As dusk painted the sky in ash and lavender streaks, Lorna Jenkins stood with her arms encircling her body in front of her apartment window. The chill of uncertainty swirling in her chest was not much eased by the warmth of the setting sun.
After a night of silent vulnerability and years of unsaid suffering, Michael had departed hours earlier. And now, that silence reverberated more loudly than his words.
Her fingers moved along the windowpane's edge, her thoughts reliving each fleeting glance and each confession that slipped between his hesitancies. Last night, she had witnessed a crack in him—something genuine, unadulterated, and hidden beneath layers of guilt and grief. And she had given herself permission to hope in that instant.
Michael hadn't called, though. hadn't sent a text.
His retreat behind emotional armor was causing him to drift once more. Additionally, she wasn't sure if she still had the strength to pursue him.
On the counter, her phone buzzed.
Whitlock, Henry.
In an attempt to hide the tremor in her voice, she answered on the second ring.
"Hi, Henry."
Always too astute, he said softly, "Lorna." "How are you doing?"
"I'm not sure," she said, her voice hardly audible above a whisper. "I think we're moving forward, one minute. Then he pulls away once more, as if I were the tide pulling him under and he were drowning.
On the other end, Henry sighed. "To him, you are not that."
"I am aware of that. However, he doesn't. And I can't correct what he refuses to acknowledge.
"You've done more for Michael than anyone since—well, since Heather broke him," Henry said in a firmer tone. He opened up to you again. That is a major miracle.
A melancholy smile tugged at her lips as she turned away from the window. "Perhaps. However, what if I'm only a stopover on his path to recovery? What happens if he leaves, as he usually does?
After a moment of silence, Henry responded.
He doesn't seem to want to leave. I believe he is afraid he will make a mistake and hurt you the way he has been hurt.
Lorna stared at the phone while leaning against the counter.
He doesn't have to be flawless. All I need is for him to arrive.
Michael sat in Henry's home office across the city, sipping a scotch he hadn't touched. With his jaw clenched, his tie loose, and his thoughts a million miles away, he appeared to be a man unraveling.
Henry fell to the leather seat across from him.
His words were direct: "You look like hell."
Michael let out a sharp sigh. "Thank you."
"You're shoving her away once more."
Michael remained silent.
Henry bent over. "Why?"
Michael's hands tightened their hold on the glass. "Because she is worthy of more than what I am at the moment."
Henry laughed dryly. Do you believe she is unaware of that? Do you really believe she hasn't already seen every flaw in you and remained?
Henry went on, and Michael looked up.
"Let me tell you what she doesn't deserve: being pushed along by a man who is too scared to acknowledge that he is in love and keeps playing hot and cold."
The words struck a deep chord.
Michael muttered, "I do love her." However, every time I believe I can provide for her needs, Heather's voice interrupts me. I can still picture the church, the deserted aisle, and the ring in my pocket.
Henry's tone grew softer. "Dude, this isn't Heather. It's not your past, either. Lorna is here. She is right there, and it will no longer be about fear if you allow her to leave. It has to do with regret.
Michael took a deep breath.
Henry got up and gave his friend a shoulder clap.
Do you desire a future? So don't wait for it to be secure. There are no guarantees in love.
Michael sat motionless as Henry walked out of the room, the pressure of everything bearing down on him.
And he understood for the first time in weeks that Lorna wasn't requesting perfection. She was requesting to be present.
Maybe it was time he finally showed up.