Counterpoint

Chapter 24

Jefferson

   I wonder how long he intends to lay there like that. My legs cross at the knee as I ponder the situation, while sitting at my kitchen counter. I sip at my cup of earl grey, enjoying the warmth that pools in my chest as I swallow. It is almost as warm as a passionate kiss, Martha used to make me feel this way every single time that we kissed. My brows furrow slightly as I set down my cup and stare at the marble countertop. I haven't thought about Martha even once since...I suppose I can call it "getting involved" with Hamilton.

   She used to swarm my every waking thought, but now it feels as if she truly has died. 

   Figments of her still linger in this house and in my life. I have reread the last novel she ever touched over and over again, so much so that I am confident that I would be able to quote every word by heart. There used to be a piano, but when she died I didn't have the heart to keep it away from her children. I haven't had any contact with her children since she died. I know that she intended for all of us to be a family, but without ever officially adopting them it feels peculiar to reach out to children who never really had the opportunity to truly know me. 

   The floor creaks upstairs and I glance out of the corner of my eye in interest. I see no movement at the top of the stairs. I have to fight the urge to laugh as the image of Alexander standing frozen in place, attempting to not make another sound, comes to mind. I must confess, both to the universe and to myself, that sometimes when I look at him I see Martha looking back at me. He shares her same vitality, her intelligence, and her sincere affection. I know that Hamilton hasn't shown me any true form of affection, but I sincerely believe him to be capable. He had been married once, surely he has known love.

   There is another creak, but this time I do not turn to look. I wonder if Martha had worried about me finding love after her as she laid dying. She had always been a possessive woman, I expected her to request for me to never marry after her, but she surprised me. Even in her most fragile and fearful of moments she was able to surprise me. I wonder if she was afraid at all.

   "Are you alright?" I turn slowly at the sound of Alexander's voice. I had been so swept up in my revery that I hadn't noticed him come downstairs. His dark hair is slightly disheveled, yet still pulled back into his signature ponytail. I blink in surprise as I find him crossing the room, stopping just a short distance from where I am sitting. "I didn't think that I would make you cry." He murmurs. I bring a hand to my cheek and feel the slick presence of a tear trail and find myself beginning to laugh. Alex looks at me as if I have gone mad. Perhaps I have. 

   "Don't give yourself too much credit, Hamilton." I laugh through the astonishment of my crying in front of such a man. "I assure you that this has nothing to do with you." He stares at me for a moment before surprising me and taking a seat beside me. We sit in silence for several heartbeats before he glances over at me and asks the question I never expected him to ask.

   "Who was she?"

   "What?" The word leaves me like an exhale of breath. I had never mentioned anything about Martha to him, and everything that she had kept here is stored in the master suite, far outside Hamilton's comfortable boundary of travel. My mind is frantically trying to figure how he could have figured that it was a woman I was so painfully recollecting. 

   "Who was she? The woman you're crying about." I say nothing as I look away. 

   "What makes you guess that it's a woman?" I mumble before taking a sip of my tea. 

   "Call it intuition." 

   "Intuition." I scoff. "More like a lucky, uneducated guess."

   "Whatever you want to call it, now tell me, who was she?" 

   "Martha." I whisper. "Her name was Martha." 

   "Beautiful name." He murmurs quietly. 

   "It is." There is another lapse of silence before I find myself speaking without meaning to. "She was my wife." 

   "I didn't realize that you had ever married." Hamilton replies softly as he shifts slightly in his seat, turning his body towards me. 

   "Technically, we didn't. It was more of a symbolic marriage, we were engaged to be married though." Hamilton didn't say anything for a moment as he simply looks at me. There is no disdain or pity reflecting in his eyes as he looks at me. There is nothing but this numb acceptance as if he is looking at his own reflection. 

   "They never tell you how painful its going to be when you lose someone precious." he murmurs. I look over at him with confusion as he continues to murmur. "They use such weak language to describe the pain. Comparing it to a pain that gradually fades like an ache, when really you are burying a piece of yourself along with them." My vision begins to blur as his words resonate into my bones, making me tremble. "I'm not going to tell you i'm sorry for what happened, apologies don't make the pain go away, but I do have some idea what you are feeling." His voice fades into silence and he looks away from me, staring out the window across from me. The sun has set a few hours ago, and all that remains out the window is the yellow glow of streetlights and a few stars. 

   "Who did you lose?" I whisper, my voice is wavering. 

   "My mother...I was twelve at the time." He pauses for a moment. "I am afraid that I have also lost John Laurens, but I am not certain."

   "I didn't know about your mother." 

   "I didn't know about Martha." He replies quickly. "I suppose we didn't know for the same reason, it isn't something that we like to talk about."

   He knows.

   He understands. 

   I have craved for someone to know and understand my pain for so long. Now that he is sitting here beside me, telling me that he knows my pain, I find myself not knowing what to do. There is such a strange feeling of peace that washes over me when I look at Hamilton, his eyes trained on the illuminated streets shining through the window pane. A desperate desire to reach out and touch him flows through my bloodstream, but the fear of breaking the spell holds me prisoner in my seat. My hands remain curled around my teacup as tears continue to form behind my lashes. 

   "I'm sorry, if I made you feel uncomfortable." I murmur after several moments of hesitation and silence. I feel his eyes drift over towards mine and pausing there. His lips part slightly as he looks at me. I can only wonder what is going through his brain as he stares at my tear stained face and red eyes. 

   "Let's not talk about this now Thomas." He mutters quietly. "Not now." 

   I look away from him as a bitter feeling washes through me. I assumed too much for such a simple gesture of compassion. We are not close, nor are we even capable of referring to one another as friends. A peculiar sensation of frustration bubbles within me, bringing my blood to a bitterly painful boil. I close my eyes in an attempt to silence the painful thoughts that are circulating through my mind.

   Chills race through my system as my eyes open and Alexander's hand is resting atop of mine. He doesn't say anything as he pries one of my hands away from the teacup and holds onto it firmly. The weight of his hand seeming to hold me down like an anchor, silencing all of the pain and bitter thoughts that had begun to form inside of my mind. All that remains is a curious warmth that prods at my heart, encouraging to put a bit of faith into Alexander.

   He rises to his feet and pulls me gently away from the counter. I offer no resistance to his guidance as I depart from the counter and follow behind him like a devoted worshipper to their god.