Chuck shivered, even though it was a mild night. The moonlight shown down on the cemetery, but clouds had begun to obscure the light as a front moved in, adding to the eerie atmosphere. As they slowly drove down the dirt road, Chuck glanced at the car's clock. It was two o'clock in the morning. Chuck generally wasn't superstitious, but there was something about the weeping willow trees that hung over the road like dark curtains that gave him the creeps.
"Turn right here," Sarah directed.
Chuck drove down the smaller path for a minute as Sarah scanned the headstones on the right hand side.
"Okay, we're here," Sarah said quietly, almost to herself. Chuck turned off the car and was reaching for the door handle when Sarah stopped him.
"I'm sorry, I'd rather go alone."
"Sure, of course," Chuck said nervously, sitting back in the seat. He had been unsure how to treat her since they had left Emily's. He was expecting her to have some sort of emotional reaction to the evening, but so far she had just been sitting quietly in the passenger seat.
Chuck watched her as she slowly exited the car and climbed a small hill. She came to a stop in front of a pair of small, unadorned headstones. The moonlight was just bright enough for Chuck to make out the names—Vivian Weaver, b. 3/16/1959 d. 1/31/1991; and Douglas Weaver, b. 9/1/1957, d. 1/20/2007.
Chuck watched Sarah from behind as she stood absolutely still for ten minutes. She didn't even seem to notice that a light rain began to fall. Chuck began to wonder whether he should join her, but he knew he had to honor her desire for privacy. She eventually walked up to the gravestones and placed a hand on each one. Her shoulders seemed to slump momentarily as she dropped her head, but she quickly regained her composure and walked slowly back to the car.
Chuck jumped out of the car and met her on the passenger side, opening the door for her as she crawled in. He ran back to the driver's side and looked at her anxiously as he started up the car. He couldn't read her blank expression at all. Neither one of them said a word as Chuck guided the car out of the deserted cemetery. Chuck stared at the faded yellow line in the center of the empty road, unsure of what he could say that was comforting. He finally concluded that there was nothing he could say to console her. His weak words were no match for her inescapable memories. Silence filled the car, broken up only by the hypnotic "thwap" of the windshield wipers as the rain grew harder.
"Stop it," she commanded to herself as she felt the lump in her throat grow larger and larger. "Forget it. It's done," she repeated, but it did no good. She had always been skilled at suppressing her emotions, but her usual coping mechanisms were useless. She had no control over the memories flooding her mind: Nate screaming at her, his face twisted into their father's angry scowl; her mother lying unconscious on her bed, an empty bottle of pills in her limp hand; the shattering of glass after her father threw an empty bottle at her head for leaving her skates in the hallway after their win at sectionals; the way little Susannah Jane Corrigan's curls tickled her chin as she held her namesake; Nate clutching her as they hid in his closet listening to their parents wage another bloody fight; Richard promising her that her family would be safe; her father passed out drunk in his recliner as she shut the door to her house the last time. And now, on top of all that she had had to relive since the moment she stepped into this damn city, the image of his grave was etched in her mind just as the words were etched in the stone: Douglas Weaver, born September 1, 1957, died January 20, 2007.
Chuck drove for about fifteen minutes on the dark, desolate road. He was unsure whether they were actually heading towards the highway, but he didn't want to ask Sarah for directions. Her vacant stare made him uneasy. He was about to reach over for the map when the silence in the car was interrupted by Sarah's sudden jagged breathing.
"Sarah, are you . . ."
His question evaporated as he saw her formerly expressionless face suddenly crumple. She was definitely not okay. It looked like she was going to regain her composure, but a moment later she was sobbing. The change from her previously stoic state was so shocking that he sat frozen in his seat for a moment, unsure of how to comfort her. He finally just pulled over to the side of the road.
"Hey," he said softly, unbuckling his seatbelt and twisting towards her. "I understand how you're feeling. He's in a better place now."
He knew that her tears were about more than that, but he didn't know what else to say. He tried to hold her in his arms, but she was now doubled over in her seat, the sobs wracking her body. He awkwardly began patting her back, but felt utterly helpless.
She didn't know how it happened. She had pushed it all down to the pit of her stomach, but suddenly the floodgates had burst. She wasn't just crying over the graves of her parents. She was crying for her fractured childhood, and the fact that it could never be repaired now that they were gone. She was crying over her brother that she had abandoned and who hated her for it. She was crying because she had missed the birth of Emily's two children and wasn't there for her best friend when her marriage fell apart. She was crying for all that she had blindly sacrificed and all of the people she had left behind.
He refused to just sit there and allow her to feel alone. Opening his car door, he ran around to the passenger side in the rain. He heaved her door open, knelt down on his knees and wrapped his arms around her body in one fluid motion. Her sobs seemed to increase in intensity, so Chuck just held on tighter. She responded by lifting her head from her arms to bury her tear-stained face in Chuck's shoulder. Turning her body towards him, she clung to him just as tightly as he held her.
The rain was pouring down on her shoulders but she was safe in his arms. She was so embarrassed that Chuck was seeing her like this, but she couldn't stop. The sobs were so cathartic. They were for the years she had spent dedicated to an organization that betrayed her. An organization that viewed people, like her father and Chuck, as expendable. For the person it had turned her into--the type of person who would push away an amazing man because she was too broken and corrupt to ever deserve someone like him.
Chuck's knees were screaming in pain from the rough gravel and the rain had already soaked through his clothes, but he didn't move. He knelt by her side, rocking her gently, for what seemed like hours, until the pain and loss she had felt over the last five years seemed to finally have been released.
