Candle
He calls her room long before her alarm goes off.
"Hey Amanda," he scratches the back of his head suddenly wondering if this random harebrained idea of his would even go over well with her. "I was wondering if we could leave a little early. Maybe stop by Christ Church on St. Simon's before we head to the airport."
Silence.
"I'd . . . I'd kinda like to see it," he continues.
"Mmm . . . um hum," he hears on the other end of the line, followed by the phone hanging up.
The thunder starts as he waits outside her room. He had only knocked once, hoping she had actually gotten up and gotten ready, but not wanting to really wake her if she hadn't.
How long should he wait?
"Just a minute," he hears as the thunder booms louder. Oh, thank goodness. Somehow it was very important to him that they fit in this little detour to their itinerary. There was something there. . .
It's raining as they walk under the trellis and into the cemetery, but they pay that no mind.
"I miss Jesse," Amanda says as they see a jungle gym for kids off to one side of the parish offices, oddly situated right smack dab next to a bunch of headstones. "I could never do what that mother did to Jill, or let that nanny do –"
"You're right," Sonny answers her before she finishes. "You'd protect Jesse from that. You made that kinda clear you know."
She nods, remembering their conversation in the breakroom that one day, when they were at odds over a mother's culpability in the abuse of her son by her own husband. Sonny could somehow tell that the abuse was systemic and was sympathetic towards her, assuming (correctly it turned out), that he was abusing her as well.
"Would you have protected Jill? Or been more like her Uncle? Unbelieving?"
"Amanda, as I said, sometimes family stuff like this gets really compli –"
She interrupts him, tries a different tactic.
"Would you have believed the one from our dreams – the one who was terrorized?"
They stop in front of some of the oldest headstones they've seen yet, and Sonny puts his hands on Amanda's shoulders firmly.
"Yes. I would have believed her. I believe you."
"Me?"
"Yes, if you ever want to talk . . ."
Amanda looks down.
"Amanda, if you ever want to tell me what it was like growing up . . ." he shuffles his feet nervously because she's still not looking up at him. "I . . . I know it was rough is all I'm saying. I can tell. If you ever want to talk . . . I'll believe whatever you have to say."
She nods and sinks her head into his chest. Thunder booms as his arms wrap about her, one coming up to cradle her head. He is so gentle. They sway a bit as the rain begins to soak them.
After some time the rain slows down a little and she pulls away from him, pulling her wet hair out of her face so she can look up at him.
"How are you doing?" she asks softly. "Since your aunt . . ."
He looks down at her solemnly, tears swimming in his eyes. "I don't what I would do if it was me . . ."
She raises a comforting hand to his cheek. "Remember when we last talked about this?"
He nods.
She nods back.
"Good. Find a new pattern," she says firmly. "You'll need to find a new pattern once she's gone."
He places a large hand on the small of her back, and pulls her to him – presses her against him. Amanda strokes a small circle on his cheek as he bends down to kiss her softly.
Thunder booms twice before their lips part. He lowers his forehead onto hers, touches the bridge of her nose with the tip of his own, and lets the rain pour down between their faces.
As lightning illuminates the sky he whispers, "I would light a candle for you."