Goodness and Light (16 page)

“Because—because he’s the best man I know.” She flung out her arms, let them fall. “And me? I’m nothing but a black hole who sucks the happiness out of everybody around me. I can’t—I won’t do that to him.” She stood up, headed to the second bedroom. “I’m going to pack.”

Kara’s head snapped up. “Are you serious? I have a week left and you’re just gonna walk out on me, too?”

Elena paused, but never turned around. “You’re both better off without me around—all of you are.”

In the baby’s room, Elena gasped when her words punched her. She’d just said the same thing to her sister that Steve had when he left Kara.

Oh, hell. She really was heartless.

A
nother storm hit New York on Sunday night, dumping a foot of snow over the city and canceling all flights out of town. The SFG holiday Remembrance was in five days and though Elena had no intention of going, she’d hoped to be out of the city well before the event. She was still getting emails about last-minute finishing touches and couldn’t face the committee. Couldn’t face Lucas. And damn well couldn’t face her sister.

They’d shared the apartment in a silence colder than the December weather. On auto-pilot, Elena made Kara meals, did her laundry, fetched her mail, and cleaned her home around conference calls with her project teams and her manager. She couldn’t get Lucas off her mind and she couldn’t talk about him without someone willing to talk to her.

None of the girls were speaking to her at the moment. She’d hoped to stay with Cassandra, but Cass had left before she’d finished packing. Even Jade, the friend who knew her the best, wasn’t responding to her texts.

On Tuesday, Kara had another appointment with her doctor. Elena accompanied her but might as well have been invisible. Kara ignored her, refused to let her come inside the examination room, said not a word on the way home. Elena got her settled with her baby name book and escaped to the cold gray streets for some alone time.

She shoved her hands in her pockets and walked down West Street with no particular destination in mind. She ignored the biting cold, stepping over mounds of snow. No matter how long she walked, Lucas haunted her. A man huddled in a doorway, his fingers almost blue. She peeled off her gloves for him. A woman slipped and fell on ice and she hurried over to help her up. She’d never noticed before, never noticed the people around her suffering. She’d been too focused on her own suffering to care. Close to tears, Elena suddenly found herself walking through the September 11th Memorial grounds.

“Oh!” The gaping hole in her heart twinged and though the pain took her breath away, she couldn’t turn away. She walked toward the fountains, something she couldn’t name pulling her closer and closer to the bronze plaques that surrounded the holes left behind when the towers fell. On the North pool, she found it two panels over from the corner.

Marie Elise Larsen

She pulled her gloveless hands out of her pockets, traced her mother’s name in the icy metal, and whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mom.” She reached out both arms, stretched herself over the bronze plaque and cried until a hand on her back made her jolt around in fear.

“Miss, I’m sorry to bother you, but um, well, here. I thought you could use these.”

Elena blinked hot tears from her eyes and found a man standing behind her, clutching a wad of tissues. She narrowed her eyes, examined the dark face, the scar that marred it from cheek to temple.

“Al?”

“Elena!” Luke’s friend smiled at her. “I didn’t realize it was you. But please, take them anyway.

“Oh. Um. Thank you. Thank you very much.”

Al smiled and shook his head. “It’s no trouble, believe me. I always bring a pile when I visit.”

Frowning, Elena asked, “You come here a lot?”

“Oh, sure. I come all the time. It makes me feel closer to him.” Al stared out over the pool. “My dad.”

“I’m sorry.” She stared into the pool, where ice hung from the sides.

“Which one is yours?”

Sniffling, Elena pointed. “This one. She was my mom.” Her voice cracked.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said, and then pointed to another name about a yard away. “This one’s mine.” The name read Fahran Suliman.

“I’m sorry,” Elena returned the sentiment with a gulp. Hollow words to match the hollow feeling in her chest, but what else was there? “Al, can I ask you something?”

When he nodded, she waved her numb hands over the memorial grounds. “How do you stand it? Doesn’t it make you remember? Doesn’t it make you sad?”

He studied her for a long moment and finally said, “You’re shivering. Let me buy you a cup of coffee and I’ll tell you.”

Elena considered his offer for a moment. She wasn’t ready to face Kara—not yet. And she didn’t want to be alone, either. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Here.” He stripped off his gloves and handed them to her. “Put them on,” he ordered when she started to refuse.

She tucked her hands into the warm leather and managed a smile. “Thanks.”

Al led her to a small coffee shop right outside the Memorial, where a small sofa sat near one window, Christmas songs filled the air, and a smiling barista greeted them from behind a counter. Half a dozen people sat around the shop, wrapped presents in shopping bags at their feet. “Hot cocoa?” he asked with a wink and her face fell.

No. No hot cocoa. Not ever again.

“Tea, please. Honey and cream.”

His smile evaporated. Nodding, he got in line while she found an empty table. She put his gloves neatly on the table and used the tissues he’d given her to blow her nose, mop her eyes.

“Here you go.” He put a steaming cup of water on the table and handed her a small plate that held her tea bag, a few thimbles of cream and packets of honey. She fussed over the drink, her numb fingers making her fumble.

“My dad,” Al began and Elena’s movements went still, “worked as a trader. They found his wristwatch and his briefcase, but not him,” he revealed and Elena gasped. At least, her family had been able to bury her mother.

“What did you do?”

