Come June [ h.s. ]

22

22
.

In only a few minutes which felt like eternity, Eileen told him everything about her mother.

Harry felt angry.

Not at anyone in particular — certainly not her. No, he was angry with himself.

He was angry that he hadn't noticed her pain, angry for the circumstances life had given her, angry because the more she told him about her mother, the sadder she seemed. All this time she was breaking beneath the surface and he'd been too blind to see it.

"How long has she been this way?" he asked.

"A year, maybe," said Eileen. She was sitting on the couch beside him, with her head gently resting where his shoulder met his neck. Sam lay at their feet, breathing heavy breaths. Hickory slept by the door. "It started right around the time I was finishing up school. It wasn't obvious; just the little things she would forget. Eventually I would walk into the room not knowing if she'd remember me or not. And now, the saddest part of it all is that I do know when she's forgotten me. Because I'll walk in and she has this look on her face. Like she's searching for how to react to me, but can't quite grasp it. Can't quite find me in her mind."

He didn't know what to say.

It was all so terrible.

"Do you visit her often?"

"No," she said.

Her eyes stung as his hand reached out and covered her closed fist. She slowly uncurled her hand and allowed it to lay flatly against his; their fingers wound together in sweet unison.

"It hurts too much," he said.

It was more of a statement than a question, but Eileen nodded, because it was true. A warm tear rolled down her cheek. Harry felt it drop onto the place where his neck ended and his chest began.

"Yes," she said. "It hurts. And I know that by distancing myself from her I've only made it worse. I'm so terrible, Harry. I can't believe how terrible I am."

She was really crying, now. Ashamedly she pulled away from him and looked him in the eyes. His stomach clenched with empathy.

"Don't do that," he said. "Don't you ever think for one moment that you're terrible. You are so incredible, Eileen. So strong. So brave. You are not to blame for any of this."

She was quiet.

"Tell me that you know you're not terrible," said Harry.

"I know I'm not terrible."

"Say it again."

"I know I'm not terrible."

"You're not terrible," he said. Her eyes were red and glistening. "You could never be, even if you tried."

She opened her mouth to say something back to him, but was interrupted as Sam's muzzle found her bare feet and he licked some of the leftover sand between her toes. Wordlessly Eileen bent forward and lovingly scratched the dog's head and shoulders. When she had settled back into the couch Harry spoke again.

"Can I make you some tea?"

"Actually," she said. She scooted closer towards him and took his hand between hers. "There's something else I wanted to talk to you about."

His forehead wrinkled in a mix of curiosity and worry. He said nothing, but gave her an encouraging nod.

Eileen searched his eyes and wished she knew how to tell him everything she felt. It was best to just dive right in, she figured. To lay herself bare to him. A calming voice from within promised that she could show him the ugliest parts of her, and feel safe about it. She supposed that was the best part of love — to do your very worst and still be wanted.