The Space Between Suns

I am afraid of the dark. Charles didn’t know that until our first night together, when the passion cooled into the warmth of a moment I couldn’t bear to break with words. He slid away for only a moment, probably to get us a drink, but the sudden emptiness by my side as I was enveloped in the darkness was more than I could pretend to face.

The dark is something you can feel. It wends its way into your heart, and it whispers that it knows more about you than you do. It knows all your secrets. It carries the pieces of you that you seek to hide from everything else. Some people find the dark comforting. As though it hides everything. But for me it is different. I can’t see a way forward. I can’t see anything but swirling secrets and a presence who waits for me to fall to my knees.

“Charles.” It came out in a whimper as I gripped the smooth sheets to my bare skin. The only light was a very small sliver of blue coming from around the edges of the drapes. Logically, I knew that he would be back any moment. But my heart began hammering as I gripped the blankets tightly. “Chas!” I heard him faintly a few rooms away, responding to my panic with quick steps. But by now I couldn’t stop. “Chas! Chas! Where are you? Chas!”

“I’m here!” His voice was calm and collected, responding to my panic gently but firmly. “Amelia, I’m right here. I’m here.” He quickly flipped on the bedside lamp and pulled me against him. “I’m here.”

I remember feeling ashamed. And even more ashamed that I was ashamed at all. With my arms wrapped tightly around him, I could once again feel the scars crisscrossing his back. Had felt them beneath my hands all night. Scars he had been brave enough to show me. It should’ve been easier to share my own scars with him. Shouldn’t it be easier if you can’t see them?

“I’m sorry.” Though the light from the lamp was instantly soothing, it took a moment to stop shaking. “I’m sorry.” He softly hushed me, pressing a kiss to my forehead as he rubbed my back slowly.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were afraid of the dark?” His voice was soft.

I couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, so I continued to bury my face in his shoulder and tightened my grip around him. “Because it’s …” Simpleminded. Foolish. He tilted my chin up until I had no choice but to look into his eyes. I shouldn’t have been worried that they would hold anything but understanding. He always understood. He kissed me softly once, and then twice.

“We’ll just keep a candle lit from now on.” He said, and left me for only a moment to light a tall beeswax candle across the room. The flame was tall and bright. He switched off the lamp then and joined me once again, holding me against him until my heartbeat was as steady as his.

I knew then that it wasn’t right to say there was love between us. It was something very much more. I think that once in a great while the universe creates two people from the same breath of eternity, and waits for them to find one another again. No matter how long that might take. No matter what twists and turns live in their story. And when they finally do truly find one another, across time or space or hardship, there is a great sigh of relief somewhere that all is right again. It is love, yes, but something different as well. Something more.

I looked up at him in the flickering light as I thought this. And he smiled because he knew.

~~

Sally Fields was the name of a girl I had gone to school with. I suppose you could say that we were friends. Next to each other we always looked like night and day. Her hair was naturally very pale, a shimmery blonde. Her eyes were the palette of a spring sky. Next to her my black hair and dark eyes seemed mysterious and foreboding. There were many times, I think, that people wondered why we associated with one another.

But sometimes we laughed. And once she cried a bit when telling me a secret. I suspected that was the closest to a real friend I’d ever find. She never asked me questions, but I knew she heard rumors. Everyone did.

I wasn’t the only one who knew I wasn’t a real blue blood. Oh, we had just as much money as the rest of them. Perhaps even more. But theirs had a name and a legacy to it. Ours appeared in the bank following disturbing headlines. But nobody ever said anything because the truth is that money talks. And it says a lot of things to a lot of people.

After we finished school and a proper amount of time had passed, Sally married a lawyer named George Wheatley. He was equally pale and correctly blue. The match was enough to make the protagonist of an Edith Wharton novel cringe.

I attended the wedding with Charles by my side. Next to the blue, we were perhaps too red, but that didn’t faze him. In fact, even after we visited the reception where the punch was clearly not innocent, he whispered that it was the most strait-laced event he’d ever been to. I hid my laugh behind my drink.

“Come dance with me,” he urged me quietly, leaving my glass on the table as we walked out amidst the other couples on the floor. It wasn’t the jazz we were used to, and the people in that room certainly acted as though they’d never heard a word about the Charleston. But Chas was a beautiful dancer regardless.

“That’s the Police Commissioner over there.” I gestured towards a man in a dark suit deep in conversation with George Wheatley’s father. They both had a glass of punch in their hands.

“Oh, I know. I spoke with him earlier.” Chas answered, and laughed when I looked at him in surprise.

“About what?”

“The weather and baseball. We’re friendly acquaintances.” His answer shouldn’t have surprised me. And in fact, in some realm of my mind it didn’t. In order to be as successful as Chas was in what he did, he certainly had to know people. But in another realm of my mind, it didn’t sit well at all. His eyes softened at me then, because he knew. Almost as if to say that there would be a time when we’d discuss all of that.

“Mr. Truman.” We both turned then to find none other than the groom himself, wanting to cut into our dance. “May I?” Chas smiled and handed him my hand graciously. I felt a mask slide into place as I began dancing with George. I think I hated that more than anything.

“Such a lovely day, George.” I kept my voice light but firm, like a perfectly timed staccato. “We’re so happy for you and Sally.”

“Yes, it’s all very fine.” I tried to ignore the fact that he was obviously a bit drunk. Somehow, he seemed even more slipped into place than he did sober. And that irritated me.

“How is work going for you, George? I hear that your father has just made you a partner at the firm.” I cursed how long the song seemed to be lasting. I cursed the oiled look in his eyes. And I cursed myself for asking him what I had.

“It seems that I’ve acquired a golden existence, Miss Stanton.” he answered, “Just recently I was assigned the defense of a very prominent client. It’s all still very new. Of course, I can’t name names.”

“Of course.”

“I’m afraid I’ve been a terrible conversationalist this evening. I do beg your forgiveness.” His tone suddenly changed as the song began its downward spiral. His eyes met mine very briefly. “How is your father doing?”

“Well, I’m sure.” I had the vague understanding that I had slipped into an automatic persona. One who knew how to respond to questions and when to smile and laugh. One who knew how to play the game. And it stayed with me as I left the dance floor, bid Sally farewell, and let Chas lead me out of the venue. It didn’t crack until we were in the back of the car, obscured in the shadows that exposed me.

Chas didn’t ask what had happened, but I could only assume that he’d heard. The entire event had been crawling with lawyers and politicians. The kind of people who knew the truth about who we really were. Who I really was.

So we didn’t speak of it. We said nothing. And the next morning the newspapers said it all for us.