "It's okay to be scared, but it's not okay to let the fear take away everything good."

Craters of pain fell upon his being, demolishing the light. Creating  holes that couldn't be filled. Pushing him back, and back. Back to the  darkness. Back to the bleak world he didn't have to live in. Beth could  see Harrison struggling against them, and she could see him wondering  why he was. She was losing him. Beth couldn't let him go back there.

"I can't go forward, and I can't go back. You know what I do? I go  through, straight ahead. I don't think about the past, because it hurts.  And I can't think about the future, because that hurts too."

"Let me help you," she offered again, placing her hand, palm side up, in the space between them.

He lowered his eyes to her hand, stared at it like he didn't know what it was.

"Let me help you."

Harrison's throat bobbed, and he lifted crystalline eyes to hers-onyx  awash in tears, glittering with beautiful tragedy. He extended his hand  to hers, and his fingertips brushed across hers. Beth moved with the  care of someone who approached a spooked and scared being, gradually  closing the distance. She pressed her thumb to his hard cheek as a tear  dropped from his eye. A single tear to symbolize a thousand.

He tried to wipe it away from her skin, and she retracted her hand, the  warm wetness dissolving into her skin, becoming part of her. "Your tears  can't hurt me, Harrison."

A broken sound left him, and he hung his head. Maybe he had to break to  see that he could let her in through the cracks. Beth could fill the  holes. She could patch him up with her light. She wanted to do that for  him.

"I'm not here to write your book anymore," she whispered. Beth would  write it; she needed to, and she thought Harrison needed it too, but it  was second place to them, not first. "I don't think that's ever really  why I was here. I'm here for you."

The truth was in his eyes when he raised them to hers.

Beth swallowed and looked away, unable to stare into that whirlpool for  too long. If she did, she could see herself jumping headfirst into him.  Drawing back her shoulders and attempting a brisk tone, she grabbed a  spare cloth and tossed it at him. "Either help me clean this mess or get  out. We're wasting daylight."

She picked up the nearest award, smiling to herself as Harrison slowly  reached for another. Beth didn't look at him as they worked. His  nearness heated up the room, filled it with tingles of energy, like  little invisible sparks littered the air.

"I read the ten pages," Harrison said softly.

Beth went still and then forced herself to move. She grabbed another  trophy and wiped the cloth around its edges and smoothness. "Oh?"

His eyes touched on hers and strayed. "You made me sound better than I  am. My hair really isn't that nice of a shade of red, and my jawline is  weaker than you described."

She smiled. "I only wrote what I believe. Besides," Beth added. "It's only the first draft. It's subject to change."

He snorted. "Does that mean there's a chance it will be less complimentary toward me when the final draft is ready?"

Her lips twitched. "I guess that depends on you."

A dozen minutes passed before either of them spoke again, and it was Harrison.

"Straight through," he murmured as he set a newly shining trophy on a shelf.

Beth nodded, her arm shooting forward. "Straight through. With me beside you."





NINE





THANKSGIVING WITH HER family was strained, because all the while she was  interacting with her parents and siblings, she was thinking of  Harrison. He'd assured her his mom and dad would be spending the day  with him, but Beth had doubts. Each time someone had to repeat her name  to get her attention, overwhelmingly hot shame colored her face. She  should be enjoying her time with her family.

It was as the dishes were being cleared from the table that her oldest  brother, Benny, tugged on a chunk of her hair. "What's going on with  you?"

Beth picked up the large ceramic bowl of mostly eaten mashed potatoes  and walked with it to the counter. The heat of the kitchen, mixed with  the other various food smells, including the melted butter and garlic  scent of the mash potatoes, made Beth cringe. She'd eaten too much, and  now her stomach was revolting.

"What do you mean?"

Blue eyes a tad darker than hers locked on her, telling her she couldn't  fool him. Benny and Beth looked the most alike out of the Lambert kids,  favoring the same coloring and similar features. Seven years older than  her, Benny acted more like a father figure than a big brother. He was a  beast of a guy, tall and stocky with more muscles than Beth thought was  necessary. Her oldest brother said he lifted weights so he could enjoy  his beer in peace. Beth told him he was a disgrace to computer nerds  everywhere.         

     



 

Her brother set a clear square storage container on the counter and  began emptying the mashed potatoes into it. "You barely said a word to  Whitney, and whenever someone tries to talk to you, you're off in your  own little world. And you look funny." At her frown, he added, "Like  something is bothering you."

"I'm sorry. I just … I have a lot on my mind. I'll make it up to Whitney.  Maybe I can steal her for a little bit on Saturday." Beth's eyes found  her eight-year-old niece through the doorway that led to the living  room. She looked like a mini-version of Beth, a fact she took great joy  in. Whitney sat with her grandparents on the couch, telling them a story  with loud sound effects and giggling.

Beth smiled faintly and looked at her brother. "I'm just distracted."

"Yeah." He snorted. "I did notice that." He paused. "Mom says you're  writing a story for some old hermit who lives in another town and  doesn't want anyone to know who they are."

She knelt down and rustled in the cupboard, finding the green lid that fit the container. "Something like that."

"How's that going?" Benny scraped the last of the potatoes into the container.

Beth avoided his piercing eyes as she stood. "Good. Really good. I'm a quarter of the way through the story."

"Everything normal with that? Your employer's decent?"

She tilted her head, trying to remain calm even as her pulse sped up. He didn't know anything. No one did. "Yes. Why?"

Benny shrugged his broad shoulders. "Why don't they want anyone to know who they are? Why the mystery? Seems weird."

"They're private, that's all."

Benny's broad features darkened and his eyes blazed, his large body taut  and bristling with anger. "Mom also said Ozzy isn't taking no for an  answer. I never liked him. Thought he could do whatever he wanted, and  he could, because he always got away with shit. He was a punk as a kid,  and he's still a punk, only now he's old enough that he should know  better."

Beth handed her brother the lid. It was interesting how everyone had an  opinion on her and Ozzy now that they were no longer together. "Ozzy  just has to figure out things on his own. It takes him a while to accept  things aren't always the way he wants them to be."

She hoped that was all it was. Beth's fingers curled. She'd talked with  her landlord, and he'd assured her Ozzy wasn't given a key, and for now,  Beth would trust that. She told herself she must have left the door to  the garage unlocked, like Ozzy said, but a twinge in her conscience kept  her from entirely believing it.

"That's the way a kid thinks, not a man," he stated.

There was no disagreeing with that.

"Benny, you need a beer?" Jake called from downstairs. He liked to whine  that he was the neglected middle child who couldn't even share the same  letter in his first name as them.

"Yeah. I'll be right down," he replied, his eyes unmoving from Beth's.  "Something's going on with you, and you can deny it all you want, but I  see it. You're unhappy about something."

Benny snapped the lid into place and handed her the container. "You  don't have to do anything on your own. Whatever is going on, everyone in  this house loves you and will support you. I got your back, Beth. We  all do."

She wanted to confess it all-her fears over Ozzy, Harrison's identity  and how she was overwhelmed by her feelings for him, and even more so,  terrified of the disease living inside of him. The dream of writing a  bestselling novel that seemed too far out of reach. The uncashed check  from Harrison sitting on her dresser that was more money than she  normally saw in half a year and that she didn't deserve-how being with  Harrison made her sad at times but being away from him was worse, that  she was also hopeful, and inspired, and strong in his presence.