He had left her only minutes before and she found herself lingering on the bench, still feeling his presence, still basking in his light. Remembering that he could feel what she was feeling she closed her eyes and allowed the memories of the night they had just passed together to fill her mind and heart, offering the responding joy within her to him as a gift of thanks for all he was and all he had given her.
As she opened her eyes a momentary sadness brushed her heart, remembering his forced parting from her just moments before. She did not allow it to take hold.. They had walked together, arm in arm, hand in hand, through the streets of their city! People had flowed around them and they had been safe -- free! Oh, the incredible miracle of it -- and they had not even dared to imagine it for themselves. If Brigit hadn’t shown them the way they might never have dared even to dream it. But it was real. It had happened.
As she rose from the bench and turned to go home a question came to her that stopped in her tracks. Why hadn’t they thought of it themselves? Vincent had somehow possessed the imagination and the courage to venture out last night in order to meet Bridget but had not even mentioned his plan to her. For her part she had told him that she planned to attend a Halloween party with her father but it had never occurred to her that they might make plans together on that night of all nights, when Vincent could walk freely in the world above.
They had almost missed it. The way had still been too new and they had still been so unsure of each other. They had been afraid to hope, so aware of what they assumed could never be that they had forgotten to embrace what could.
It was with that realization fresh within she had breathed a prayer of thanks to Brigit and started to walk west, away from the river and toward home. As she walked visceral images of Vincent came to her. Her first real look at him, how the astonishing blue of his eyes had mesmerized and enchanted her as he finally glanced up at her after she had removed the hood of his cloak. The softness of his hair under her hand that morning at the threshold right before she had tentatively stepped into his arms to say goodbye. The tremor that went through both of them as his arm had finally come up and around her. Ahh -- it had been present from the start then. How was it that she was just putting it together now?
Shouldn’t she have known the night he had come to her, eight months later and she had run into his arms? She had never been so happy to see anyone in her life. It was as if her own heart had returned to her. The next day, after the terrible incident when he had come for her, killed for her at terrible cost to his own soul, he had tried once again to say goodbye and she could not let him go. Once again she had flung herself into his arms, promising that it was only the beginning for them. His arms had become home for her and she could not imagine not returning to them time and time again for the rest of her life.
Lost in these memories she came
to the corner of Fifth Avenue and paused to gaze into the park for a moment
before turning right to continue her journey. Unbelievable. They had walked
the paths of the Ramble together a few hours earlier, hand in hand. How
could he have doubted that this would be heaven to her? Still, in their
time together she’d given him enough reason to doubt her feelings for him.
The realization gave her great pain, but it was the truth and she tried
never to flinch from the truth. Her foolish suspicions during the subway
slasher incident, followed soon after by her ill-fated involvement with
Elliot Burch. How had he ever forgiven her? Had he realized in some part
of his heart that she was struggling with the inevitable -- that in her
fear she was trying to pull away from him? Perhaps he had wanted her to
pull away, thinking it would be the safest course. Thinking it was still
possible for them both.
And then Vincent had disappeared, suddenly. Gone. When she finally found him, filthy, wounded, nearly blind she could have collapsed with weeping for joy. She was never giving up, she had told him. She never would have. When he finally told her all that he had endured she was filled with a red-hot rage that told her instantly of what he himself must experience when he came to her in moments of danger. At that moment she had realized what he had become to her. He had become her life and she would gladly give anything, do anything to keep him from harm.
And now, after this magical night her love for him had flowered into something more, something that, in truth, had always been, from the beginning. She had fallen in love with him this night, truly fallen in love. She had finally allowed it to happen. She’d allowed herself the pleasure of savoring the sensations that came from simply being near him. She had leaned into his warmth, breathed in his scent and allowed herself to fall into his eyes. She had savored the pleasure of his voice vibrating through her and his hands lightly touching her hands, her shoulders, her arm. The fight against the power of her love for him was over and she rejoiced in her defeat -- and her ultimate victory.
With that thought she had arrived
in front of her apartment building but found herself reluctant to enter,
fearing that the spell would be broken, wanting it to last. In a moment
she laughed at that thought, knowing that it would last -- knowing that
this morning, as she returned to her “real life” above the spell would
never be broken. It had just been cast.