Page 27 of The Phoenix Bride
“I am sorry.”
“Why?”
“This isn’t what you wanted.”
“Perhaps I should have given up long ago,” she murmurs. “You had so little interest in me when we first met. I was only Manuel’s little sister. But when he was unwell, and we spent so much time together, treating him—grieving him…” She folds her arms around her chest, and she drops her chin. Her eyes grow wet. “I thought perhaps your feelings would eventually match mine,” she says, voice thick. “Since there is no one else. Is there?”
I shake my head.
“Then why?” she asks. “Why haven’t we tried?”
“I couldn’t say,” I reply. “You are a wonderful woman, Sara. My heart—I haven’t made space inside it for anyone, I think, in a very long time.”
She stares at me. I stare back.
Her mouth goes rigid in determination. “Then marry me,” she says, wiping away a tear.
“Sara—”
“Wait. Let me explain. I know you do not love me in the same way as I do you—certainly notnow—but perhaps, someday, you could. Don’t you think you could?”
My throat has gone very dry. I swallow, and it feels like a blade is sinking into my stomach. “Perhaps.”
“We are both…I mean, there are so few of us here, in London.”
“Yes.”
“And we are well suited. Do you not think so? We were friends, the two of us, before we drifted apart.”
“We were.”
She leans forward and takes my hand in hers. “I admit that I do not understand you, David, not really; perhaps I never have. But I want to. I want to try.”
“I…”
“So let me try,” she says. “Please. Marry me. We could be happy.”
She gives me a small, hopeful smile, pressing dimples into thehollows of her cheeks. And I know as she digs her fingers into my palm, pleading and insistent, that there is almost no reason to refuse. My father would be overjoyed at the match, andSara is right—there are so few Jews in London. If not her,then who? The entire community would come to our ceremony;it would be a joyous occasion, an act of defiance, screaming to the city,we are here to stay. We could be wed beneath a canopy made of Manuel’s silks. It would have made him so happy to see it. We could pray for him there and keep his memory alive.
Married by the fall, just like Cecilia Thorowgood.
Remembering her, I feel suffused with shame. I abandonedCecilia to her fate, and now—presented with an offer infinitely kinder than the one she will be forced into—I remain too much of a coward to agree.
“I—I don’t know,” I say to Sara. “This is very unexpected. I am sorry. You deserve an answer, but…”
She shakes her head. “I knew this would be a shock. Take time, please, to think upon it. I want you to be sure.”
I bow over in embarrassment, resting my forearm on my knees. “I fear I will never be sure.”
“You will,” she says. “And it is me who ought to be apologizing, David. I should have been honest with you from the beginning. No matter how you answer me, I will accept it.”
We sit in silence, Sara’s hands in mine, her thumbs rubbing circles against my wrists. I feel a terrible disappointment in myself, but envy, also, toward her. I wish I knew my own desires as well as she knows hers. I wish I knew myself enough to know what I wanted.
“I will think upon it,” I tell her. And I hate how relieved she looks in response.
We stay there, hands clasped, for a few moments longer. Then, in quiet agreement, we stand to leave. I bring her to the front door. At the steps, Sara touches the mezuzah lightly, pressing her fingers to her lips.
“Come see me,” she says quietly. “When you know.”
