Page 140 of Lighting the Lamp
The blank page stares back at me, unmarked and merciless. My fingers twitch around the pen, the metal clip digging into the side of my thumb. I set the tip to the paper, and my hand cramps halfway through the first line. My handwriting is a mess, slanted and jagged like my thoughts, but I keep going.
Lisey,
I don’t know where to start. I’ve been trying to figure it out for weeks, and everything sounds wrong. But here’s the only thing that matters: I didn’t tell you because I thought it would scare you away, but losing you hurt worse.
I won’t dress it up or pretend I handled it well. I didn’t. I was a coward. I let my fear decide for me, and I hate myself for it.
I wanted to believe I could protect you from the worst parts of me. I didn’t realize that in doing that, I was shutting you out of the best parts, too.
You said you can’t fight me into trusting you. You were right. Trust has to be given, not earnedthrough battles. So, this is me, handing it over, no shields and no excuses.
I’m still scared, but I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.
—Beau
I stare at the ink until the lines waver, the words bleeding at the edges as my eyes burn. My hand shakes when I fold the paper, the sound of the crease loud and final. The envelope waits, open, like it’s calling my bluff. I slide the letter inside before I can stop myself, sealing it with the press of a thumb that still trembles. It’s not poetic. It’s not pretty. It’s raw, messy, and jagged, and maybe it’s the only thing I have left to give her.
It sits on the table for what feels like hours, the weight pulling at me every time I glance in its direction. I think about delivering it myself. I even grab my keys once, but my legs won’t move past the door, and the thought of her face when she opens it makes my chest cinch until I can’t breathe. I can already picture the hesitation in her eyes, the way she might glance past me like she’s looking for a way out. That image alone is enough to pin me in place.
This isn’t brave. It’s not a noble act of giving her space. It’s cowardice, pure and simple, and I don’t care. Not if it means she’ll actually read it. Not if it means she might, even for a second, understand.
By morning, I know I won’t do it. I tell myself it’s cleaner, easier this way, but the truth tastes like failure because I’m letting fear win again. I pick up my phone before I can talk myself out of it and scroll to Ramona’s name. She answers on the second ring, her voice already suspicious.
“Please tell me you’re not calling to back out of Sunday dinner. Cooper’s been bragging about his lasagna all week.”
“It’s not about dinner,” I mutter, dragging a hand over my face. My thumb taps against the envelope on the table, the paper’s edge digging into my skin. “I need you to come by and grab something for me.”
There’s a pause. I can practically hear her leaning forward. “What kind of something?”
“A letter.” The word catches in my throat. “For Alise.”
My stomach twists before she even responds. Part of me hopes she’ll refuse and tell me to grow a spine and do it myself so I can shove this whole thing back into a drawer and pretend it never existed.
Instead, her voice sharpens. “Why am I delivering it? You have legs, functioning vocal cords, and a perfectly good working vehicle.”
“Because I can’t,” I say, the words scraping on the way out. “If I see her, I’ll screw it up. She deserves the choice to read this without me standing there, breathing down her neck, waiting for a reaction. Just… take it to her.”
There’s another pause, heavier this time. “You know this isn’t exactly heroic, right?”
“Ramona, I’m a chicken. I know. But as long as she gets it, I’ll… I’ll pray she reads it. And maybe she will come back.”
“Fine.” Ramona exhales, the sound halfway between exasperation and something softer. “I’ll do it. But only because I like the idea of you sweating it out while you wait for her answer.”
A shaky laugh escapes before I can stop it. “You’re evil.”
“Efficient,” she corrects. “And Beau? I want you to know I’m rooting for this. Hard. Mostly because if I have to walk down the aisle at my wedding without you two sitting together, I will personally haunt you in the afterlife.”
“Good to know.”
When the call ends, I sit there staring at the envelope, my chest tight and my pulse thrumming in my ears. For the first time since Alise walked out of that hospital room, I feel it—faint, unsteady, and terrifying. Hope.
I’m not sure I’m ready for it, but I’m more afraid of losing it.
Chapter Forty-One
Alise
The kettle clicks off, but I don’t move. The steam curls upward in slow, ghostly ribbons before fading into nothing, the same way the air’s been leaving my lungs these last three weeks since I walked out of Beau’s hospital room. Three weeks since I left him sitting there, pale and hurting, pretending like I wasn’t breaking us both.
