Author's Note One: I had a few ideas for Willabeth oneshots that just weren't working out; then, the other nigh, all my ideas combined into this one story; it has a lot going on, mind you, and none of it makes much sense or fits together. Ergo, page breaks. If it helps you, please, please, take all the page breaks as signs of one "drabble" ending and the other one beginning.
Disclaimer: Mine, please. -eye roll- The song featured throughout the story; or in the beginning of each drabble, if that's the way you chose to look at it, is tidbits of "One More Day with You" by Diamond Rio.
Author's Note Two: I hope you can make sense of this. Please, constructive criticism and comments and the end would be make me so happy. :)
"One More Day"
Leave me wishing still
For one more day…
Leave me wishing still
For one more day with you…The sun was setting over a picture-perfect ocean view, the last red gleams of the day reflecting across the water, moving with the waves. And just as the sun was sinking low, a streak of green light that had nothing to do with the sunset flashed across the sky, and the ship that could be seen sailing far off had disappeared in the blink of an eye.
About this time a woman sat alone on the beach, right by the water's edge, so close the waves where lapping her bare feet; her legs folded in front of her, her arms clutching her knees tight to her chest, tears rolling down her cheeks, both eyes on the horizon, lingering on the exact spot where the ship had vanished.
There she remained, curled up closely just like that, not moving, not making a sound, for the longest time. She made no attempt to wipe away the drops falling from her eyes, soaking her face, her clothes, her arms; merely cried harder. The sun had by now sunk below the water, and it was unlikely she could see far from the shoreline in the darkness. And still she sat, and still she stared.
Last night I had a crazy dream;
A wish was granted just for me.
It could be for anything:
I didn't ask for money,
Or a mansion by the sea.
I simply wished
For one more day with you.
Ten years. Ten years. Ten years. Over and over it ran through Elizabeth Turner's head, the words flashing like a light before her eyes. Ten years. Ten years. Ten years and she could see him again. Ten years and he would come back to her. Ten years and they could be together.
But surely time had stopped. Surely. Seconds were ticking by, Elizabeth was counting them silently, trying to wipe away the flashing light of ten from her vision. One, two, three… But they were ticking by so slowly, so slowly; seconds sitting here felt like eternity. Four, five, six…
She closed her eyes to greet the darkness behind her eyelids; somehow, it managed to seem less black than the night encircling her. This stopped the tears, stopped the lingering stares of unhidden longing that had looked now at out at sea for a long time. But she couldn't stop the counting. Seven, eight, nine…
Counting. It was all there was left to do. And so she counted. Ten, eleven, twelve…
One more day.
One more time.
One more sunset, maybe I'd be satisfied.
But then again
I know what it would do;
Leave me wishing still
For one more day with you.
The time passed slowly, the counting never stopped, and the waiting never grew easier. And yet one day Elizabeth awoke to find that nearly five months had passed. Five months seemed a great accomplishment, when there was a time when it seemed impossible for that first night on the beach to end, and yet it was nothing. Nothing.
Because though she had survived without him this long, there was yet waiting to be done. So much waiting. Nine years, seven months, and three days left of waiting. Elizabeth was counting. She was always counting.
First thing I'd do, is pray for time to stop;
Then I'd unplug the telephone
And keep the TV off.
I'd hold you every second,
Say a million I love you's.
That's what I'd do
With one more day with you.
It was eight months before she got her first companion since Will had gone, and her great surprise at his visit was unexpected but not at all unwelcome. He arrived on the beach one morning, and a by then very pregnant Elizabeth had been walking there, splashing her toes in the water when she saw him. He was climbing out of a dinghy, claiming he had just started a new quest for the Fountain of Youth, and that the island had been on his way. He didn't say why he'd stopped here, because that was just the way he was; he would not say he was checking up on her, would not say he wondered about her, would not say she was his friend.
But none of that mattered to Elizabeth, whether he told her anything or not, because at least he was here. They walked along the beach, and she answered his questions: no, she didn't have any rum; yes, she was still Pirate King; no, her crew had not forgotten her, she'd merely sent them on without her; and yes, she was absolutely certain she had no rum.
And then he had held out an arm in front of her, stopping her mid-step. He had just noticed what she wore about her neck; he gazed intently at the strap of leather holding her most prized possession.
'Lizzie,' he said, 'is that it? Is that the key to the—'
'The chest, yes,' she answered, fingering it gently; tears sprang up in her eyes, but she had long since learned to hold them back. 'I've tried leaving it in the house or with the chest. But I can't do it; I just can't. It's the…it's the key to his heart, Jack.'
She'd said it before she could stop herself, and instantly regretted speaking it out loud; surely he would laugh at her, this sentimental silliness that governed her life. But he didn't laugh. He merely nodded and continued walking.
He stayed only for a few hours, and left even before night had come. She wouldn't see him again for quite awhile, perhaps even years. But his visit had not been entirely pointless; Elizabeth's constant counting seemed to pass faster than it had ever had that day. And yet time still remained.
One more day.
One more time.
One more sunset, maybe I'd be satisfied.
But then again
I know what it would do;
Leave me wishing still
For one more day with you.
Slowly, so, so agonizingly slowly, the endless years passed. Elizabeth had her child, and though he grew up without a father, he always knew he had one. She said to him constantly, even when he was too young to understand her words: 'You're named after your father, Liam. He is William Turner the II, after his father.'
One day she said this to him, as she did nearly every day, and Liam, now approaching his eighth year, asked her; 'Mama, how come Papa isn't here? Is he ever going to come?'
Elizabeth looked at him, her child who resembled herself in face and eyes, but who seemed to bear a striking likeness to his father. She kissed the top of his head before answering. 'Of course he is coming, Liam.'
'But when, Mama, when?'
Elizabeth wrapped an arm around her son, pulling him close; but she looked afar, off in the direction of the sea. She knew the answer to that, because she was still counting. "Four years, eleven months, twenty days—and then the waiting would be over, the counting would end," that was what she said to herself—but to her son she only said…
'Soon.'