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“Caring deeply will always be the right thing.”
The words echoed in his mind as he stood rooted to the ground, the house finally in view above the apple trees. How could he go into that house? How could he face what awaited him - them - there. To see Mary with her daughter, with her husband, and knowing that each moment was bringing them closer to the final moment.
And he was crying. Sobs swelled in his chest and threatened to break it. This house had seen too much death already. How could he go into that house?
Suddenly he found himself enveloped in warmth, someone’s arms wrapped around his neck, someone’s face pressed into his shoulder. His mind fought through the grief to process this, but it was his other senses that brought him to the realization that this was Anne. The smell of her - fire and sunlight, trees and flowers. Anne. His solace, and the one person whose presence he always sought.
His sobs broke free at last, and he wrapped his arms around this wonderful girl - woman - and allowed himself to grieve. He clung to her as if he were a man drowning and she were the raft that could keep him afloat. And he was drowning - in sorrow, in fear, in utter dismay - and it was only her presence, and her arms around him, keeping him here. Because she was that to him - his anchor, his touchstone, his safe harbor. Without her, he feared he would fly into a million pieces, each one lost to the wind. He buried his face in her hair - her perfect, beautiful hair - as he wept out his anguish.
She was crying too; they were too tightly entwined for it not to be noticed. The soft shaking of her shoulders, the heaves of her own sobs wracking her chest. Her arms clinging to him as tightly as his own to her. And they stayed like that for long, long, moments, accepting this moment of comfort that went both ways between them, neither letting go.
At long last, their sobs lessened and their grief settled from unbearable to simply all-encompassing. Yet still they held each other. Gil had often longed for this sort of closeness with Anne, but never at such a cost.
Slowly, he felt Anne’s grip on him loosen and, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable, he moved to do the same. To his surprise, she did not step away or relinquish her hold. Her arms now held him far more gently, still around his neck but no longer the desperate clinging of before. His own hands, which he had begun to move, stilled at her waist as Anne leaned back and met his eyes with an open gaze that betrayed her every emotion. Her eyes - her perfect blue eyes, now stormy - were heavy with grief and sorrow and a quiet plea. For once he wasn’t puzzled by her expression - she was always such a mystery to him - because he knew the same emotions were staring back at her from his own eyes. Grief, sorrow, and a plea. A plea of helplessness and to find comfort and solace in someone who understood.
They had never been this close before, had scarcely touched beyond the casual common touches of everyday life when two people were friends, but it didn’t feel strange or awkward or wrong. It felt…it felt like he’d been here before. Like these arms had embraced him a million and more times before, and would do so a million and more in the future. In her arms - Anne’s arms - he felt at home.
But there was no room in either of their minds or hearts for anything past grief just now. But their souls took careful note and tucked it away to be examined later.
Another wave of grief hit Gilbert then - brought forth by seeing his own emotions reflected back in Anne’s face. He closed his eyes tightly, another tear escaping to track down his cheek like so many had before, and would still yet. At that, Anne moved her hand slowly across his neck, his jaw, and came to rest along his cheek. It cupped his face gently as she ever so carefully brushed that tear away with her thumb. Opening his eyes he gazed at her in shared sorrow, his heart allowing him a single concession as he brought his forehead to rest against her own for the briefest of moments. One last solid pressure to help steel himself for what was to come, their breath mingled and the air around them heavy with emotions.
In near perfect harmony, and quite perfect understanding, they moved apart at last.
Gil felt the absence of her warmth as a dull blow - a loss of that comforting presence. But she did not move far. No. She slid her hand into his own and gripped it tightly, leaning into him for support. As if he were her anchor, her touchstone, her safe harbor. And he gripped back just as tightly because she was all of those things for him and more. She was his hope.
In unison, they faced the house ahead of them, braced themselves for the trials they knew they would find inside, and moved towards it as one. Together. And Gil knew that there was no going back. Not from the sorrow that lay ahead, nor from the woman beside him.