I nod again.
He blows out a long breath. “The painting…” he starts. “I didn’t…I didn’t know Sabin remembered that day. I tried to protect him from that, but I guess I didn’t do a very good job because he remembers something.”
I watch Sabin. I just watch him ride and watch him be free for a few moments.
“The painting…” Chris continues. “The black on it? It’s from coal. Burned into the canvas. Then, caked on. I could see some ash in there, too.”
It’s as though these stories are endless. When I think that maybe I know them all, there are more.
“Sabin was there?” I ask.
Chris shakes his head. “No, actually. I made sure. He was outside. I thought…I don’t know how he knows. My intention was for him to be shut off from it all.”
“But he had a very strong reaction today.”
“Yeah. I was…” He inhales and exhales so sharply that I feel his pain. “He must have heard or seen more than I knew. So, today hit him hard. Gave him…some kind of flashback.” Chris pauses. “We get those sometimes. We always will probably. It’s part of the post-traumatic stress. He and I have it worse than the twins. I get mine at night, mostly when I sleep. You deal with that all the time, I know. I got it a bit today, but Sabin and I handle things differently…or we process things differently when they happen.”
Chris, I’m aware, was unusually logical and present, even while growing up in his father’s house. He stayed focused on the idea that there was a finite end to what they were suffering, that they would all get out of their father’s control, and that there would be life after. What kept him sane was, ironically, putting himself in his father’s path so that the other children would be safe. He routinely had Sabin take charge of Estelle and Eric to shield them from whatever abuse their father was unleashing. But that wasn’t always possible, and I see how Chris is faulting himself for that right now, as he has done many times before.
“I didn’t do enough,” Chris says.
“You did everything that you possibly could. You have got to forgive yourself for this crazy idea you have that you had to be some kind of superhero. No one could have done what you did for Sabin, for everyone.”
“I thought he was doing well. Maybe he was. Maybe today was just a bad day.”
“Maybe it was.”
“But it was scary for you. I know that. It’s hard to be present for someone else’s pain.”
“Sometimes, I feel helpless.”
“There are many layers of hell, Blythe, and you’ve watched us go through a lot of them. It can’t be easy for you. On days like this, I think you should run.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
He turns to me and smiles softly. “I know. It took me a while to accept that because I could not understand how you would choose to be in this with us, but I know you won’t leave. And you do more for me and for Sabin than we could ever explain. Some of what you do is so intangible that we can’t break it down to thank you, but we are grateful for every moment that you stay.”
“And I’m grateful for every moment that you let me.”
Chris and Sabin have been and might always be enveloped in some degree of darkness. But I will always love them both.
“Sabin’s pain feels worse than my own,” he says.
“I know it does.” I understand this because it’s what happens when you love someone more than yourself. You would take on their suffering. You would do anything to bring them relief. “But…but look at him with Mia. For right now, just for right now, in this moment, he’s happy.”
Chris takes my hand. “That’s something.”
“That’s an important something. So, let’s take it.”
Sabin has picked up his riding pace with Mia, and it’s a beautiful thing to watch. The two of them move as though they’ve been together for years, and Sabin has some punch back in his voice when he nears us. “Chris, you want to ride?”
“You bet I do, cowboy!”
“Bet you don’t do as well as Blythe did her first time.”
“We’ll see about that.” Chris hops the wood fence and winks at me. “Although, I think Blythe was outstanding her first time.”
Sabin’s laugh is a welcome sound. “Yee-haw to that then!”
