Page 40 of Even After This
Harlan’s shoulder gently nudges mine. “What are you thinking?”
I open my eyes and turn my head to find him staring at me, his face full of curiosity and maybe a little concern. “Sweet moments in life are precious. I’m intentional about grabbing hold of them.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He stares at me, studying me, and I let him. It feels significant, this moment.
“What do you want to ask me, Harlan?”
“Meredith.” My name releases from his lips in a growl, and he looks unsure.
I offer a small smile of assurance. “It’s okay,” I whisper. “I won’t break.”
He faces me. “After everything you’ve been through, how do you keep going?”
Tears prick my eyes. My nose stings.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Oh, Meredith, I’m so sorry I asked. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”
I square my body to his. “Harlan, listen to me. Thank you.” I reach for his hand and squeeze. “Thank you for having the courage to ask me something so honest. It’s an important question.” Facing the mountainous rocks again, I clench my teeth and lockdown the grief to give a voice to the sentiment forming in my gut. “Because life doesn’t come with guarantees.”
A tear falls to the ground. Only this time it isn’t mine.
“We make up rules for how our lives should run and then make ourselves live as hostages under our own expectations. When life doesn’t go the way we planned, the way we expected, we can’t forgive our expectations. And it gives us a reason to walk away from living.” My voice hitches. “I was driving a few cars behind my family when an eighteen-wheeler crossed the middle of the highway and crushed my husband of ten years, my three-year-old boy, and my one-year-old daughter.”
Harlan gasps, and I beat back the pain I see in his face. He laces his fingers through mine, his grip whitening his knuckles, and I have no idea if he is comforting me or if he needs my comfort, but it feels nice to be in this conversation together. Holding the tension of life together.
“I have a choice,” I say. “I either hold life to my unrealistic, unfair requirements, or let go and try to live again.”
His head jerks back, and he blinks. “How do you do that?”
“It’s gritty. Some days I’m angry. Irate. Other days I’m indifferent. But on a few precious days, I have peace. So I hope.” I catch a glimpse of Harlan’s water-filled eyes and push through. “I choose to hope. Because some days hold sweet moments. Like this one. This particular moment reminds me of life’s beauty.”
He nods, and we stand in silence and stare at each other while a family walks around us.
“What about you?” I finally ask. “How did you keep going after you lost your dad and Olivia left you?”
He releases my hand and throws his arms up in the air, almost in exasperation. “Our losses aren’t the same, Meredith. In our brains, we expect our parents to die when they’re old. My dad lived a long, fulfilling life. And the consequence of my personal choices resulted in my situation with Olivia. What happened to me is part of regular life.” His forefinger points down. “But whathappened to you seems ... cruel. Unnecessary. I can’t believe you get out of bed every day.”
A scoff escapes my throat. “You’re impressed with my ability to get out of bed every day?” My fists tighten, fingernails biting into my palms. “Harlan, it’s been four years since the accident. I spent a nice chunk of that time curled up in a ball, paying people to make sure I ate and slept. It took a group of very committed, loving professionals to help me function again.”
The rise and fall of Harlan’s chest slows as he gains control. “So how did you do it?”
“Early on, my friend Claire sent me a card. She said she prayed only one thing for me, the words of Rainer Maria Rilke. ‘Flare up like flames and make big shadows Meredith can move in.’” I shrug. “That was my lifeline. I could picture taking baby steps within the protection of the fierce blaze.”
Harlan drops the backpack on the ground and rifles through until he finds a red and blue plaid blanket. He shifts behind me, wraps the blanket around my shoulders, and folds his arms across my collarbone, pulling my back to his chest.
Slowly, slowly I wrap my fingers around his forearms.
He tucks his head down and brushes his cheek up and down against mine. Three times. Three times I feel his skin against mine. Three times I feel the faint whisper of his breath on my neck. Then he tightens me even closer to him. To his warmth.
Affection. It’s been a long time.
“Meredith.” My rumbled name vibrates against my ear. “You’re a gift.”
I don’t know how long we stand there. And I don’t know exactly when his arms around me shift from something deep and meaningful to something ... different. What I do know is that as he nuzzles my neck, his lips brush across a sensitive spot.
When he turns me around, he takes my face in his hands and locks his eyes on mine.
“Is it ‘later’?” I whisper.
