Sisterhood Everlasting - Ann Brashares [32]
He smiled at her, but his smile was uncertain. “Do you want to watch something? A movie?”
She nodded. It seemed easier than talking. He spent a lot of time perusing their small library. She knew he wanted to be careful. Nothing with death. Nothing dark or challenging. At last he put on The Princess Bride. He knew she loved it. It would be distracting if not captivating.
He sat on the couch and she sat between his knees on the floor, trying to figure out some way to settle her restless legs short of chopping them off.
The movie was neither captivating nor distracting. By the time they got to the fire swamp, Eric was yawning and Bridget could no longer pretend to sit still. She reached for the remote and turned it off.
“You go to bed,” she suggested. “I know you’re tired. I’ll unpack for a few minutes and then I’ll join you.”
“I wish you’d come now,” he said, but with a look of resignation.
“I need to unpack a few things. I’m on Greek time.” She stopped herself before she added a third poor excuse.
He went into the bedroom and she went through the motions of opening her suitcase in the living room and pulling things out of it. Soon enough she heard the rhythmic sound of his breathing.
Eric always fell asleep quickly, in the way of a good person. He slept deeply, the reward for innocence and hard work.
Bridget stood in agitation by the kitchen window. She moved in agitation to the doorway of the bedroom and watched him sleep. She couldn’t get in the bed. It looked like a prison cell to her. She retrieved her hiking pack from her closet. She brought it into the living room and transferred about half of the things from her suitcase into her pack. The apartment felt like a prison to her.
She tied her sleeping bag to the pack and left it by the front door. She grabbed her cellphone from the front table and stuck it in her pocket. She went to the side of the new bed and leaned down to kiss Eric on the temple.
“I can’t do it. I’m sorry,” she said, too quietly for him to hear.
She jotted a note and left it on the table.
I can’t stay. I have to keep moving. I’m sorry to go. I love you.
With her pack on her back and an ache in her chest, Bridget walked across the city. She walked down through Cole Valley and up into the Haight, through the disaffected late-night hordes. She walked all the way down Fulton Street to the ocean and stood on the dark beach. She took off her shoes and socks and walked to the edge of the surf. The Pacific was mighty. It could swallow anything. She took her cellphone out of her pocket and threw it as far as she could into the waves. She’d offer that for starters.
She laid her sleeping bag out on the sand and crawled into it, trying to stop her body from shaking. She lay on her back, staring at the quiet stars, wondering when the fog would roll over her.
Her body was a prison, her mind was a prison. Her memories were a prison. The people she loved. She couldn’t get away from the hurt of them. She could leave Eric, walk out of her apartment, walk forever if she liked, but she couldn’t escape what really hurt. Tonight even the sky felt like a prison.
Kostos walked out the door of her grandparents’ house, explaining about needing to pick up a few things. Lena closed the door behind him and promptly presumed she had hallucinated the entire episode.
But a short time later he returned, carrying a leather satchel and two bags of groceries. Within minutes he was fielding phone calls, one from somebody connected to the U.S. consulate and one from the local police precinct. He seemed to know everything and everyone without her having to say a word. She wondered if she was still hallucinating.
He hung up the phone, unpacked his groceries, and made her a plate of scrambled eggs and toast with sweet tea. She sat across the little kitchen table from him and ate. It had been so long since she’d put food in her mouth it felt strange, as though her tongue had forgotten how to taste and her teeth how to chew. She took a break in