Break My Fall
[Lyrics courtesy of Google!]
We enter the room
You're bright the darkness my love
In moments with you
There is no end to me or beginning to you
We move to the floor
A purpose combined my love
Like the motions of stars
Our dynamic symmetry combines
Break my fall
I found what was missing inside you
Break my fall
Na na na na na na na
Break my fall
I found what is missing inside you
Break my fall
Na na na na na na na
Always with you
Connected by blood my love
A purpose fulfilled
You're my light in this dark, dark world
This unspoken within
I feel complete my love
The moments apart
I'm craving your light in the dark
Break my fall
I found what is missing inside you
Break my fall
Na na na na na na na
Break my fall
I found what is missing inside you
Break my fall
Na na na na na na na
[Written by Brian Wayne Transeau, Tijs M. Verwest • Copyright © Universal Music Publishing Group]
***
This is it, Elisabeth thought.
She looked about her at the front room. Normally, it was cluttered and messy, dust balls catching at the corners of the furniture, piles of paper sliding off the old oak-top desk. But right now, it was as neat as a pin.
In other words, it had been emptied of every bit of its identity. No more Burnham clutter.
The papers were gone. The dust had been swept away. She could even see that the tops of the ancient, heavy drapes had been feather dusted for cobwebs.
That would have been Gunnar's handiwork—she couldn't remember the last time she'd wielded a feather duster. Perhaps never. And to be fair, she didn't know if Gunnar himself had done any dusting. He seemed to have friends in every conceivable profession and owning every conceivable vehicle—what he wasn't willing to do, he always found someone willing to donate.
The furniture was all there. The auctioneer had priced some of the more valuable items, saying that he would conduct private showings of the house after Thanksgiving. The realtor thought the house would show better with the old furniture in it, so she'd shrugged and given the auction house man a key.
Thank goodness she would be gone. She didn't want to see any of the activity. Somehow, her conscious mind could handle what she was about to do, but she didn't know if she could actually stand to see if happen.
Elisabeth wandered aimlessly from room to room, trying to remember all the instructions. Gunnar had told her repeatedly that she needed to make lists, take pictures with that new phone, record what was there and what wasn't, keep an inventory—all of it blurred into an impossible jumble of chaos in her mind. She paused in each doorway, staring blankly at the room before her, trying to grasp at why she was there, what she was looking at, and what on earth all of it meant.
Instead, she remembered odd bits and pieces of things—middle school science projects spread out on the dining room table, the Burnham family bible with its pages of births and deaths, her mother and father guffawing loudly over Lucille Ball's antics on the black-and-white television with the rabbit ears and twisted bits of foil. She remembered that there was once a green shag rug in front of that television set—where had that gone? There was also a hideous gray vinyl arm chair that had sat in the same room. She couldn't remember what had happened to it, but she felt as if she had spent her entire childhood in that chair in front of Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck.
There was no longer a television at all in that room, and the gray armchair had been replaced by an antique bentwood rocker that the delighted auctioneer had found in the attic. He had placed it lovingly next to the wood stove in that room, which when he had discovered that it not only worked but could easily heat up half the ground floor, had sent him into raptures.
Elisabeth walked slowly up the stairs, reluctant to open the doors of the abandoned bedrooms. Her parents' room was nearly empty. She'd boxed up what remained of her mother's knickknacks and tucked them into the attic. Nothing valuable or sentimental there. She paused in the doorway of her own room, which looked odd and starkly empty in the dim half-light of the afternoon.
She'd decided to leave that one photograph of Shawn behind. It sat alone on her dresser, a relic of a distant past. She'd listened to Gunnar and thrown out most of her wardrobe, replacing it with a set of short wool skirts and turtleneck sweaters, which served to make her look more bohemian chic than she felt. She hoped that she'd be taken seriously in Seattle. Gunnar told her she absolutely would be, if she would stop assuming the worst and remember that she was a competent professional.
Elisabeth knew that she could stand up for the little guy—she wasn't afraid of any courtroom, any judge, if it meant protecting someone weaker than herself. But she wondered if there was a place for someone like her in a big city in the west. And if there wasn't—what new part of society would she inhabit?
She couldn't even fathom what that would be like, and she didn't know how she felt about the strangeness of all of it.
Someone was banging on the front steps. She recognized Gunnar's heavy tread—he always wore these big combat boots and would ritually kick the snow off of them before entering the house. He didn't bother to knock on the door anymore, but would shout her name into the hallway when he entered.
"E-lis-a-beth—!" he bellowed. His voice echoed off the newly bare floors and walls.
"I'm up here," she replied.
He bounded up the stairs two at a time.
"Yo," he said, coming up behind her. He bent to kiss her neck and she shrugged him off automatically.
"Stop."
"Why?"
"You know why."
"You're a prude."
"Maybe I am."
"Huh." But he didn't sound upset. "Are you done? Done-done?"
"I think so. I don't even know what I'm looking for."
"Do you have pictures?"
"I think so."
"We can catalogue things later. I'll help you. It's the easiest way to take an inventory."
Elisabeth sighed. She went into her room, clicking on the light as she did so. "I did what you said, but Gunnar, no one is going to steal anything."
