Page 112 of Charlotte
“You said you would not chase me,” he said.
“I am sitting in the grass.”
“I know.”
“That is the opposite of chasing.”
“I know.”
He took one step closer, then stopped. “I should not have come.”
“Yet here you are.”
The lake water lapped softly against the shore. Sunlight flashed along the water, too bright for a broken morning.
Cecil looked down at his bandaged hand. “I heard you crying.”
Lottie’s anger rose again, along with something more. Love rose with it, inconvenient and stubborn as ever.
“Did you come to comfort me,” she asked, “or to apologize for being the cause?”
His gaze lifted.
Both, his face seemed to say.
Neither his mouth refused to admit.
She brushed off the last bit of grass on her skirt. “You cannot release me and then follow me to make sure I break gently.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“No.” He exhaled, rough and low. “Not well enough.” Cecil took another step. “You were right.”
“About what?”
“About the doorway.”
Lottie could barely breathe.
He looked toward the lake rather than at her. “I heard you tell your sister to stand behind you. Then I went and stood in front of you myself.”
“Yes.”
“I thought if I took myself away, the road would be clear.”
“For whom?”
“For you.”
“It would only be emptier.”
His eyes closed briefly. When they opened, he looked at her at last.
“I do love you.”
The words struck her, clean and terrible.
