9. The Weight of Before
SOUNDTRACK: Echoes of Yesterday by Cassandra’s Whispers
~ brIDGET ~
The first week in that little island paradise was bliss. I had whole hours where I didn’t even think about what time of year it was, or things that had happened to me. And even when those shadows did loom, it was like Sam had a radar for my tension. He’d always find a reason to touch me and bring me back to the present moment.
We took turns cooking simple meals. We swam and bathed and made love. We talked about the future. Sometimes I cried. Sometimes he went quiet. But we did it all together.
I felt safe. It was stunning, but also true.
And yet, through it all, there was an unspoken question looming at the back of my mind. Or maybe the back of Sam’s. Every day at different times I caught him staring at me, eyes shadowed and brow furrowed like he was worried.
“What?” I asked him.
And every time he said the same thing. “I’m just thinking about how much I love you.”
I never quite believed he was being honest, but the few times I pushed it, he’d shake me off, or distract me with sex—and I was more than happy to be distracted. In fact, that was my favorite part.
I wished I could shake that niggling unease that something else was going on. But when I let myself dwell on it, I always ended up in some ridiculous crisis—Sam had been diagnosed with cancer. Or I had. Or they were going to charge him again. Or he was breaking parole and this would get him in trouble.
And I couldn’t put words to it because I was terrified he’d tell me it was true.
So, after a few days, I pushed the unspoken threat aside and let myself fall into the peace and joy of being with him in this place.
That worked to keep a smile on my face… until Christmas day.
~ SAM ~
I wasn’t sure if she even knew what day it was. I’d had trouble keeping track, but I knew the day itself was important—and I hoped it would be a turning point.
Luckily I woke up before her that morning, so I could get everything ready. We’d been so distracted, so ready to sink into the quiet—and each other—that I hadn’t paid much attention to where we’d put things when we arrived. It took me a few minutes to find the present sack slumped in a corner behind the door. There was only one more present left. And it was, I hoped, the one she would love the best.
It was also the highest risk.
I already had coffee made by the time she woke up. As she rolled over and sucked in a breath, I leaned against the frame of the opening in the wall between the bedroom area and the dining space next to the kitchen. I was wearing the Krampus pants—even at this time of year it was too warm for the jacket. I had a mug of coffee in my hand and the box and her coffee on the little side table behind me.
She smiled when she saw me—then her eyes fell on the pants and she went still.
Alarm flared in her gaze, which worried me a little. She really had wanted to put all of this behind us while we were here.
Help us both, God. Help us both get through this.
~ brIDGET ~
“What’s going on?” My voice was rough and tight. And screaming alarm.
I’d woken up to the gorgeous sight of Sam leaning against the wall, shirtless and drinking coffee. I smiled until I saw the Krampus pants and the hunted look in his eyes.
I hadn’t thought about what day it was until he looked at me like that. Now I didn’t even need to calculate it in my head. I knew. Still sitting on the bed, I quickly scanned the rest of the cottage, afraid he’d somehow erected a tree in the night, or something.
“Bridget… do you trust me?” he said quietly, his voice rough with sleep—which was divine—but his eyes never losing that slightly feral alarm.
I blinked. Frowned. “Of course I trust you. What—”
“No, Bridget, I mean… do you trust me?”
I couldn’t breathe. “Sam, what have you done?”
He cleared his throat and straightened, holding his coffee mug in both hands. “I have another present for you. The last one.”
My head buzzed as I scrambled, trying to figure out how that could be a bad thing.
“I… like presents?” I said cautiously.
He gave a little smile and nodded, but every inch of his body was tight.
“Sam, what the fuck is going on?”
“Nothing bad,” he said, then sighed and turned, leaning around the corner into the dining room space behind him. He tucked a box under his arm—a large square wrapped in black with a white ribbon, like the others—then picked up another mug and walked over to the bed and offered it to me.
I took it hesitantly, though it smelled divine. As I sipped at it, he sat down on the bed with me and explained.
“This last present is something for us to do. Together.”
I looked up at him over my coffee feeling a little hunted myself.
Sam sighed. “No, don’t look at me like that, this is… I think you’ll like it, but I want to say… we’re trying to heal. Not just avoiding… right?”
I couldn’t move. “I don’t… I don’t think I know how,” I whispered because it was true.
