What We Cannot Bear

The fiber optic cable had been severed three days ago—cut by the same storm that had stranded them in this remote cabin. Elena had spent the first twenty-four hours checking her phone compulsively, as if the bars of signal would miraculously return like a prodigal child. Now she watched Mark carve a sphinx moth from a piece of driftwood he'd found along the shoreline.

"You're good at that," she said, her voice hollow in the silence between them.

"It's easier than talking."

He didn't look up. The knife moved with practiced precision, revealing wings from weathered wood.

Elena turned away, staring out at the lake. The sphinx moths came out at dusk, drawn to the porch light—ancient, ephemeral creatures that lived less than a week. She wondered why evolution bothered creating something so brief.

"Are you going to tell me, or should I keep guessing?" Mark asked finally.

"Tell you what?"

"Whatever it is you've been bearing since we got here. Since before we got here."

She'd forgotten how well he knew her. That was the problem with seven years together—you couldn't hide the weight you carried because the other person had memorized the particular stoop of your shoulders.

"Thomas called," she said. "Before we left."

The knife stopped. Mark's hands didn't tremble, but Elena saw the tension travel through his shoulders like current through a wire.

"And?"

"He wants to meet. For coffee."

Outside, a sphinx moth battered itself against the glass, drawn to something that would destroy it. Mark set down the carving, half-finished, its wings still rough.

"Do you want to go?" he asked, and the terrible thing was how gently he said it.

Elena pressed her forehead against the cold windowpane. The cable would be repaired tomorrow. They would return to their lives, their schedules, their carefully constructed existence. But some things, once spoken, couldn't be patched back together.

"I don't know," she whispered.

The moth continued its hopeless assault on the glass. In the reflection, she saw Mark stand and walk to the door, letting it out into the night air beyond.

"Figure it out soon," he said, not looking back. "Some things can't bear waiting forever."