Chapter 58
Ella
Friday
This morning I arrived back in Verryn, after less than two hours by train. I caught the subway to the Research Institute and, five hours later, I came to Bill’s apartment.
It’s pouring rain outside.
I’m sitting on the living room floor in front of the tall glass window, more focused on the dark clouds that fill the sky and hide its blue than on the computer that’s resting on my lap.
Today we said goodbye to Mr. Doryan.
Mr. Marlin stood next to him through almost every moment.
Those two were inseparable. Best friends.
He insisted on going with him to the hospital.
And when I asked him if he wouldn’t want to go back to his room at the Elmwood Center to rest for a while, he said: “We don’t choose many things in life, but we choose who we offer a part of our hearts to…
and we stand by them, in good and bad, in victory, and fear.
As we know they would stand next to us too. ”
Mr. Marlin stayed in his wheelchair, always by Mr. Doryan’s side. Until the moment we had to say goodbye.
Their friendship inspired me. His words touched me.
I came back to the apartment crumpled inside. I felt defeated, hopeless. Unreal to myself.
“Bill?” I hear the apartment’s front door opening, turn the corner, and find Bill hanging his coat.
“Hey, you’re here,” he says.
“I texted you,” I say, leaning against the marble kitchen island. “I didn’t know when you were coming from work.”
“Yeah, sorry for not texting you back. Busy day,” he says while opening the fridge door. “And your day, how was it?”
“Difficult,” I tell him. “We lost one of the patients at the Elmwood Center, Mr. Doryan. He was a delightful man, very funny and full of life. Didn’t deserve to be in pain.” I raise my eyes back to Bill, who’s now taking a bowl out of the china cabinet.
I’ve rarely shared with him about the patients. Because he doesn’t ask, and I just don’t detail it to him.
After rummaging through the cutlery drawer for a moment, he finally sits at the island, in front of me. “Where’s the sunshine Ella that I know? Lately you’re not giving me the energy you used to,” he simply says.
And my heart clenches.
I close my eyes for a second, I let my lungs fill with oxygen. My shoulders drop, knowing what’s to come. Then, I begin to tell him what has been stuck in agony inside my heart.
“Bill, I understand what you’re saying. But I do not intend to be perfect. I can’t be smiling all the time, and you can’t either, no one can.”
Today I understood that I ran between the raindrops like I run between the difficult parts of life: ineffectively, knowing that they will be part of the journey.
He nods, and I continue.
“And when you share your life with someone, you share your whole self. The good and the bad.” I breathe in, and wait to see if he wants to add something.
He stays silent. “But Bill, we share the same apartment, but that doesn’t intrinsically mean that we share our lives, I’ve been realizing that we don’t.
We share a bank account, but we don’t share emotions, the whole palette of feelings.
I can’t remember the last time I cried with you.
And I’m not attacking you, or saying that you wouldn’t allow me to if I did.
It’s just that I… don’t lean on you for it. And you don’t lean on me either.”
“What are you saying?” he merely asks.
“Marriage is a commitment to save the other person a big spot in your heart. And I can’t do it, I’m sorry Bill,” I say calmly. “I feel that… my heart is not yours. And I don’t believe yours was truly ever mine.”
Bill exhales slowly, his gaze drops to the counter, he nods once, and presses his palm flat against the cool marble before pushing himself up from the stool.
I stand there, alone, listening to the rain hit the windows.
He returns to the kitchen after some quiet minutes. His eyes find mine. Not angry, sorrowful but quietly understanding.
“We can’t marry each other and not mean it with our whole selves,” I explain, whispering softly.
He gives me a small, accepting smile, as if he has known this truth for a while.
Keeping the distance.
The sound of the rain seems intensified.
We stand still.
He nods silently in recognition, holding no resistance.
Letting me go.