Eduardo's Arc

Chapter 79 of 115

Kiersten said she would think about staying. A week passed. Eduardo kept the two cups on the shelf and worked his hours. But at night the doubt gnawed him. He had given her words. He had given her a house. He had nothing they did each day together, no fixed thing that belonged to them both. Words could be taken back. He needed something she could count on. Friday she came with her kettle. She read the ledgers, then looked at him. "You're quiet again." "I'm not hiding," he said. "I'm scared. I asked you to stay. But staying needs more than my promise. You used to ask me for one thing, over and over. I never gave it." Her face did not change. "God." "You begged me to go with you. To pray. I called it foolish. I wanted to feel bigger than you." He set his cup down. "I'm asking now. Come with me to the church. Not to fix us. To do one thing together that isn't mine to control." She watched him a long moment. "You never wanted to understand why I needed it." "Then tell me on the way." She stood. "All right." They walked to the stone church with the tall windows. Colored light lay across the floor in circles and stars. A gray-haired priest met them at the front. He wore white robes and a golden pendant carved with lines like a web. This was Father, the man the town went to when they needed to face what they could not name. His eyes were tired and kind at once. "You came together," Father said. He did not ask a question. "She asked me for years," Eduardo said. "I'm here late." "Late is a number." Father looked at him. "Not a wall." He turned to Kiersten. "You feel endings before they come. You feel one here?" "No," she said. "That's why I'm scared." Father nodded. He led them to the front and had them kneel. "Pray for nothing you can hold," he told Eduardo. "Pray to keep coming back." Eduardo closed his eyes. He did not ask God for Kiersten. He asked to sit in this quiet again next week, and the week after. When he opened his eyes, Kiersten was watching him. "You didn't perform," she said. "No." Outside, on the church steps, she stopped him. "This is what I wanted. Not the house. This. A thing we do that you don't run." "Will you come back next Sunday?" "Yes." She held his eyes. "And I'm staying, Eduardo. Not thinking about it. Staying." His chest went loose. She had chosen. Not for the words, not for the walls, but for the one small thing they would now do together, again and again. "Then Sunday," he said. She took his hand on the steps. It was the first time she had touched him in years.