"I never said anyone was going to steal anything," Gunnar objected. "An inventory is just so you know what you own. Are you really a lawyer? I have to tell you everything, like. Someone should give me a law degree."
Elisabeth was opening drawers and shutting them. They were all empty.
"Someone should," she said. "Why don't you go back to school? You'd make a great lawyer. You'd kick my butt."
"No school," Gunnar shuddered. "No way."
"Can you just leave the tattoo shop? Just like that?"
"Yeah. They can always find someone else."
Elisabeth held up a piece of paper. "I don't think so. Not many people can do this." It was Gunnar's drawing of Persephone and Hades.
"Oh. Ha ha. Yeah, well." Gunnar shrugged. "Nice that you saved it."
"Of course I saved it. It's beautiful. Listen, Gunnar—"
"Uh oh." Gunnar had followed her into the room, but now he retreated backwards several steps. "I don't like the sound of this."
"We have to talk."
"Not now. I'm closing a deal on my bike. I just stopped in to see if you were okay."
"We have to talk," Elisabeth repeated. "We're leaving tomorrow and we haven't discussed—us—yet—"
"Let's talk about it on the plane," Gunnar said. "They always serve free wine on the plane. We can get buzzed and then talk. You know, I've never even seen you drink."
"That's because I don't drink. I'm too broke to drink," Elisabeth said curtly. "I haven't had a drink in years. Listen, I don't want to wait until tomorrow. I want to get this straight before we leave."
"Elisabeth, there's nothing to get straight. Okay? Let's just leave it as it is."
"But why?" Elisabeth persisted. "What are you avoiding? I just want to—"
"We have lots of time," Gunnar interrupted. "Lots and lots of time. We've got a long flight and then a long trip into the unknown. It's awesome. No one and nothing from the past to get in our way. We've got plenty of time, Elisabeth. Don't rush. Rushing is bad."
"You've said that to me so many times," Elisabeth said, running her hands along the insides of her wardrobe. She pulled out a single sock and tossed it onto the bed.
"You've said that to Angela Stewart a lot of times. It's good advice. You're a good lawyer. A great lawyer, in fact."
"Flattery will get you nowhere," Elisabeth said, but she smiled. "Thanks for all your help, Gunnar. I couldn't have done this on my own. You just—you just took over. Thank you."
"You're welcome. I really have to go sign the papers for my bike," Gunnar said. "But I'll see you tomorrow. The taxi will be here first thing. And then we'll lock up and get the hell out of Greenleigh."
Elisabeth shuddered slightly.
"What, scared?" Gunnar came over to her and put his arm around her. "It'll be fine. Trust me."
"I do trust you," Elisabeth said. "God knows, it makes no sense— I don't know why I trust you, but I do. For all I know you're totally screwing me over somehow—convincing me to sell my house, quit my job, go to some city I've never been to without a place to stay or a plan—"
Suddenly, Gunnar was kissing her, and before she could pull away and scold him, she responded. Both arms went around him, and when he leaned her back onto the bed, she didn't protest.
By the time she realized that this was all a very bad idea, her clothes were coming off and his jacket was on the floor.
"Stop!" she gasped.
"I don't want to stop," he murmured. "I don't think you do, either."
"This is a terrible idea!" But before she pushed him away, she saw the look on his face and knew that something on her own face had given him permission. He relented easily and let her straighten her sweater and get up from the bed, but she suddenly realized that he didn't believe for a minute that she really thought it was such a terrible idea.
This was why he had been so patient, so persistent. He knew that she wasn't as indifferent as she claimed, and even if she told him no tonight, he would just try again.
But this was not going to happen, she argued with herself. She did not want a relationship. Too many things were going on, too many big, scary things. And she suspected there was chaos in his life as well, chaos that he was not admitting to her.
Where would we all be if we just followed our hearts, she thought. Or even worse, our bodies? We'd be a complete mess!
Would we?
"I'm meeting the buyers at Gina's," Gunnar was saying. He was shrugging into his jacket as if nothing had happened. She had to give him that—it was hard to feel self-conscious around him.
She smoothed her hair and cleared her throat. She was going to try again. "Gunnar, we need to talk. We can't do things like this. You know that."
"I think you know what I know," he said. He leaned over to kiss the top of her head and leaned his cheek against her hair for a moment.. She couldn't bring herself to push him away—she found the gesture sweet and comforting. "It's okay, I should have restrained myself. You just make it hard." He winked. "I'm Hades, right? He's a bad, bad guy."
After he'd left, she sat staring into space for awhile, wondering what kind of craziness lay ahead for her.
Maybe this was all a terrible mistake, she thought. No, no. It couldn't be. It all sounded so reasonable in broad daylight.
She was not in love with Gunnar, and she had no intention of leading him on. He had a heart of gold, and she didn't want to break it.
Elisabeth could hear her phone buzzing downstairs. She'd turned off the ringer but text messages still caused the phone to vibrate. What did Gunnar want now, she thought. Maybe he needed a witness for the bill of sale on that bike.
She walked down the stairs to the kitchen, where her phone was lying on the table. She picked it up, but didn't recognize the number of the text.
"Dinner tonight?"
Who could that be from, she was wondering, when another message came.
"Sorry, this is Shawn."