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Figgy Berlin made a name for himself in the art world with his gripping
use of color and fearless use of impressionistic style in abstract art.
One drunk driver later and he was left blind. He couldn’t see color; he
couldn’t see his work, and most of all…he couldn’t see his wife.
Through the terrifying days and nights of not knowing if he’d ever wake again, Mariana stayed by his side. When he fought to reclaim his body, she was there. Back home, he recaptured his art, but he didn’t reclaim his bride.
Can this couple find love even though he can’t see how much his rejection hurts her?
Excerpt:
While she’d studied his work, he’d managed to stand, and she could hear the whisper of sound as he counted the footsteps to the window.
“Can you see the light?” she asked him.
The doctor mentioned he might get his vision back, or maybe just part of it, but it would likely never
“No,” he answered. The one word answer signaled a retreat, likely ending with him lying face down on the bed and not speaking for who knew how long.
“Do you still love me?” She’d blurted the question before she could think better of it. Faced with another day or two of his emotional abandonment, she couldn’t resist asking. If he didn’t love her anymore, maybe he was right.
Maybe she should leave.
“How can you even ask me that?” He whispered the words so softly, she hardly heard him.
Wiping her hands on a cloth—he might not be able to see the painted fingerprints and streaks on everything, but she sure could—she joined him at the window. She didn’t touch him. Touching him when he’d gone into retreat tended to create more distance rather than removing it. It was like he’d hopped onboard a boat on a perfectly still lake. The closer she got to the side, the more wake she created with her swimming and the farther he drifted into uncharted waters alone.
“I can’t help but ask, Figgy. I keep telling you I’m here. I’ve told you I still love you, still want you,
that nothing changed for me, but
you—”
“How can you say that?” He’d spun and gripped her arms in an almost uncomfortably rough grip. “How can you even spit out those damned words? Nothing changed for you? Your husband is handicapped. I’m blind. I can’t see a thing, nothing. You lead me around like a dog on a leash—worse than a dog, because at least the dog can see where it is walking. You’ve even had to feed me. Nothing changed? Ha! I call bullshit on that notion. You had a husband. Now you have an albatross.” The agony of his words distracted her from his grip, and she leaned into him rather than trying to escape.
“You found your art again. Everyone said you’d never paint again, and you’ve proved them wrong.” Tilting her chin up, she stared into his sightless eyes, wishing she could see the recognition she’d always taken for granted.
He shook her once, but his touch had gentled, and he almost absentmindedly stroked his palms up and down her arms. Just his touch, after so long of him intentionally crafting distance between them, wakened the hunger for more of him. For what they’d had before the accident.
be more than light recognition. So far, he couldn’t see anything. As he’d described it in one of his chatty moods, a rarity, the accident trapped him in an endless gray fog…a hell of nothingness.
Through the terrifying days and nights of not knowing if he’d ever wake again, Mariana stayed by his side. When he fought to reclaim his body, she was there. Back home, he recaptured his art, but he didn’t reclaim his bride.
Can this couple find love even though he can’t see how much his rejection hurts her?
Excerpt:
While she’d studied his work, he’d managed to stand, and she could hear the whisper of sound as he counted the footsteps to the window.
“Can you see the light?” she asked him.
The doctor mentioned he might get his vision back, or maybe just part of it, but it would likely never
“No,” he answered. The one word answer signaled a retreat, likely ending with him lying face down on the bed and not speaking for who knew how long.
“Do you still love me?” She’d blurted the question before she could think better of it. Faced with another day or two of his emotional abandonment, she couldn’t resist asking. If he didn’t love her anymore, maybe he was right.
Maybe she should leave.
“How can you even ask me that?” He whispered the words so softly, she hardly heard him.
Wiping her hands on a cloth—he might not be able to see the painted fingerprints and streaks on everything, but she sure could—she joined him at the window. She didn’t touch him. Touching him when he’d gone into retreat tended to create more distance rather than removing it. It was like he’d hopped onboard a boat on a perfectly still lake. The closer she got to the side, the more wake she created with her swimming and the farther he drifted into uncharted waters alone.
“I can’t help but ask, Figgy. I keep telling you I’m here. I’ve told you I still love you, still want you,
“How can you say that?” He’d spun and gripped her arms in an almost uncomfortably rough grip. “How can you even spit out those damned words? Nothing changed for you? Your husband is handicapped. I’m blind. I can’t see a thing, nothing. You lead me around like a dog on a leash—worse than a dog, because at least the dog can see where it is walking. You’ve even had to feed me. Nothing changed? Ha! I call bullshit on that notion. You had a husband. Now you have an albatross.” The agony of his words distracted her from his grip, and she leaned into him rather than trying to escape.
“You found your art again. Everyone said you’d never paint again, and you’ve proved them wrong.” Tilting her chin up, she stared into his sightless eyes, wishing she could see the recognition she’d always taken for granted.
He shook her once, but his touch had gentled, and he almost absentmindedly stroked his palms up and down her arms. Just his touch, after so long of him intentionally crafting distance between them, wakened the hunger for more of him. For what they’d had before the accident.
be more than light recognition. So far, he couldn’t see anything. As he’d described it in one of his chatty moods, a rarity, the accident trapped him in an endless gray fog…a hell of nothingness.
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