I had promised Clara that I wouldn't decide what she was thinking before she told me.
It sounded simple.
It was harder than I expected.
Even after our conversation, I caught myself searching her face for answers.
When she looked toward the door, I wondered why.
When she glanced at her phone, I wondered who had contacted her.
When she fell quiet, I wondered whether she was holding something back.
I had spent so much time doing this that it had become almost automatic.
I would notice a small movement, form a question, and then try to answer it without speaking.
Sometimes I didn't even realize I was doing it.
That was what frightened me.
I didn't want to become someone who needed an explanation for every silence.
I wanted to be someone Clara could talk to without feeling that she was being examined.
So when she woke and found me watching her, I made myself look away from the questions in my own head.
"Did you get any rest?"
She nodded.
"A little."
I moved the chair closer to the bed.
"That's good."
She studied me for a moment.
Then she said, "You look worried again."
I could have denied it.
I almost did.
Instead, I admitted the truth.
"I still am."
Clara lowered her eyes.
I waited, trying not to turn her reaction into another mystery.
"I'm worried about what happened tonight," I continued. "And I'm worried about how we've been talking to each other."
She looked back at me.
"What do you mean?"
I took a breath.
"I mean I don't want us to keep guessing what the other person is thinking."
She was quiet.
I continued before my courage disappeared.
"I know I've been doing it. I've been watching you and trying to work out what you mean instead of asking you directly."
Clara's expression softened slightly.
I felt embarrassed admitting it.
But the embarrassment was deserved.
"I don't want to make you feel like you have to explain every movement," I said. "I just want us to be able to tell each other when something is wrong."
She looked toward the window.
For a moment, I thought she might close the conversation again.
Then she spoke.
"Sometimes I don't know how to explain what I'm feeling."
I nodded.
"That's okay."
She turned toward me.
"Is it?"
"Yes. You don't have to understand everything before you talk to me."
The words surprised me as I said them.
They were exactly what I needed to hear myself.
I had been waiting for Clara to provide a complete explanation, something that would remove every doubt and settle every question.
But people didn't always understand their own feelings well enough to explain them neatly.
Sometimes they needed to begin with confusion.
Sometimes they needed time to find the right words.
I could allow for that.
Clara looked down at the blanket.
"I don't want you thinking the worst."
"I don't want to think the worst."
She gave me a tired smile.
"Then stop doing it."
I almost laughed.
It was such a direct answer that there was nothing to hide behind.
"You're right."
She seemed surprised that I hadn't argued.
I was surprised too.
For once, I didn't feel the need to defend my behavior by listing all the reasons I had become worried.
I knew those reasons.
They were still there.
But they didn't excuse every choice I had made since entering the room.
I could acknowledge my fear without making Clara responsible for every part of it.
That was something I needed to learn.
A nurse came in to check Clara's condition.
I stepped aside and waited while she worked.
The nurse checked the equipment, asked Clara how she was feeling, and recorded the information.
Clara answered quietly.
When the nurse left, I returned to my chair.
Clara looked at me.
"Can you help me move the cup?"
I moved it closer.
She took a sip of water, then rested back against the pillow.
"Thank you."
I nodded.
The phone remained beside the cup.
Neither of us mentioned it.
I knew the question hadn't disappeared.
But I was beginning to understand that I couldn't make it disappear by forcing Clara to answer before she was ready.
I also couldn't make it disappear by pretending it didn't matter.
There had to be a middle ground.
I could respect her privacy.
I could be honest about my feelings.
And when the time came, I could ask her about the message without accusing her of anything.
I didn't know what she would say.
That uncertainty still hurt.
But I was learning to live with the discomfort instead of turning it into a conclusion.
Clara closed her eyes.
I sat quietly beside her.
After a while, she reached for my hand.
I took it.
Her fingers rested against mine.
I thought about the first moment outside her room, when Dr. Bennett had told me that the delivery had been difficult and Clara needed rest.
At the time, I had been frightened by the medical news.
Then I had become frightened by the things I didn't understand.
Somewhere along the way, I had started treating those two fears as though they were the same.
They weren't.
One had to do with Clara's health.
The other had to do with my need to know what was happening between us.
Both mattered.
But they needed different kinds of attention.
I couldn't solve the second by watching a monitor.
I couldn't solve it by waiting for a phone screen to light up.
And I couldn't solve it by asking Clara to reassure me every time I became uneasy.
I needed to speak honestly and listen to what she said.
That was all I could do.
Clara opened her eyes briefly.
"Are you still thinking?"
I smiled.
"Trying not to."
She gave my hand a small squeeze.
"Good."
I stayed beside her until she drifted off again.
For once, I didn't spend the entire time preparing questions in my head.
I let myself rest.
I let Clara rest.
And I accepted that we were still two frightened people trying to find the right words after a night neither of us had expected.
Click here to continue reading: PART 18: I Finally Asked Clara What Had Been Troubling Me, and Her First Answer Forced Me to Admit How Much I Had Left Unsaid
The Night Everything Changed, and the Question I Was Too Afraid to Ask Before Walking Through That Hospital Door
Part 17 of 20
