Ripple Effect

Epilogue

Elizabeth

Saturday, 22nd December, 2018

7:35 AM

A memory is more than just a memory. It is our truth; it is our understanding; it is our version of the past; it is susceptible to change; it influences our thoughts, actions and feelings; it can transport us to a different time and place; it is part of the 'I' that makes you 'you' and me 'me'; it clouds the lens through which we see the world; it shapes the way in which you and I relate; it is our bias and our guide; if we're one of the lucky ones, it lives on after we fade; it is a comfort when we're missing home; it is the wire through which past, present and future communicate; it is a pattern of neuronal firing; it offers solace when we've lost the people who made home more than just a place; it is something we take for granted; it is the jolt of that scent, the 'didn't I see that before?', the reason why I can't stand that taste; it can hurt us when it comes unwanted; it can hurt us when it deteriorates. A memory is more than just a memory. It is a ripple beneath our surface. And from small ripples come tidal waves.

The world outside had stopped. It had succumbed to snow's sweet blanket of sleep. In the still and silent hush, the milky-bright light of sunrise reflected up and flooded through the net curtains of their bedroom. It spilled across the floor and flowed up to engulf them where they lay, their legs entangled beneath the covers, his chest a wall of warmth pressed to her back, his breath a ruffle that tickled her neck at its nape. In that instant, no one else existed. It was just them. Elizabeth and Henry. Henry and Elizabeth. She wanted time outside to freeze forever so that the moment would never fade.

Beneath her tee, his fingertips traced idle circles over her stomach, and the ties at the end of his bracelet dragged behind his touch to caress her skin again. His tee. Her bracelet. She smiled to herself as she recalled every stroke, nip, plea, moan and kiss, every stream of 'I love you, I love you, I love you' that had tumbled from their lips. And perhaps he sensed her smile, because his own smile curled against her skin as he nuzzled the base of her neck and his lips sought out fresh flesh to tease and claim as his.

Perched on the window ledge outside, a bluebird warbled and reminded them that they couldn't stay forever in this fug of snug warmth, entwined bodies and uncomplicated bliss.

Her smile widened as a thought came to her from some distant echo of the past. Her mouth opened. She paused. Then the words rushed out with her breath. "Well, if that's what I get for leaving you high and dry for eight-and-a-half weeks..."

His laugh erupted from him, raw and uninhibited, and his whole body shook against hers whilst he pressed his forehead to the back of her neck. The chuckle reverberated through her and melded with her own. Hot tears dampened her skin. There had been plenty of those last night too, some a relief, some a release, some not entirely welcome. He had kissed away hers and she had kissed away his—just like he kissed better every scratch, cut and bruise—and in doing so, they had tended to each other's less visible wounds.

She rolled over to face him. The warmth of his smile said that they were happy tears this time, but she cupped his cheek, mindful of her stitches, and swept aside the glistening tracks with the pad of her thumb anyway. She held him there. "Good morning, handsome."

"Good morning, beautiful." He nuzzled into her palm and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist, making her pulse flutter beneath. "How did you sleep?"

"After last night?" She raised her eyebrows at him.

They shared a grin, whilst the hint of a blush flushed Henry's cheeks.

He slipped his hand free from beneath her t-shirt and from beneath the floral quilt that nestled around them and held their body heat in, and he tucked her hair behind her ear.

But as he did, it revealed the black and white friendship bracelet tied around his wrist, and her neck tensed with a cringe. She caught hold of his wrist and held it up so she could study the bracelet in the unforgivingly bright deluge of snow-light. The cringe spread along her jaw, until it felt as though she were biting down on cotton wool. "God, Henry, that really is awful."

He chuckled, and prised his wrist free from her grasp. He settled his hand against the small of her back beneath the covers again and gathered her against him. He leant in and kissed the tip of her nose. "I love it, and I love you."

She stared at him, her eyes wide, her eyebrows raised. "Please tell me you're not actually planning on wearing it. In public? Where people can see it?"

"I'm never taking it off."

"But it's an embarrassment." Her voice shot up, and she scrambled to sitting, keeping the covers tucked around her bare legs. "If ever you needed proof as to why it's in both our interests—in more ways than one—that on birthdays, Valentine's and Christmas, I stick to lingerie and sexual favours, then this is it." She gestured to his wrist where it now rested on the mattress between them.

He laughed—not the response she had wanted. Then he eased himself up to sitting and rested back against the headboard, though the coolness of the faux-leather and the chill in the air must have nipped at his bare skin.

Her voice softened again. She stroked his cheek, the hint of stubble prickling beneath her touch, and she tried to fight back her wince. "Can't you just wear it in here? Keep it for us?"

"I love it. And I'm not taking it off—"

She opened her mouth to protest.

"But..." He shot her a firm look, and only when her lips drew into a bud and she held to a reluctant silence did he continue. "If it makes you feel better, I'll wear it around my ankle instead."

She paused. That could work. "Beneath your sock?"

He gave her a gentle smile. "Beneath my sock."

"Thank you." She gripped his hand atop the covers, and when he turned it over so that they were palm to palm, she linked their fingers together. Her gold anchor ring aligned with his wedding ring. Her gaze drifted down as she rubbed her thumb back and forth along the edge of his.

Fly or fall? Take my hand. Thirty-five years on and she found herself on the cusp once again, old life and new, though this time the step into the unknown would see her giving up the life they'd forged for themselves over the past four years in DC along with the role she'd somehow come to love at State and risking everything in a run for the presidency. Perhaps she would never fully reconcile with that part of her that called her selfish for wanting it, not whilst knowing the scrutiny her family would go through in her bid for the election and the pressure it would place on all of their relationships, but she did want it. Call it idealistic, but she believed that maybe she could make a difference, maybe she could effect true change in the world, and maybe one day they'd all benefit from it. But more than anything, she wanted it. And if she didn't at least give it a shot, she'd forever regret it. It would be a new path, a new 'one step at a time', a whole new world of experience.

She tugged at Henry's fingers and looked up at him. Her gaze locked on his. "So...are you ready to go out there, face the world, and make some new memories with me?"

His smile played at the corner of his lips, and his gaze dipped. When he looked up at her again, his eyes gleamed. "You're going to make more than just memories, Elizabeth Adams McCord, you are going to make history." He squeezed her hand, clung tight, tighter than tight. "And no matter what, I'll be with you every step of the way."

The End;