Steady as the Snow Falls (29 page)

“I love coffee,” Beth said with enthusiasm, causing Mary to laugh.

The afternoon turned to dusk, and as Beth got to know Harrison’s parents, she saw where his goodness came from. They were generous, and kindhearted, and they loved their son. That much was obvious.

After the meal was eaten, and the kitchen put back to order, Harrison’s mom and dad hugged them goodbye and headed back to their home an hour away. They’d moved nearer to their son after he’d relocated here, but far enough away that he didn’t feel smothered. His mom told Beth over dessert that they wanted him to have his own life, but they wanted to be close enough to help out when he needed it. Beth understood, and her heart made room for Harrison’s parents.

With only the glow of the Christmas lights to guide her after shutting down the laptop in the reading room, Beth walked into the foyer. She reached around the back of the tree, the fake needles prickling her arms as she moved, and scooped up the long envelope that was hiding behind it. Harrison was reading his second story of hers in the bedroom, and with her feet softly padding along the cool hardwood floor, Beth set out for that room.

A lamp offered the only light, and it cast the room in romantic fuzziness. Harrison was stretched out on the bed, looking sleek and tawny, like a resting tiger. At the sound of her footsteps, he set down the paper on the bed beside him and turned his head toward the doorway.

“Hi,” she said, smiling.

“Hi.” He sat up and patted the spot next to him. His hair was disheveled, and the sight of it made her want to run her fingers through it and mess it up more. “Done writing?”

“Yeah, sorry. I just—I had to get something down before I forgot.”

He was shaking his head long before she stopped talking. “Don’t apologize. Just come here.”

Beth climbed up beside him, resting her back against his chest. At his nearness, her pulse spiraled down a dizzying track in response. She breathed in the scent of his skin, thinking if they could never have any more than this, she would be content. Harrison wrapped one arm around her and set his chin on the top of her head. Beth raised her arm and tapped him on the forehead with the slim white envelope.

“This is for you. It’s nothing, really, but it is symbolic,” she said vaguely, smiling encouragingly when he shifted around and frowned at her.

Harrison went to his stomach on the bed with his arms dangling over the edge, fingering the white parchment. Eyes trained down. Not talking. Nothing but his fingers moving. Impatient, Beth situated herself in a similar pose and tried not to rip the envelope from his hands to open it herself. When she was about to say something, Harrison carefully opened the envelope, removing the contents.

His body went still, but she could tell from his profile that his eyes skimmed over the lettering again and again. “What is this?”

“It’s a brochure.”

“I see that,” he said evenly. “Why are you giving it to me?”

Beth moved to the floor and looked at Harrison, their eyes level with one another if he ever looked up. When it was clear that was not going to happen, Beth gently butted her head to his. He shifted his eyes to hers, and she smiled. “Because as soon as the weather is warm enough, you and I are going to hike the Appalachian Trail.”

Harrison blinked at her, looked down. Looked up. Blinked some more. “How did you even know?” he asked in a low voice.

“I found an ancient article on you in one of my dad’s old sports magazines. You said that hiking it was one of your dreams. You should get your dreams too, Harrison.”

“No one—I mean, I didn’t—I gave up on thinking I could ever do this.” He took in a ragged breath of air. “You’ll do it with me?”

Beth kissed his warm forehead, pushing hair back from his brow. “Of course. We’re a team, remember?”

Harrison scooted from the bed and drew her into his arms and against his chest. “Thank you. I missed out on a lot of things I didn’t have to.” He went still, his held breath telling her there was something he was hesitant to say. “Promise me, Beth, that if this doesn’t happen, you’ll do something equally as great, even if you have to do it alone.”

She dropped her eyes to her hands. “It will happen, Harrison.”

“But if it doesn’t,” he insisted.

“Something great like what?” Beth asked in a voice that cracked.

“I don’t know. You’ll go on adventures, and write about them, and you’ll dance. You’ll be happy.”

Throat thick, Beth nodded jerkily. “I promise.”

He released her, a mischievous gleam to his eyes smoothing away the clouds. “I got you something too. Something small.”