“Eventually, we buried those things.” He sipped his coffee. “The truth is, he’s buried somewhere under those pools and when I come here, I feel him with me.”

She played with her empty cream cap. “Do you really believe that stuff?”

“What stuff?”

“Life after death. Heaven. All those signs.” She spread her hands.

“I do. It all helps me cope.” He took another sip. “You should talk to Luke.”

At the mention of his name, Elena’s eyes welled with fresh tears. Al gave her hand a squeeze.

“Elena, you’re asking me if there’s a God, if there’s a Heaven, if there’s a life after this one, and I can’t answer that. Nobody can. It’s either something you believe in or you don’t.” He played with his cup. “I’m not very religious. I was raised Muslim and there are some things that even I—with my lack of faith—believe.”

At her blank look, he elaborated. “I believe in
people,
Elena.” He turned to stare out the window, at the Memorial just a block away. “Hundreds—thousands of people worked incredibly hard through unimaginable conditions to make sure those who are still here are honored and respected and never forgotten.
Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.
I believe in the people who believe that.”

She stared at him. “Martin Luther King.”

“You know it?” He smiled, pleased. “When I come here, that’s what I remember. It helps erase the images of horror I used to see every time I shut my eyes.”

At her look of disbelief, he laughed once. “Every time I come here, somebody smiles at me or gives me a hug or stuffs tissues into my hand. Every time I come here, I feel connected, Elena. I feel like I’m part of something that’s bigger than the hate that almost killed me.” He tapped the scar that rode the side of his face.

“Killed you?” She frowned, raised her cup and then froze when the truth smacked her across the face.
I fractured his skull, Elena. I beat him almost to death...

She shook her head. Lucas couldn’t have done that, he was good and kind.
You look at me like I’m some sort of perfect being, but I’m not. I’m no hero, Elena. I just believe in trying, that’s all.

“Oh, Al, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She pointed to his scar. “You’re the one he almost killed.”

Al blinked. “He told you.”

“Most of it,” she admitted. “He never said it was you, though.”

“Don’t be mad at him for that. That’s my fault. I hate talking about it, remembering it.”

She continued to stare at Al. “You...you forgave him,” she said with a shake of her head.

“Because I can’t stand the alternative, Elena. He was consumed by guilt and pain and I had the power to end that for him.”

“But you’re friends, aren’t you?”

“The best.”

“How? How do you look at him and not hate him?”

“Because I know him.” He grinned, a brilliant flash of white teeth. Al’s smile was almost as beautiful as Luke’s, she thought with a pang of guilt. “He devotes himself completely to leaving the world a better place than he found it. It’s not just lip service, you know? Most of us, we go through life oblivious to the people around us—their needs, their sorrows. But not him. He sees what the rest of us don’t.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Hadn’t she just told herself the same thing?

“He’s a good man, Elena,” Al said quietly. “The best I know.”

She squeezed her eyes harder, but the tears fell anyway. “I know,” she whispered. “Too good for me. I won’t ever—” She bit her lip, shook her head.

Al angled his head. “Ever what?”

“Be good enough for him,” she admitted.

He snorted, put his cup down, and laughed out loud. Elena lifted wounded eyes to his.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but you just said the same thing
he
said to me not even a week ago. Damn, you two are the perfect match.”

A tiny wisp of hope caught, held.

Soberly, Al angled his head. “Elena, what happened that has you both so miserable? He’s not talking.”

She lifted a shoulder, sipped the tea she didn’t want. “He...he said he’s in love with me.”

“And why don’t you think you deserve that love?” he asked without hesitation and she fumbled her cup, spilling some tea. She grabbed napkins, blotted up the spill.

Al covered her hand. “Elena. Tell me.”

“I’m...I’m not...a good person.” When he said nothing, she felt a dam burst inside her and everything rushed out—all the pain and sorrow and guilt. “I was horrible to my mother, Al. I said unforgivable things to her and never got a chance to tell her I was sorry. She died believing I hated her.”

His chair scraped the floor when he left it to come around to her, fold her up in his arms. “I’m so sorry—all the times I told you about signs—you think it means she’s punishing you?”

She shook, determined to stop the flood of tears—would she ever dry up? She nodded against his shoulder. “The playing cards. The candy wrappers. The stupid snowflake! It’s her, Al. I didn’t believe it, not at first, but how can I not? She grounded me the night before she died and she’s still punishing me now. Every day of my life, I remember what I did, what I said and Lucas? He’s just more punishment.”

Al was quiet for so long, Elena wondered if she’d upset him, too. She picked up her heavy head, turned bloodshot eyes to his and shrugged. “So, thanks for the tea. I should probably get going.” To where? She had no idea. She stood up but he shot out a hand, stopped her.

“What if you’re wrong?”

She blinked. “What?”

“I said, what if you’re wrong? What if everything that happened—your sister’s baby, meeting Luke, the snowflake, all of it—what if it’s not punishment, but pardon? What if your mother’s trying to tell you she knows you’re sorry and that it’s okay, she forgives you? Doesn’t that change anything?”

She blinked at him, unable to grasp the words. “Why? Why would she do that after what I did?”

Al rolled his eyes. “Because she’s your mother, Elena. She knows you. She knows you best.”

She couldn’t take any more. She simply couldn’t hear one more word. She turned and ran into the cold dark night.