Eventually her sobs died down and she loosed her grip on him. He took her lead, and after a moment, dropped his arms by his side. The rain had soaked her as well and her face was pale and puffy from her tears. She immediately covered her face with her hands, and Chuck realized she was uncomfortable being seen in such an emotional state. He leaned forward and gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead. For some reason, such an intimate move didn't seem out of place after the events that had just transpired.
"Everything's going to be okay," he said as he helped her settle back into her seat. "I'm going to help you through this." He gave her another kiss on her cheek, and then closed the passenger door. He walked back to his side of the car. Soaked to the bone, it didn't matter if he rushed as this point.
He opened the car door and settled in next to Sarah, his clothes making sloshing noises as he sat down. She stole a glance at him before looking straight ahead, her face returning to its previously stoic state. Chuck refused to allow her to sink into herself and away from him again. As he pulled back onto the dark road, he reached over and grasped her hand in his.
The key to the motel room in his hand, Chuck hurried back to the car. Sarah still seemed shell-shocked, as if the outburst of emotions had drained every ounce of energy from her. Chuck held his jacket over her head to shield her from the rain as he opened her car door. Her exhaustion was evident as she relied on his help to get out of the car and leaned on him as they ran towards the motel.
They burst into the room and out of the rain. Chuck guided her to a lumpy chair and she sat down without protest.
"I'll be right back, I'm just going to take Lucky out for a quick bathroom break, okay?" Chuck asked nervously.
Sarah nodded, but didn't say anything. Chuck ran and grabbed Lucky from the car. Five minutes later, he was back in the room with their bags, but Sarah hadn't moved a muscle. She was still sitting in her soaked clothes on the wet chair.
"C'mon, Sarah, lets get ready for bed, okay?" Chuck asked gently.
She nodded again, but instead of getting out of the chair, she simply put her head in her hand, as if it were too heavy to hold up on her own. Chuck was instantly reminded of the photograph of Sarah's weary mother, and the image disturbed him. He fumbled through Sarah's bag and pulled out her nightclothes. He turned back towards her and offered her his hand.
"Let's go," he said, this time with a little more force.
She finally showed some strength as she nodded again and took Chuck's hand. She stood slowly and briskly rubbed her hands over her eyes, as if willing herself to wake out of her stupor. She looked down at her clothes, still dripping from the rainstorm, as if it was the first time she noticed that they were wet.
As Chuck stood there looking at her, her long blonde hair curled around her face from the rain, her blue shirt gripping every curve of her wet body, he suddenly remembered that day two weeks ago when they had been trapped in a rainstorm outside of his apartment. The sight of her dripping wet in his entryway had made him so nervous. He had practically tripped over himself trying to get away from her. God, was it only two weeks ago? So much had changed since then.
Maybe it was the fact that he no longer feared rejection—it had already happened, and he would get over it. Or maybe it was the fact that he understood her so much better now and had more faith in their friendship. Whatever it was, he knew he was no longer nervous. And he wasn't leaving her.
Sarah felt like she was still in the process of waking from an out of body experience. She commanded herself to stand up and get ready for bed, but her body didn't quite respond. It just seemed easier to fall asleep right in that lumpy chair.
He took her hands, though, and she found herself able to stand up. Staring into his eyes, she felt her strength returning. They stood still for a moment; neither one moving until he gently took a hold of the zipper on her jacket. He slowly unzipped it and began to peel the wet garment off her body. Her breath was caught in her throat by the intimate gesture.
Their roles had somehow reversed at some point in the night. She was always so in control of everything, including him. But tonight she was as vulnerable and exposed as she had ever been with anyone, and he had been her strength. As scary as that feeling was, she didn't want it to end. He had already broken down all of her emotional barriers. She wanted him to break down their physical barriers as well.
As he coaxed her left arm out of its sleeve, he leaned towards her, his mouth just inches away from hers. She practically quivered with anticipation. If she just moved slightly forward, their lips would touch. He would take her in his arms again and nothing else would matter.
Just as she was about to shift her weight forward, he took a step back. Folding up the jacket, he walked across the room to place it on the radiator. Sarah cursed herself for letting the moment pass.
"Here you go," he said as he stepped back and handed her her pajamas. He gave her a supportive smile and headed into the bathroom.
"Thanks," she whispered, staring at the closed bathroom door.
He stepped back into the cramped room, expertly hoping over the dog dozing on the floor. Like the night before, he had gotten a room with two double beds, and like the night before, Sarah was already lying in the far bed. He walked in between the two beds and couldn't help but notice how her tank top clung to every curve of her body. He quickly pushed those thoughts out of this mind, however, as he pulled back the covers of his own bed.
He heard Sarah shift in bed, and he turned back around towards her to say goodnight. When he looked back at her, though, he saw a wistful look in her eyes.
"Hey, you okay?" Chuck asked quietly, immediately concerned. He moved over and sat on the edge of her bed. He took her hand and look intently into her eyes, wishing for the millionth time that he could read her inscrutable face.
She nodded and gave him a small smile, but Chuck didn't buy it.
"C'mere," he said, urging her up into a seated position. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. He didn't know what to say, so they just remained in a silent embrace for a minute.
"Thanks, Chuck," she said as he reluctantly pulled away. She began fidgeting with her blanket, and for some reason, she seemed reluctant to meet his eyes.
"Sarah, you know I'm here for you whenever you need me." He lowered his head slightly in an attempt to connect with her gaze.
Sarah finally looked up, and Chuck saw an unfamiliar look in her eyes.
"Do you mean that?"
"Of course."
Sarah suddenly became preoccupied with her covers again until she finally said something so quietly, Chuck was certain he had misheard her.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
She cleared her throat forcefully and stared directly into his eyes, willing him to understand her. For the first time in hours, Chuck saw the life return to her blue eyes.
"I said . . . I don't want to be alone tonight."