Harrison got up and stretched, the shirt lifting and exposing his torso. Beth studied the expanse of flesh, wanting her fingers and lips to replace her eyes. With a pop in his knees, he walked across the room to the closet, pulling a small box down from the shelf. He offered it to her as he knelt before her, his dark eyes dancing with light.

Beth smiled as she turned the box upside down and gently shook it. Laughing at the scowl Harrison gave her, she said, “I hope it isn’t breakable.”

“Kick it around a few times and see,” he replied dryly.

She grinned and popped open the top, taking out box-shaped Styrofoam. Cringing at the sound of it shifting and contorting as she worked, Beth maneuvered the protective layer from around whatever was inside it and was rewarded with a white coffee mug with black lettering that read:
I am Writer. Hear me type.
She snorted and fondly touched the cup.

“I love it,” she told Harrison, lifting her eyes to his. “Thank you.”

His eyes darkened to ebony, and he outstretched a hand. “Beth.”

“Yes?”

“It’s later.”

EPILOGUE

WEEKS TURNED INTO one month, and then another. On and on it went, until it was spring, and the snow melted, bringing new life to the earth. Why couldn’t it bring new life to Harrison? That was Beth’s first thought, and she knew Harrison would resent it, tell her everything had its time, and other stuff she knew but didn’t want to hear.

Beth practically lived with Harrison, only going home when she had to. If it came to it, and every day she prayed it did not, she would be with Harrison until she could no longer do so, and then she would finally make a town other than Crystal Lake, Minnesota, her home. Go on adventures, write about them, dance. Be happy.

She vowed it to Harrison, and he vowed to stay with her.

Harrison visited a handful of schools, and each time he did, he left with straighter shoulders, a burning light in his eyes. He had purpose, and it draped over him like a well-fit suit—or cape. To her, he was a conqueror. Beth went with him, at first staying in the background. Eventually, after urging from Harrison, she stood with him, talking about her experience as an HIV-negative person involved with an HIV-positive person.

She began a website, sharing her thoughts and stories, and soon, she was asked to write articles for papers, and then magazines. Beth talked of the biases she once had, and how she overcame them. She talked of ignorance, and how that hurt the uneducated person more than anyone else. She talked of how having awareness was a choice more people should make.

Her dream of writing professionally happened, and it happened in a way she never would have believed.

And she loved Harrison—every day, every night, she loved him.

Every day he walked with a straight back and his head held high.

Every night his shoulders drooped, and fatigue ringed his eyes.

And she loved him.

Every day.

Every night.

It was after nine in the evening on a Saturday night when she typed the last word of a story she never wanted to end. In a way, it wouldn’t. The story would live in her, in her thoughts, and her smile, and her words. And it would always live inside the pages.

Alone in the reading room, Beth printed off the three hundred pages of her thoughts and feelings, all for Harrison Caldwell. There were more, so many more she didn’t know how to say. Other than the joy she received in creating, there would be no payment for this. Tearing up the checks he’d given her, Beth had told Harrison the money he’d meant to pay her for the book would be better used for another purpose. He told her to pick something, and she did. AVERT, one of the first HIV and AIDS based charities, received a large donation from Harrison Caldwell, in Beth Lambert’s name.

She turned off the lights, her bare feet pattering on the hardwood floor, and checked the locks on the front door. In the dark, Beth ascended the stairs with a sheaf of papers clutched to her chest. There was finality to this, this that first brought them together. Something that bound them was about to be taken away. Beth didn’t want any part of them gone, not even this story. Her pulse thrummed with the wrongness of it, her breaths shaky. She didn’t want to say goodbye to anything that gave her Harrison.

Harrison stood in the middle of his bedroom, his back to her. His head was tilted back, hands on his hips. The soft brown pajama pants were looser around his hips than they were months ago, and there was added length to the long-sleeved gray shirt that hinted at the loss of weight.

The virus was getting tougher, and Harrison was getting frailer. His last checkup hadn’t been what they’d hoped for—the virus was mutating. The doctors were trying different medications, but in the meantime, Harrison was feeling the effects. He was tired all the time, and his skin had an unhealthy tinge. He was sick off and on, and he wasn’t eating enough. She told herself they would find something that worked, soon they would find something that worked.

