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Episode 74: Shards of Peace
The morning began in the heavy, suffocating silence of the bedroom. Andrew was the first to move, his body aching from the tension of a night spent on the edge of the mattress. He sat up slowly, the room still dim with the grey
Cannon Beach mist. Without a word to the woman beside him, he stood and headed for the bathroom. The sound of the shower starting was the first crack in the silence—a lonely, steady hum of water as he tried to wash away the literal and metaphorical blood from the night before, letting the steam soothe the angry swelling on his cheek where the glass had struck.
In the bed, Sarah opened her eyes to the sound of the pipes. The weight of her choices felt like a physical pressure on her chest. She sat up, still wearing the oversized T-shirt of Andrew’s she’d slept in and the black lace panties he’d bought for her. It was a cruel contrast—wearing the gifts of a man she had just wounded. She moved quietly, reaching for her heavy grey sweatpants and pulling them on, layering herself in thick fleece as if she could hide the guilt underneath.
She turned to the crib and scooped up little Alice. The baby was warm and oblivious, her soft weight a grounding force. With Alice on her hip, Sarah headed downstairs to the kitchen, leaving the sound of the shower behind.
The kitchen soon filled with the domestic sounds of a "normal" morning, though nothing felt normal. Sarah worked with a frantic, desperate focus. She started the bacon, the sizzle echoing in the quiet room, and set about making eggs for Andrew, scrambled eggs for Alice, and a portion for herself.
She moved like a ghost, her eyes constantly flicking toward the stairs. She was terrified, yet hopeful—praying that this meal could be a sign, a peace offering to show she was sorry without having to find the words just yet.
When the shower finally cut off and Andrew walked into the kitchen, the air seemed to vanish. He looked worn, his hair damp and messy, but the sight of the discoloured, angry swelling on his face made Sarah’s hand tremble as she turned the bacon. He was nervous, his eyes darting to the plates and then to her, searching for any sign of a truce. He sat at the table and bowed his head for a silent prayer that felt like it lasted an eternity. Sarah placed the plate before him, her heart hammering, and sat down to tend to the baby.
The silence was broken abruptly when Alice began to choke. Her little face reddened as she struggled with a bit of egg. Andrew didn’t hesitate; he leaned over instinctively, his large, steady hand patting her back with practiced care until she spit it up. Alice immediately bounced in her chair, letting out a triumphant squeal of joy as she looked up at her father. Andrew gave her a small, guarded pat, and the meal resumed. Sarah ate nervously, her eyes constantly searching his face for any sign—any crack in the stone—that he might forgive her.
Once the plates were cleared, Andrew poured himself a cup of coffee and stepped out onto the deck, needing the open air.
Outside, the seagulls were being their usual rowdy selves, squawking and circling the eaves of the house. Andrew stood at the railing, the steam from his mug curling into the damp, salt-heavy air, wondering if their lives would ever be right again. Inside, Sarah finished cleaning Alice up. The baby waddled over to her bouncy toy, chirping out the word "balance" as she begged to be put in. Sarah lifted her into the toy, watching her bounce with a joy that felt a million miles away, before taking a deep breath and stepping out onto the deck to face him.
"Andrew... I'm so sorry," she began, her voice trembling. "I’ve just been so angry. First, everything was great... then those women... then Allyson... and then you were dead. I was scream-stricken. I did foolish things. And then you weren't dead, and I’m so happy, but I’m just as angry as I am happy. But I never wanted to leave you. Can we work things out?"
Andrew turned to her, tears silent against his bruised face. "I accept your apology," he replied, his voice thick. "But Sarah, you need to get out whatever you need to get out. Shout at me. Slap me. Whatever it takes... but I can’t stand it when you look at me with those cold, angry eyes. That’s worse than being shot. I want only loving eyes from you."
Sarah paused, letting his words sink in. "I want to work things out," she whispered.
"I do too," he replied.
Without another word, Sarah lowered her tea mug to the deck boards alongside his coffee cup. In the sharp, biting chill of the morning, she reached down and pulled off her sweatpants, standing before him in nothing but his shirt and the black lace. She moved in close, straddling him, and for the first time, a genuine smile touched her lips.
Sarah reached up, pulled the T-shirt over her head, and tossed it to the deck, exposing her breasts to the freezing coastal wind. Her nipples pebbled and grew hard instantly in the chill.
As they moved together, their lips met in a hungry, desperate kiss. Andrew’s hands traveled up, his fingers brushing against her hardened nipples, sensitized by the cold and the sudden, overwhelming rush of intimacy. In that moment, with the gulls screaming overhead, they both finally felt a sense of true peace.
