Adore~ an Alias Grace fanfic~

Part 10

Watching you go about your home in this way and knowing what you have told me of this work makes me believe Jamie does not know you at all.
You are standing in the kitchen, scrubbing the countertop. Jamie stands beside me talking.
"... I caught it right behind the tree over beside the barn there—" he points in some direction.
I have to restrain myself from asking to help you because I know you would be angered if I did such a thing in front of Jamie—your husband.
At last you are able to stand still and watch Jamie and I. I offer a subtle nod and wave a finger from where it's propped on my chin. You give me a soft smile.
Has she seen her own face?
I see you and I see your husband and I cannot comprehend it. But I know you did it for a reason I just cannot place it. I can't find it in me to doubt you and so I must watch in agony as he tells you what and how to do each and every thing. I know you are strong and I know you are willful so in knowing that I know you would not do as he says without purpose. I cannot intercept but every fiber of my being is raking against itself in protest. I will not patronize you for my own ease of mind but I think I will snap in due time.
"Jamie," you interrupt him and I think I might kiss you, "will you take out your flute and we can listen to you on the porch?"
He perks up and for a moment I find him almost endearing.
You lead me to the porch and I sit on a step while you sit in a chair.
I watch you. I take this time to try and read you and find your reasoning. I would think it might be your honorable trait that made you marry Jamie. You wanted to show him compassion for his guilt and shame in what he did to you but I see no shame and I see no guilt in him. You married him because you love him and because you knew his heart was broken for what he'd done to you— did his shame disappear with your resentment?
"What are you doing, sir?" You look sternly down at me.
"I am doing nothing. I am sitting."
You cross your hands over your lap, "you are examining me, sir— I am not your patient any longer, sir."
I almost laugh but I cannot let myself while you look so stricken, "I don't think you are my patient, Grace. I am looking because I have not looked at you for so long," I pause, "and if you don't wish me to look I will shut my eyes."
You take on a soft blush, "that is not necessary, it is only that I suppose... I suppose I look at you and I imagine your notebook at your lap still."
I smile and squint slightly, raising my brow, "you think I still study you?"
"Why, yes I suppose I do," you have your brows drawn in again.
"I cannot lie to you, Grace, I do study you."
You start to your feet, your lips in a thin line, "I am not some specimen for your studies, sir!"
I once again muster the strength to contain my smile, "don't call me, sir, Grace."
"I may call you what I like and seeing as though you take on this role of my doctor, I believe sir is perfectly appropriate—"
"Have you only ever been studied for a diagnosis, Grace?"
You pause, "what on earth are you getting to? Of course."
I rest my chin on my hand and prop my elbow on my knee as I look up at you, "then you do not understand why I examine you? You believe I am assessing your 'symptoms'?"
You nod.
I let out a laugh. It isn't at you but at myself and how I must seem to you. And I laugh because I am naive and boyish for the reasons I have to watch you and study you.
"Grace, I do not know how to say it to you— I enjoy looking—" I cover my face and laugh again because everything coming out of my mouth sounds so terribly juvenile and I don't know if you are catching on at all or if what I am saying is just complete shit and I am actually insane. Your face is confused and almost scared and I can't look at you without feeling stupid.
"Are you alright, sir?"
I take my hands from my face and look at you, giggles still lingering in my voice, "Grace— you— you're still calling me sir— I have a name"
"Simon." You say and my laughter halts.
"Yes," my voice is soft.
Jamie comes out of the house with his flute.
For the next few minutes we listen to Jamie play his music and I feel almost at peace.
You close your eyes for parts of the tunes and I can see it in your face that you are remembering a time that isn't now. You look happy and I wonder if I could see that in you at all times. I wonder if I could make it easier for you to live in a world that hurt you at every turn in your life.
We retire for the night and I head to the room you let me stay in.
For some time I try to sleep but it does not seem possible and so I decide to make my way down to the drawing room where I can maybe tire myself by seeming to be awake.
I sit and read for several minutes.
"I heard someone come down," you look at me from the doorframe.
Your hair is down and looks lovely with the light of the moon highlighting it and your face.
"Ah yes, I could not sleep. I apologize."
"No need," you frown. I expect you to leave but you join me and sit diagonally from my seat.
You are blinking away your heavy eyelids and I catch you stifle a yawn.
"Are you not tired?"
"I am but I saw you here and would rather keep you company now than go to sleep— that is, if you don't mind."
I smile, seeing you once again let your eyes droop before rubbing them away with your fist.
"I would like that very much, Grace."
You look to have fallen asleep while stood up in your chair but when I call your name you are immediately responsive.
"Do you often spend your nights awake?"
I shrug, "it depends. Sometimes I find it very difficult to sleep and other times I drop dead almost instantly."
You smile, "I understand. I find it very difficult to sleep most nights even when I have exhausted myself with work all day long."
I nod. I want to say more or to ask you if you are happy with that arrangement but only recently you had told me you felt like I was still trying to examine you as a patient and my questions seem to push that idea. You look like you might close your eyes again but I suspect you continue talking as a way of keeping yourself from doing that.
"You read quite a lot of books, do you not?"
"Yes, I do."
You nod, your eyes half shut, "I do wish that I could but I never found enjoyment in them as I do sewing," the corner of your lip turns up lazily, "I have to thank you for those fabrics you brought to me, they are the kindest gift I have received in a long time."
I let my spite take hold of me, "Jamie never buys you gifts?"
"No— I— well, he will give me little things he finds like flowers and things. He is not simple minded but his way of affection is very simple. He— well..." You were about to say something but decide better.
I think about letting it pass but for some reason this spitefulness toward Jamie is much stronger than my critical thoughts, "he what, Grace?"
Your smile grows ever slightly, "never tell him I said this but he... well, he reminds me of a child sometimes."
I snicker, "that isn't such a bad thing to think of someone, Grace."
You shake your head, "I know I know, it shouldn't but it is!"
I begin to ask you why but you continue on your own.
"He has this strange idea that I still think of him as a child even at his adult age. It drives him absolutely mad!"
I don't laugh, only look on at you.
"In your work, have you ever dealt with a man who thinks he is perceived as a boy? Can you do something to help him because I cannot." You laugh but more as the last sentiment that came out.
"You might be surprised at how many women have come to me with this issue. The man himself is never humble enough to ask for my help."
"That sounds right."
We stop talking for some time. At first the topic of Jamie was bitter and grudging but now it weighed over the room.
I had considered that you married him out for honor but it felt out of the question that you might marry him out of love after what he did to you. But could you love him? The way you looked at him this afternoon while he was playing his flute was convincing of love and although you spoke of his childishness it had the undertone of fondness. Did you really love him? Your quips were sound but soft and loving and I could imagine a marriage bringing one to speak in such a way about the person they love dearest.
I am inches from asking but I see you have failed in keeping yourself awake and I lose focus.
"Do you love him, Grace?" I whisper but you do not respond.