Broken Submission

Grasping

Amelia curled up on the porch swing, fingering the ribbon around her throat. Marie sat comfortably on the other end, eyes following the birds that swooped at each other around the feeder. Derek and his father were in the kitchen cleaning up, having kicked the two of them out so that they could get to know each other.

"Thank you for lunch," she said, voice soft. "I wish I could cook like you do."

Marie smiled, eyes still on the birds. "My mother taught me and her mother before her." She turned, dark eyes capturing Amelia's. "I'd be happy to teach you, chica. As would Derek, I'm sure. Of all my children, he was the most interested in the kitchen."

Amelia smiled. "He's shown off his skills from time to time. Although," she hesitated, not wanting to offend her, "he seems more partial to making Italian dishes."

Marie shook her head, clucking her tongue in annoyance. "That would be his padre's influence. He spent some time in Italy when he deployed. That love of pasta is something I never managed to beat out of him."

Amelia stifled a laugh at the thought of the five foot nothing woman beating the towering man in her kitchen, a man who still possessed a military carriage despite his genial nature.

"Tell me about yourself," Marie said, shifting her weight so that they faced one another.

Amelia's eyes widened as she scrambled for a response. Her eyes dropped as she felt a familiar burn in her cheeks. "Oh—well I um—"

A warm hand on her wrist stopped her. She peeked up at the woman who looked at her with warm understanding.

"Take a deep breath," she instructed. "No one's judging you."

Amelia did as she was told, coming up with the sentences she wanted to say.

"Well," she started, pacing her words, "I'm an only child. My dad wasn't really in the picture for most of my life. And my mom—she was there, but not really, if that makes any sense."

Marie nodded, her expression of soft attention encouraging Amelia to continue.

She took another breath. "I did everything you're supposed to. I did well in school, and then I went to college for Business." Her shoulders hunched with the next part of her story. "I met someone, and we married. I was married for...ten years before we separated."

When Amelia was quiet, Marie stirred. "When you know someone—when you are intimate with someone—for so long, leaving them... it's strange. You know them, you're comfortable with them. You're not just leaving the person and the things that make you insane, you're leaving the inside jokes and the little daily quirks that have been your life."

The older woman leaned back against the swing with a sigh. "I remember—many, many years ago, when Daniel and I... when we came close to that breaking point. He came back from the war with many problems, and I had become used to having my own way with everything. With being in charge of my house and everyone in it. When we collided, I feared for my children. It was only when we got help that we worked past our differences."

She squeezed Amelia's hand. "I do not say this to shame you for the breaking of your marriage. For some, help is not an option or it comes as too little, too late. But I know the fear and the grief of thinking that this thing which has consumed your life, that it's over. That you must start over, alone and traumatized."

Amelia swallowed the lump in her throat. "It—it hasn't gone away." Her eyes welled as she looked to the other woman, hoping she had some answer. "Why hasn't it gone away? It's been years. And Derek—Derek is so good to me. I love him so much. So why do I feel so alone?"

Marie brushed her fingers against Amelia's cheek. "First, you must let go," she whispered. "You are still clutching for something that—had it supported you—you never would have let go. Stop reaching for something that isn't there and you'll stop coming up empty. You have people who are here for you. Reach for them. Reach for my son or a friend."

She let go of Amelia, shifting slightly backward. "Don't think. I want you to reach out, reach for me."

Amelia hugged her chest. "I—"

Marie reached out her hands just slightly. "Reach out for someone who is willing to pull you in instead of pushing you away. Take my hands and finally stop grasping at thin air. You can rest."

Pushing away her embarrassment, her anxiety, and the overwhelming fear that clutches around her heart, Amelia reached out with excruciating slowness. As her arms moved farther from her body, her anxiety jumped, and her hands began to tremble. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Their hands touched. Marie's firm grip squeezed her hands, and Amelia—acting on instinct—tugged her closer. The shock of finding Marie actually moving with her grip, released something in Amelia's chest. She stared, wide-eyed, at the woman who wrapped her arms around Amelia and held her.

Amelia shook. Marie radiated comfort and security, creating a lightness in Amelia that she had forgotten could exist. Silent tears—of grief, pain, relief—streamed down Amelia's face. When they finally released each other, she found that Marie's face was damp as well.

"You call me, anytime," Marie said, dabbing at her cheeks. "We are all here for you, chica."

Two more tears rolled down Amelia's cheeks even as she smiled. Her eyes fluttered, her body feeling drained.

Two knocks on the doorframe to the porch stirred them from the quiet aftermath of such an emotional event. Derek glanced between them, seeming unfazed by the tears and blotchy cheeks.

"I can come back..." he questioned, voice quietly reverent, as though he were interrupting a church service.

Marie smiled. "No, I'll let you have her," she teased. Squeezing Amelia's hand one last time, she stood. "I've got to see what kind of a state these boys have left my kitchen in anyway," she said, sashaying past Derek.

He approached her, taking his mother's seat. Brushing a stray tear from her cheeks, he smiled when she took the opportunity to burrow into his side. "So did your talk go well?" he asked, voice still soft.

She nodded, tiredness dragging at her lids. "I really like your mom. She—I don't know how she did it. It's like she saw into my soul."

He chuckled. "I suppose I could have warned you that she's a therapist."

That surprised Amelia so much that she managed to lift her head enough to glance at his face. "Really? I don't think I would have guessed."

He nodded. "She definitely doesn't have a clinical air about her. My mom, she mixes the soft warmth of her upbringing with the science of her schooling. She's actually very sought after."

"Wow," Amelia yawned.

"Mm," Derek hummed. "You want to take a nap? Let the food and the emotional revelations settle?"

"That sounds nice," she murmured.

He shifted so that he could lift her into his arms. She was so used to it by the point that she just wiggled into a comfortable spot against his chest.

"There's the spot I loved as a kid," he said, stepping off the porch. "The sun hits it just right so that it's the perfect place for a nap."

She sighed happily, sleep and heat quickly pulling her into dreams. Apparently reaching their destination, she was laid onto some cushions, Derek spooning her. She drifted in unconsciousness for a period of time before a male voice spoke from the house, Derek moving, probably to shush him.

She was rearranged gently, a kiss dripping on her forehead while she murmured sleepily. She heard his retreating footprints before drifting again.

Her eyes flew open though when she woke to the pinch of a needle in her arm and a rough hand clamping over her mouth to prevent the strangled scream from leaving her lips.