Soon. All of her hopes rested on
soon
.

She would give anything to have met him earlier, not even before he had the disease, just before she had. Months, weeks. Days, even. Just a little more time spent getting to know the man she would love. Beth swallowed, blinding herself to the shadows of destiny, but it refused to be ignored. The disease crept through the cracks of the walls, spread along the plaster, in wait. Watching. She briefly closed her eyes, gathered her strength. No. It couldn’t have him. Not yet. Hopefully, not for a long, long while.

“What are you doing?” she asked softly.

“We’re going, Beth,” he said without turning to face her.

Beth frowned, stepping closer. “Going where?”

“To the Appalachian Trail. In two days. We’re going.”

“Harrison,” she began, the words frozen on her lips as he looked at her.

Determination, fierce and grave, slanted across his face like an unapproachable vow.

Beth let out a slow breath, nodding. “Yes. We’re going.”

“In two days,” he reiterated, one fiery eyebrow cocked.

“In two days.” There was a lesson in every decision, and Harrison had just taught her one. He was still here, and he could do what he wanted while he was, and he should. He should do it all, every damn thing he’d ever dreamed of.

His bottomless eyes lightened, clouds were wiped from his visage, and the smile he gave her, though exhausted, was blinding. His facial bones were more prominent, the grooves beneath his eyes and below his cheekbones deeper. “I was thinking something else too.”

“About?” Beth prodded, moving for him.

The smile expanded. “You.”

She returned the smile, setting the papers down on the bed to wrap her arms around his body. Thinner, but still Harrison. “What about me?”

Harrison’s scent of laundry detergent and him trickled over her senses, weaved serenity around her as his arms met across her back and he squeezed her to him. “I love you.”

Beth nuzzled the side of her face against his chest. “I love you too. That’s what you were thinking? That you love me?”

“Yes.” Harrison dropped his arms and stepped back. “I think it all the time. It’s my mantra.”

Before he got too far away, Beth reached up and touched his thick hair, and then stood on tiptoes to bring her lips to his.

“And one more thing.”

She smiled and brushed her nose to his. “What?”

“I want to spend forever with you,” he whispered against her lips.

“And you will,” she promised.

“Your forever, not mine.”

Beth took a shuddering breath, resting her forehead on his mouth. In a clear voice, she informed him, “Forever is forever, Harrison.”

She felt his smile against her forehead as he fiddled with her left hand, something cool and hard sliding along her finger. “I want my forever with you to formally start in two days at the Appalachian Trail, with you as my wife. I don’t want to waste any more time.”

Shocked joy locked her in its unmoving embrace, and Beth opened her mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. Her pulse was too fast, her mind going blank, and then speeding through questions. Did he really ask her that? Did he really mean that? Was there really a ring around her finger? Beth was scared to look, scared to believe.

She didn’t dare to think of such things like marriage and babies, but it was there, in her heart. That need, that want, it was there. The ring felt like a remarkable weight, an anchor of their hearts to one another. Something to keep Harrison tethered to this world, and her. She blinked her eyes as tears formed, and a sniffle escaped.

“Beth?” Harrison angled his head down to meet her eyes, his fingers touching the sides of her face. She felt Harrison’s nervousness between them, the air spiked with disquiet. He tried to smile, to joke, but doubt and fear swam in his eyes. “Was the sniffle a yes, or a no? Don’t leave me hanging here.”

“Yes,” she croaked. Beth cleared her throat, smiling against watery eyes and a pinched throat. “A million times yes. I want to be your wife. I would love to be your wife. Now. Right now. Yes, so much yes.”

A grin split his face, eradicated the illness in a singular moment of pure ecstasy. Harrison crushed her to him, his heartbeat racing against her chest. He kissed her head before pulling back to say, “There’s necessary paperwork to make it official, but I already talked to someone who is ordained, and our parents want to be there. I know it’s sudden, and maybe you want something more extravagant, but with us going to the Appalachian Trail, I thought it was—”

“Exactly what I want.” Beth grabbed his face and slammed her mouth to his, kissing all of her love for him into his lips. She felt light, and full. Like she could fly away, and never leave the ground. Heat swept through her body, and she let the hunger take over, let it snuff out the fear. Harrison moved back, and she moved with him, falling onto the bed with her on top.

