Muffled voices and the occasional clink of ceramic cups were drowned out by the soft hum of jazz in the dimly lit poetry lounge. Hope Pierce was sitting next to her chamomile tea in a comfortable corner booth across from Lucas, with her notebook partially open. Lucas had left his drink untouchable.
They had come to this café several times in the past month, but tonight, something about Lucas felt different—quieter, heavier.
Hope traced the rim of her cup with her fingers and said softly, "You've hardly said a word." "What's going through your mind?"
Lucas sighed as he stared at a candle that was flickering in the middle of their table. "Honesty has been on my mind a lot. And how I remained silent for the majority of my marriage.
He wasn't pressed by Hope. She did nothing but wait.
At last, he raised his head to look into her eyes. "I believe I always knew deep down that Lorna would never let me in completely. Not at all. And I continued to act as though it didn't bother me rather than questioning why or having the courage to confront it."
Hope softly remarked, "You loved her."
Lucas nodded, "I did." Still, in a sense. However, it always seemed to me that I was standing close to a door that was closed. The ghost in the room was Michael. We never mentioned the one name, but I could sense his hesitation in every word. each time she averted her gaze.
Hope's eyes gleamed with empathy, but her face stayed composed. "You desired to be sufficient for her."
His laugh was hollow. "Desired? I prayed for it. However, I felt smaller the more I attempted to prove myself. I grew bitter. envious. Looking at Jason, I would question whether I was the second-best option or merely a stand-in."
With a firm tone, Hope stated, "You weren't a stand-in." "You provided a place of safety. That is important.
Lucas rubbed a hand across his jaw and leaned back in his chair. "I doubt I'll ever be able to forgive myself for not being the person she fell in love with first. Or... the person she cared about most."
There was silence between them. The wind outside blew through the trees, grazing the windows as if they were fingers on glass.
Hope slowly extended her hand and covered his.
"Lucas, you're not a ghost," she declared. "You are not invisible. Not in this place."
For a brief moment, something unadulterated and unfiltered flowed between them as their eyes met.
Lucas nodded and swallowed hard. "I'm grateful."
She gave his hand a light squeeze. "You no longer have to bear that burden by yourself."
And Lucas gave himself permission to think that perhaps—just possibly—he didn't for the first time in a long time.