Every Bright and Broken Thing

Chapter Twenty-Six - Ezra

Time seems to run together when you have nothing to do and nowhere to go. Already, the first of October greets me with the first, icy glimpse of winter. Though it's still technically fall, the weather outside seems more like winter – icy, cold, and wet. Lucky for me, Elaine lets me sleep in The Sanctuary until I get the windows on my car fixed.

Getting to know Elaine all over again has been the highlight of my life. She's beautiful, sure. But there's so much more to her. A wisdom. A joy. A sense of purpose. I guess I like hanging around her because I have none of those things and being around it... helps.

Gathered at the table to enjoy a feast of tacos, Papa Wilbur tells stories of his time in Vietnam. He never tells stories of the war, though. I've picked up from Mama Gracie that he doesn't like to talk about that part of it. But he talks a lot about the men he served with and even, much to Mama Gracie's chagrin, the Vietnamese women he used to "know."

"This old codger probably has half-a-dozen children scattered about Vietnam that he doesn't even know about," she says with a frown as she swats him on the arm.

"Ow! Woman, what was that for?"

"You know very well what that was for, old man."

"I assure you, I don't have the faintest idea, sweets," he mutters.

I laugh, gathering my empty tray and theirs and walking it back to the kitchen. Elaine and the other volunteers have given me free reign of the place. So, when I can, I help take care of things around here. Like sweeping, mopping, sometimes even cooking and serving. She and I have fun together. I don't say much, but she has this way of keeping the conversation going. She asks a lot of questions.

"What's your brother's name?" she asks while I load dishes into the industrial dishwasher. She scrubs the countertops with a stained rag, dumping the food scraps in a big, black garbage bag.

"Liam," I say. A pause. Dishes in hand, I picture my little brother's face as I remember it.

"What's wrong?" Elaine asks.

"Nothing," I say. "It's just... I haven't seen my brother in a long time."

"Oh really? How come?"

I shrug. "It's just... complicated."

In my peripheral, I see her roll her eyes. "What?" I ask.

"Whenever I ask you something about your family, or Colorado, you always say 'it's complicated.'"

"So?"

"Well, it's beginning to get a little suspicious. I have half a mind to make like my mama and beat the answer out of you."

"I think I'd like to see you try."

She drops the trash bag and jumps into a fighting stance, fists in front of her face as she hops on the balls of her feet. "Come at me," she says.

Laughing, I assume the position and, before I can blink, she punches at me and nearly clocks me in the chin.

"Whoa!" I shout, barely jumping out of the way in time to dodge her second swing.

After a minute of this, I grab her by the wrists as gently as I can and spin her so that she faces away from me. I wrap my arms around her, her arms pinned to her sides.

She struggles to break free of my hold, but at last relents and taps my arm. I release and she spins to face me.

We're close now. Close enough to feel her breath, hot on my face and neck. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in her chocolate eyes. Close enough to smell the perfume she put on this morning. Close enough to know that I want to kiss her.

Except she kisses me first.

Her lips pressed to mine, she holds the entire weight of herself against me and lingers there. Eyes wide at first, it doesn't take me long to lean into it. But then reality comes crashing down on me and I bolt away from her, almost tripping backwards over the open dishwasher door.

"What's wrong?" she asks, eyes wide, confused.

"I... I can't," I stutter, breathless, terrified.

"You can't what?" Brow furrowed, her right hand reaches up to adjust the yellow bandana that holds her curly hair back from her face.

"You don't want this." We stand several feet apart now. I can't see the gold in her eyes anymore and I can't smell her perfume, or feel the heat of her breath. And I can't kiss her either. Not again. Not ever again. "You don't want me, Elaine. You need someone who has a life and a future to offer you."

"What are you talking about, Ezra?" she presses, voice shaky.

"I don't have anything to offer you." My voice cracks and I hold out empty hands as if to prove it. "I'm breaking and I can barely hold myself together. And you don't need my mess in your life."

She takes a step forward, but I hold out my hand to stop her. "You're not a mess, Ezra."

"I'm sorry. You don't understand..." A lump swells in my throat and I blink back the fire and water that burns behind my eyes.

Tears of confusion, shock, betrayal begin to form in her eyes. "How could you think so little of me?" she asks, her voice shaky. "That I would care about whether or not you have something to offer?"

I shake my head, fidget with the last of the pills in my pocket. "That's not it. That's not it at all."

"Then what is it?"

"You're amazing, Elaine. And you deserve someone amazing. But it's not me." I look down at the floor, ashamed and angry as every part of me is ripped apart.

She holds up a hand and closes her eyes. With a long, shaky breath, she pushes past me and, before walking from the kitchen, stops with her back to mine and says, "You don't get to decide what I deserve, Ezra. And you don't get to decide where I put my love."

With that, she leaves me standing here, alone and cold with nowhere left to go.

I wonder if she'll ever understand.

I wonder if I'll ever be good enough.