I weep despairingly, letting him pull me into his arms and hug me. The old man’s big frail body feels warm and strong against my hopeless form.
‘You are enough for him,’ he whispers quietly. ‘I have to believe him. I saw it in his eyes just now when you left. I saw it in the reflection of his tears when he promised me he would let it go. I heard the devastation in his voice when he cried on my shoulder, darling girl. I couldn’t let you walk away. I had to do something.’ His arms rub at my back soothingly while I sob into his chest, my shoulders jerking uncontrollably. ‘Please, Eleanor. Stay. My boy has found something to live for besides his treasure. Don’t take that away from him.’
I’m useless in his arms, crying like a baby. But past my uncontrollable emotion, I manage to wonder if there’s a small selfish reason for old Mr H making such a heartfelt plea. I wonder if he fears that if Becker no longer has me, there will be nothing to stop him from resuming the mercy mission that he’s so adamant he can walk away from. I can’t be certain, and it’s something I wouldn’t insult Mr H by asking. He has every reason to have that fear after losing his son and daughter-in-law. Which begs the question why he’s told Becker. He didn’t have to. Or did he? Maybe he needs peace, too.
‘Gramps?’ Becker’s soft calling of his granddad is thick with distress, and old Mr H releases me, wiping my eyes before I can reach to do it myself. He smiles down at me and nods, eyes full of encouragement. I can’t speak through the huge lump in my throat, so I nod in return. Then he turns and wanders away, stopping briefly by his grandson and kissing him gently on his forehead.
Once we are alone, I find myself diverting my eyes everywhere, unable to look at Becker, my mind a riot of silent confusion. I see a chair nearby and move towards it, but stutter to stop before I make it there. I can’t sit on that chair. Not after he proposed to me there. I change direction, heading to the dresser to lean on, but, again, I don’t make it. I see myself climbing the side of it. Everywhere. Reminders. I close my eyes and keep my back to him. I don’t know what to do. All I can hear are old Mr H’s pleading words, and all I can see is Becker’s torment. And that damn sculpture.
‘You’re all I need, Eleanor.’ His words bring me back into the room, his voice rough with emotion.
My heart skips a few beats, and I swallow harshly, turning to seek him out, needing to see him. He’s standing at least ten metres away, looking lost and hopeless among his treasure, his angel eyes glazed with tears.
‘Watching you walk away just then is one of the most painful things I’ve ever faced,’ he whispers, his gaze sinking into me, heavy with a thousand emotions. ‘I never lose, Eleanor. I’ve made sure of it since I lost my parents. Then I met you . . . and I lost my heart.’ His voice quivers, and I battle with the water pooling in my eyes. He steps forward, hesitant. ‘Please don’t leave me,’ he begs. ‘I can live without that sculpture, but I could never live without you.’
‘Stop.’ I sniffle, struggling to see him though my hampered vision. ‘Just stop.’
His lip trembles as he holds his arms out to me. ‘Don’t make me be without you. I had a moment of weakness, that’s all. The revelation caught me off guard, gave me a lapse in focus.’
My hands come up to my face, hiding from Becker as my despair continues to pour out of me. I feel strong arms tentatively circle my shoulders, and he hauls me into his chest, embracing me with the power of a thousand men. ‘I only need you.’
His nose sinks into my neck. I can feel the wetness of his tears on my skin, my arms coming up to his back and feeling gently as he holds me like the world might end if he lets go.
He cuddles me until my sobs finally abate and my tears stop streaming. Breaking gently away from me, he threads his fingers through mine and toys with them quietly for a few moments. Then he starts walking backwards, his angel eyes lifting to mine in silent hope. My feet begin to move, following his steps. I put up no resistance.
He remains silent the whole way to his private space, and as soon as the door closes behind us, he slowly and quietly starts stripping me down. I stand before him, fascinated by the concentration on his face as he carefully removes all of my clothes. His eyes roam over my skin as he carries out his task, but they never meet mine. So I continue to watch him, starting to understand what he’s doing. He wants to show me how he feels, eliminate any doubt that has crept into my mind, and he thinks this is the best way to do it.