“Are you even going to look at the ring?” he rasped after breaking off the kiss, his chest heaving as he fought to breathe.
Careful, Beth, be careful.

“I will, but not yet. It will make me cry, because however it looks, I know it’s perfect,” Beth whispered against his lips, and kissed him again. Gently. Softly.

He was careful not to deepen the kiss too much, careful, careful, careful. She thought of the story, of their engagement, of their love, of the disease, and she was broken and healed, over and over. Breathless, she kissed him harder, faster, sealing them as one with their mouths. Wanting to kiss the disease from his very lips. Their love was beautiful, and tragic, and she just wanted it to be beautiful. She didn’t want to know that one day Harrison could be taken from her.

“Beth,” he rasped, turning his head to the side when she tried to kiss him again.

Beth kissed his jaw, both cheeks, his forehead, all the while Harrison looked up at her, still and silent.

“Beth,” he whispered, asking with his eyes what she didn’t want to answer. “You’re sad about something, and I really hope it isn’t the prospect of marrying me.”

“I finished the story.” She stared down at the stack of white papers near them, tattooed in black with her heart. All of Beth was shredded again and again on the pages, but in the best of ways.

The book wasn’t about Harrison. It was them. It was the story of a young woman disillusioned, but still somehow able to dream. It was about a man, weighted down by a fate he could not change, and deciding to change how he saw it. It was their love story, altered into a world where no one died, and no one got sick, and there were only good people. It was the perfect life in a perfect world in a perfect, nonexistent reality.

“It’s okay,” he told her.

Beth shifted her eyes from the pages to him.

Harrison gently touched her face. “Hold on to it.” He stared at her, scrutinizing her features, adoration and strength looking back at her from his eyes. Strong eyes, strong mind, strong heart, weak body. Three out of four should be more than enough, but it wasn’t.

“Keep writing my story. Our story. It is obvious you’re not ready to part with it. And now you have more to write about, right?” His smile was subdued, the happiness of their engagement taking a backburner to reality.

Her shoulders lowered with relief. Beth could keep writing. She didn’t have to give this up. She didn’t think she could anyway.

“You don’t have to stop.” Harrison seemed to realize the gift he was giving her, how ever strange it might be to someone else. “Publish it after I’m gone. Can you do that for me, Beth?”

It was a simple request, asked quietly, and it broke her heart.
After I’m gone.
It was a reality she liked to avoid.

Her mouth trembled. “You know I will. Of course I will.”

He nodded, relief leveling shadows from his face.

“But that will be years and years from now. Even decades.” Whether it would be or not, that’s what Beth chose to believe.

A smile tipped his mouth, grew to his tired eyes. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“You’re sick, Harrison, but you’re not dying. You know that.”

“I know that,” he quietly agreed, but the way he avoided her eyes told her his conviction of that wasn’t as strong as hers.

“Beth Caldwell,” she whispered to buffer the sadness leaking into the happy moment, and Harrison’s eyes lit up like he’d just been told he was cured.

He stroked a hand across her hair. “I like the sound of that.”

When Beth sat up, putting space between them, Harrison settled his tall, lean frame on the bed, pulling up the blanket as a shiver went through him. Her stomach twisted, nausea threatening to overtake her resolve. Beth shoved it aside; refused to think of anything other than Harrison’s heartbeat. Beating. Always beating. She focused on the beat of his heart.

Only the glow of the lamp on the nightstand offered light, and it silhouetted the man she loved. Made him faint, obscure. Dim. Beth looked at him, blinking against the image of his weakening body, denying the frailty her eyes saw, that which her mind refused to compute.

Her heart only saw Harrison. And he was bright, and mighty, and so, so strong.

“Will you read some of it to me?”

Beth crawled up the bed to him and brushed hair from his forehead. She nestled under the covers beside Harrison, careful to keep one hand always touching him. Reminding herself he was here, with her. Warm. Breathing. Alive. Hers. With his heart beating.