Her Ink Stained Hands
.
Because they can't.
At the end of the day they meet at a cafe. The same one they've been coming to for years. It's the same one her father dined at when she was a little girl and ordered blue berry pancakes. The same one they'd met. And the same one that expects the two beautiful Native American's, every day, at a quarter past six.
The aroma of grinded coffee beans is pungent and stirs the many memories in each of their heads. The many conversations. The many promises. The many dreams.
She sits across from him, waiting for the perfect moment to tell him why she won't be here tomorrow. Why she won't order the same French Vanilla coffee she's ordered for the past two years. Why she won't sip it slowly with her long fingers wrapped around the warmth of the mug. Why she won't stir the powdered sugar shaped as a love heart, with the small silver spoon, clanking the sides softy.
Because they can't.
He's watching her as she opens her mouth and closes it again. He watches as she reaches for the small backpack next to her in the booth, her fingers fumbling and nervous like. He watches as her hair falls in front of her face before she pulls it back with her clear gloss nailed hand to tuck it behind her ear.
He watches her, as he's always watched her. A light smile on his lips. His heart pounding swiftly and on purpose. A small plug jammed in the hole that is leaking from his heart. She's the only one who stops it. The only one who's ever come close to sealing it forever.
His fingers slowly draw circles on the table next to her out stretched hand. He so desperately wants to grasp her hand, feel it's smoothness against his own, show the world how much she means to him. But he doesn't. Not in such a public place. Not with the eyes of prying diners around them.
It's not that he doesn't want to show them who she belongs to. It's because they're both afraid of what it will mean. How their lives will change. How the lives of the ones they love will change. How the lives they have built for themselves will come crashing down around them and only leave them bare and shaking, in front of a concrete mess of hearts. It's because, because-
Because they can't.
Because they don't dare.
She retrieves the small photograph and fingers it lightly before placing it down in between them and pushes it forward. She wants him to see it. Wants him to understand. Understand why this relationship of the flesh they have, can't be what they both want it to be. Not anymore.
"Lee?" he questions, looking at her face, not once glancing down at the small picture but instead grabbing her wrist as she tries to pull her hand from the table.
His eyes dance with unasked questions and more importantly unanswerable answers. His soft brown orbs flick across her face trying to pick up the meaning of her silence, the way she doesn't look at him how she should. How she's always done.
"I'm sorry." She mutters quietly, pulling her hand from his and places it on her lap. The sound of diners leaving, stools scraping, bells chiming, and orders being placed falls on deaf ears.
It's like it's just the two of them. Wrapped in each other's presence, wrapped in the safety that is his arms and wrapped in the delicate touch that is her hands. There is no one else. But them. And the picture. And the soft rays of the lasting sun through the window as it drops beneath the horizon.
He nods in silent understanding and sits back against the booth chair, dragging the photo under his calloused hands. The photo is smooth and has a deep white edge that makes his heart pound. He knows this photo, what it means. It's the same photo he's seen countless times. Each of his children possessing a multitude of their own portraits in their baby albums. He feels the lump of unease build in his throat, his eyes widening, as he looks at the date at the bottom of the photo.
It's today's date. Time stamped not merely three hours ago.
"It's yours," she says quietly, the pain in her voice evident. There's longing behind her words, a silent plea that asks for him to understand and walk away. Walk away from what they have built. What they have been hiding. What everyone suspects, but never speaks of.
Because they don't dare.
His chest tightens thinking to the future. She was strong in every aspect of the word. Independent. Brilliant. Perfection. But there is only one word that he thinks when his eyes move slowly from the photo to the woman in front of him. The woman who has always been like a wild rose. Her scent unmistakable and her beauty touched by none.
Love.
He hears the word swirl around in his head as he watches her eyes drop to the table. The disappointment and despair sweeping across her beautiful warm hazel eyes and smooth featured face. He wants to tell her so many things. Promise her. Be with her.
But he won't hurt her like that. Not now. Not again. Not ever.
"How far?" he whispers, forgetting about the cup of black coffee steaming beside his forearm, ready for him to drink. He wonders how this miracle could have ever happened. He wants to ask her, talk to her, choose out a name, rub her stomach once it swells, with child. His child.
"Three months," she replies, looking back up at the man she wishes she could have always loved. Even if it was a secret. Even if it was in the middle of the night. In his car. In her apartment. In the bed he shared with his beautiful wife.
She'd been wishing so hard and for so long, it had now become a dream. An unanswered prayer. To someone. God? Perhaps he hadn't heard her pleas in the middle of the night. To keep the man, she loved. The man that should have been hers and only hers. The only man she's loved enough to let him hurt her in ways she'd promised herself she'd never let anyone do again.
"I – I - " She begins but stops. She feels the air around them becoming thick. Thick with what, she doesn't know. Her lungs feel like they are collapsing on top of each other, like a small fish kept from the water too long. From their home.
What will she be without him? Still the same woman, who he's made complete or will she shatter into a million piece of glass and be swept away by the Autumn wind? She doesn't know. Because without him, would there be another day? Would another dawn break? Would she find enough solace in the memories of each other to go on? Live?
Love.
"Will you keep him?" he asks running his hand over the smooth photo paper, his fingers making the picture seem smaller and so much more fragile. If he was to accidentally drop the paper, would he feel it. Would he twist and turn and let his mother know that he was in pain? That without his father, things wouldn't be okay. That without the touch or sound of the being that created him, he would have to find a way to love the woman that made him, without the love of his father.
"I will," she answers, reaching out and placing her small hand on his forearm, stroking his russet skin. "I will keep him. Always."
With the last words and a small nod, Jacob watches as Leah picks up her backpack, moving it to her shoulder in one swift movement and walks towards the door. She stops just before the door and shuffles her feet, wanting to turn around and see him just one more time. The man she's loved her whole life. The man that should have been hers and only hers. The man who married another.
Jacob's head perks up as he waits for her to turn around. Admit she was wrong. And that she'll stay with him through the trials that would come. The accusing eyes of his wife. The despair of his already born children. The tears of them both.
But she doesn't.
Because they can't.
Because they don't dare.
Jacob hangs his head, as Leah walks through the door without a second glance. He pushes his now cold cup of coffee to the side and sighs.
She walks through the massing people in the street and lets out a sob. It hurts, and it comes from deep within. Somewhere inside her where only Jacob has touched. Her heart? Her soul?
Love.
They both feel it. They both want it. They both want each other. To hold. To kiss. To weep. To laugh.
But they won't.
Because they can't.
Because they don't dare.
And with the tears she's wiped from her eyes, she dries her ink stained hands on her jeans as she walks away from the diner and out of his life.
Forever.