This Lifetime. | Edward Heffron

XVII.

"Babe," she whispered, her breath hitched. "What— What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," Babe replied, his eyes hopeful, "I really need to speak to you."

Eleanor paused, her heart heavy in her chest, slowly closing the door in his face, "I can't, I'm so so-"

Babe interrupted her, wedging his foot between the door and the doorframe, reaching his hand to touch her, "Please. It'll just be a minute." She softened to the sound of his voice, and her shoulders slumped. Opening the door, she grabbed the sleeve of Babe's coat and pulled him inside.

"Be quiet, my son is asleep upstairs," she whispered, "Please wait in the backyard." Eleanor pointed at the back door and walked to the bathroom, sitting herself down on the closed toilet seat.

She couldn't breathe. Her head in her hands, she rubbed her face violently, causing her cheeks to redden. She cursed at herself in her head. Babe was in her backyard, and her husband would be home any minute. Eleanor needed to breathe. She had to breathe.

The woman trembled as she pushed open the back door. His back was to her, and he stared out towards the horizon. She reached for him, wanting to touch him, except she couldn't. She was married, and her son was upstairs in his bed. Eleanor controlled herself.

Babe noticed her and turned to face her, acknowledging her round stomach with a nod. "How many months?" he asked quietly, refusing to look Eleanor in the eye.

"Seven," she replied, wrapping her arms around herself, suddenly feeling a chill, "Henry is turning four." The man kicked at the grass, looking far older than he did 9 years ago. They were both older. When he had left, they were children with hope, and now, despite being in front of him, Eleanor had everything but.

"You have a beautiful home," Babe said plainly, looking up at her house, "I'm happy for you."

Eleanor just nodded, ignoring his statements, "Why are you here, Babe?"

"I just wanted to ask you," he started, his eyes sad, "Why you stopped writing. I never received a reply from you." Babe bit his lip, and he shed a small tear.

Anger built in Eleanor's chest at his accusation. "You were the one who never replied!" she exclaimed, raising her hands, "I wrote to you twice a month and never got anything back." Her voice cracked. Babe shook his head.

Realization dawned on her.

"My mother," Eleanor gasped, her hands trembling once more. Her mother who held onto her all the nights she had cried for him, her mother who always offered to mail her letters for her, her mother who breathed a sigh of relief when Paul had come over for dinner.

Babe ignored her, walking to her quickly and holding her by her shoulders. "I love you," he whispered, "And I know you still love me. I saw the way you looked at me at the pulpit. I know you saw me."

Eleanor couldn't speak, she bit on her lip hard enough to draw blood. "I can't," she whimpered, tears threatening to spill from her eyes, "It's too late."

"It's not too late," Babe begged, cupping her face in his hands like he did 9 years ago in that train station, "It's never too late. I saw how you looked at me in front of God."

"At my wedding!" she cried, pushing him away with such force that surprised even herself. Babe stumbled but reached out to her again, "You came back on my wedding," her tears streamed down her face, and Eleanor angrily wiped them away with the back of her hand, "You had 2 years to come back to me, but you didn't."

Babe stopped, his arms falling slack on his side, "I thought you didn't want me anymore."

"So, you came to my wedding because you thought I'd want you then?" Eleanor exclaimed, her hands balled up into fists.

"I thought," he continued, stuttering, "I thought if you saw me you'd realize you still loved me. Then you did see me, and I knew you still loved me." The man reached for her again, and she fell into his arms crying. Eleanor knew she couldn't even lie to him. "I know you still love me," Babe whispered, his lips pressed to her forehead.

Eleanor couldn't breathe. She was there, in his arms, something she had hoped for since the day he left. And yet, she couldn't breathe. He held her face in his hands, tipping her chin up to bring his lips to hers when she pushed him away again.

"What are you doing?" she yelled, covering her mouth with her hands, "I'm married!"

"We can run away, Eleanor," he said, moving towards her again, but with every step he took towards her, she took three back. "I got a job at a distillery company in South Philadelphia. I'll work hard," he reached into his bag that was on the ground, beside a basket of eggs, and took out a copy of her book, "This.. This is amazing. This is everything. Bill said so himself. Remember Bill? Tell me you remember, Bill. Tell me you remember the letters we wrote. Tell me you remember how it felt in those fields."

He was talking so fast, Eleanor couldn't reply. Of course, she remembered. She would always remember. She would forever remember the nights he would throw pebbles at her window, beckoning her to escape with him to the lake. She would remember his smell, her back pressed against his as they whispered their secrets. She would remember the love in his voice, the twinkle in his eye whenever he said her name. Eleanor would always remember, but he would never know.

"I love you," she whispered, her eyes swollen with tears, "A part of me will always be with you under the moonlight." Babe looked up at her hopefully, pleading with her like he did all those years ago in the church. "But I cannot leave with you. I cannot destroy my family that I had worked so hard to build. Get out."

Eleanor pointed a hand at the door, watching as Babe picked up his bag, nodding his head slowly. With his head dropped, he started for the backdoor before turning to her and saying, "My heart will forever be yours, Eggs. I wish I came home sooner."

"Get out," Eleanor begged, tears falling from her face again, "Please. If you love me."

Babe left, and Eleanor collapsed on the grass, crying. She sobbed, for he had come with a second chance, but the chance came too late. She sobbed because her husband would come home, and she loved him, but she would never be able to love him completely. She sobbed because her son was sleeping upstairs, but his hair was not red.

She sobbed because Babe had left for her a basket of eggs.