Sam’s chest expanded as he took a deep breath. “I had some ideas, and I talked to Gerald to make sure I wasn’t going to make a mistake. He thinks… he thinks it’s a good idea.”
Oh god. I leaned back. “Do I have to decorate a tree or some shit—?”
“No, no! Nothing like that. This isn’t about Christmas, Bridget. This is about you.”
“Then why are you acting so weird?”
“Because I’m having such an incredible time and you seem so happy, I was reluctant to bring this back up. But…”
He shook his head and looked away and I felt terrible. He was always so ready to help me—to help anyone, really—that sometimes he forgot about himself. He was right. We’d been having a blast. And I didn’t want to break up this bliss with real, heavy, hard things. But maybe… maybe it was time for me to put my big girl pants on and try and help him?
I blew out a shaky breath. “Well, then… Can I see it?”
He nodded and picked it up to hand it to me, his eyes on mine, shining with love, but also with a little fear. By the time I had the ribbon untied and ripped the paper off I was sweating, certain whatever was inside this box would bite.
But when I pulled the top off it and looked inside I was confused.
A big stack of glossy brochures and… a bunch of snacks that I liked?
“Sam? What—why were you acting like there was a snake in here?” I laughed shakily as I grabbed a handful of the brochures to see what they were about.
Sam swallowed audibly and nodded at them. “Those are information and links to places that don’t celebrate Christmas, so we can plan next year’s trip,” he said quietly. “I realized I should have been a little more proactive this year, so I thought maybe… maybe every Christmas day maybe our fun is planning the next year’s trip?”
“Babe! That’s a great idea!” I said, washed in relief. Why had he been so nervous about this? I grabbed one of the small bags of my favorite chocolate covered almonds and ripped them open, throwing a couple in my mouth and setting the bag between us as I flipped through the brochures. “I love this!” I said and smiled at him. But my smile faltered because he was barely smiling. “Sam?”
He cleared his throat again. “There’s more in there.”
I frowned, but set the brochures aside and dug into the box. There was more of the slick pamphlets and booklets. I gathered them up and pulled them out… to find a beautiful, hardcover book at the bottom. I glanced up at Sam, then picked it up. It was heavy, dark leather binding with gold foil decorating the cover.
I set aside the rest of the brochures and opened it—gold edged pages made from blank, heavy paper. The kind they used in weddings or memorial events. Sam reached into the box and dug another box out from under some of the snacks. A set of ink pens.
I took it from him and looked at him. “A journal?”
He nodded.
I still didn’t understand. “Is this for the trip next year? I mean, I love that, Sam. For real—I’m excited to do that.”
He nodded again. “Me too. But… Bridget… I want to take a vacation next year because we want to, not because you’re forced to.”
The cold chill of fear curled down my spine. “O-kay.” We stared at each other for a second, then I shivered. “Sam, you’re freaking me out. Why is this so serious? What are you planning?”
He leaned over to put his coffee mug on the side table with mine, then took both my hands and turned to pull one knee up onto the bed so he was facing me.
“Now you’re really freaking me out,” I said as he locked eyes with me and his expression was somber.
“Ask me what the journal is for.”
I frowned, but I couldn’t for the life of me see what the big deal was. “What’s the journal for?”
He hadn’t broken eye contact and now he leaned in, intent. “I want you to take it and write down everything that happened on the bad Christmas, from start to finish.”
I went still, but he rushed on.
“Everything you can think of, from the moment that hell began. Events. Feelings. Thoughts. What you’d say to the people involved now if you could. Everything, Bridget .”
I didn’t pull away exactly, but I leaned back from his grip.
“Bridget, this fear is a cage. I want to see you free. And the only way I can envision doing that is if I can help you carry the burden of it. If you write it all down—every single part—when it’s all out there, I want you to give it to me. I’m… I’m going to read it, and then I’ll know.”
“You already know.”
He shook his head. “No, I know the events. But after this I’ll know. All the things that go in your head. All the scenes you see. The sounds. The smells. The things that haunt you. I’ll know, and I’ll hold it for you. I’ll keep it, I’ll remember it so you don’t have to.”
I didn’t know why that struck me so viscously, and so deeply, but tears sprang to my eyes immediately and I sucked in a breath. “But… you can’t—”
Sam leaned in, his expression intense and his eyes shining too. “I can, babe. I can know it, and hold it. I can be your watchdog. I can watch for the triggers and find the safe way ahead, and understand. Everything I did to get you here, I can do that every day. I know I can’t take away the past, but I can carry some of the weight of it so you don’t have as heavy a load.”
He was so earnest, almost frantic. And I couldn’t stop the tears. “I don’t want you to—”
“I have to, Bridget.”
“No, you don’t!”
“Yes, you can’t do this on your own. Babe, can’t you see? It’s too much. No one should have to carry that alone. I can do this—it’s why I’m perfect for you. The ugliness of this life doesn’t shock me. I’ve been in those rooms that smell like blood. I’ve seen people destroy each other—I’ve been that guy. I can take it. And if I can take it, then I can take some of it from you.”
“Why?” I breathed. “Why would you do that for me?”
His face crumpled. “Because it’s what God did for me, and the only reason I’m sane. It was exactly what I needed, and I know it’s what you need too. Seriously, Bridget. Just try? Please. For me? For us… just… try?”
My head reeled. Every deflective, dismissive, self-protective urge I ever had came rushing to the surface.
Tell him you’ll do it. Play along. Pretend to do it. Just leave the important parts out. He can’t know all of it, see how it consumes you. He’ll leave…
I stared at him, the words on the tip of my tongue. But just as loudly in my head was everything this man had given up to be here with me right now. Every time he’d put aside his own needs to take care of mine. Every time he’d protected me, even when it put him at risk.
That time he almost went to prison for me…
“Sam…” I couldn’t lie to him. I couldn’t tell him I’d do it then not really do it.
“Please, babe. Let me show you I can take it.”
“You don’t want to deal with the shit—”
“Bridget,” the tone of his voice bordered on sharp. His brows pinched and his eyes were sad and accusing. “What have I ever done to make you think I’d give up? Or leave? Seriously.”
Oh God.
“But—”
“No buts. Look at me. I love you. I meant those vows—every word. I will tear this world down for you if that’s what it takes. Just… show me. Let me see it. Really see it. Please… Please.”
It felt like picking up a gun and putting it to my chest and pulling the trigger, but I did it. I nodded. And when he squeezed my hands, I swallowed hard and nodded again.
“Okay,” I rasped. “I’ll try.”
Sam slumped and reached for me, but it was like my skin was too tight. I had to pull out of the embrace. I was shaking.
“Tell me what you need?” he whispered, stroking my hair.
I swallowed a roil of nausea and shrugged. “Just… solitude,” I said as honestly as I could. “I need to… to be alone and not… not have to talk.”
His eyes saddened, but he nodded.
I stared down at the bed for a second, struggling to breathe. Was I really going to do this? For real? Then I looked up at him and the way he looked at me, and I never wanted to lose that.
“Talk to God for me,” I breathed.
“Always,” he breathed back.
Then I picked up the box with the snacks, threw the journal and pens into it, then carried it out to the deck.
The deck had one of those big, circle chairs with a thick pad that curled around you. It was my favorite place to sit in the evenings as the sky turned pink. So I carried the box out there and put it on the table, took out the journal, one of the pens, and the bag of pretzels.
Then I sat down, chewing my lip and opened the journal, staring at the blank page.
My foot jiggled and my skin started to itch. I wanted to slam that book closed and scream at him that he couldn’t do this to me, couldn’t make me do this. But as adrenaline flooded my system and I turned like I’d yell at him, I caught myself.
Sam was the best thing that had ever happened to me. And he was right.
I was caged.
If I told him no, he’d hug me, and hold me, and make love to me, and he wouldn’t get mad. I knew that.
I also knew it would be like a little festering sore between us.
Because he had already proven he was willing to do anything for me. And I wasn’t willing to do this to help myself?
“I’m scared,” I breathed, not really sure who I was talking to, squeezing the pen between my fingers.
But I had to do it. I knew it. He was right. It was time.
Where to start, though?
I swallowed hard, my breath quick and shallow, and put the pen to the page, took a deep breath, and wrote the first thing that always came to mind whenever I thought about that first day.
Why didn’t my mother love me enough to leave my father and keep us both safe?
Why wasn’t I worth that?