Trying to Survive | PG13 | Bridges of Madison County
Title: Trying to Survive
Prompt: four years later
Challenge: 100 Fic Challenge (#36)
Fandom: Francesca/Lucy, Bridges of Madison County
Requested by: kitnkabootle
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1309
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I was in an emo BOMC mood today, and this is what came of it. All mistakes are my own. Let me know what you think.
-
Lucy was already waiting at the door when Francesca pulled her truck into the driveway. She blinked, unsure of how she had actually completed the process of driving from her home to her friend’s. The entire morning had passed in a blur. She vaguely recalled preparing the lasagna and covering it with foil. She almost didn’t remember writing out cooking directions for Richard or the guilt she felt at knowing that he’d be responsible for dinner for the first time in almost ten years. She didn’t remember at all the process of collecting her purse, getting in the truck, or honking at Richard on the tractor as she drove past.
She blinked again at the steering wheel and felt more lost than she had in four years.
Francesca stepped out of the car, unbalanced by the weight of the guilt that had settled in the pit of her belly. She felt as though someone were pulling her down, making it that much more difficult to walk and to breathe. It took an eternity to reach Lucy’s porch.
Rather than meeting Lucy at the door, she sat on the top step, not caring for the dirt that would mar her pale blue dress. As the bile rose to her throat and she bent her head to her knees, Lucy sat beside her and pressed a placating hand to her back. Francesca felt young again, at home in Italy with her mother. It was an odd, foreign feeling. When was the last time anyone had comforted her? When was the last time anyone remembered that Francesca was a woman with feelings?
Francesca breathed slowly, deeply, trying not to lose what little contents resided within her stomach. The guilt, she thought, would suffocate her.
It was with a firm resolve and a heavy breath that Francesca fought the guilt that sought to cripple her. She’d given her life, her happiness, her soul, to Richard and her children. She deserved one day to mourn everything she’d given up on their behalf. She deserved to put herself first for once, so why did it feel like a betrayal?
“It’s been four years,” Francesca said, the words coming out in little more than a whisper. Lucy said nothing, though Francesca imagined that the woman nodded in understanding.
Francesca found she could say no more than that. Putting into words her love for Robert, her indiscretion, was too hard. It was with bated breath and crippling guilt that Francesca had been able to tell Lucy several months ago about him at all and now that four years had passed since watching him drive away, Francesca could do no more than blink back the tears that stung her eyes.
She didn’t know what she’d hoped today would accomplish. She purposely made the choice to stay away from home. She couldn’t bear the ghosts that clung to every inch of the house. Even the linoleum reminded her of Robert. She’d considered going to one of the bridges, but in the end Lucy reminded her that Robert would not be there waiting. It would just be a covered bridge, haunted by memories.
She wished she could say that she didn’t regret choosing to stay with Richard, but not a day had passed that she hadn’t wondered what it would have been like to slide into Robert’s truck before he had a chance to drive away. Richard loved her with a steady sureness. He was constant. He needed her far more than she needed him. But Robert…Robert’s love was intense, passionate. Robert’s need for her existed in a way that Richard’s did not; his need reached to who Francesca was at her very core, not what she could do for a household.
There were days when she hated the monotony of her life, days when she wanted to stay in bed in a sleepy haze and dream of Robert lying beside her. There were days that she resented Richard for wanting to take her out of Italy to give her a life that he felt she deserved. There were days that she resented Robert for not trying hard enough to give her a life outside of Iowa.
Francesca knew she had only herself to blame. She chose to marry Richard, chose not to leave her marriage. Every choice she’d ever made brought her to this moment, crying against her friend’s shoulder and yearning with every cell in her body for the man she’d never see again.
The only choice she never had was whether or not to fall in love with Robert. It was an unstoppable force, something that would have happened had Francesca been a waitress at the little café by the church in Barre or a housewife in Iowa. She did not regret loving Robert. How could she regret feeling the full wakening of her heart for the first time?
Francesca sat upright and wiped her eyes, dragging the back of her hand across her nose. She sniffled. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Lucy replied quietly, squeezing Francesca’s shoulder.
“But I am.” Francesca inhaled deeply. “I’m sorry I let him go.”
“I know.”
“But I’m not sorry I stayed.”
“I know.”
Tears renewed in Francesca’s eyes. “It feels like he’s leaving me now…like I’m reliving that moment over and over again.”
“I don’t think this is supposed to become any easier.”
“It doesn’t. It just gets…worse. It hurts more today than it did four years ago.”
They sat in silence for several minutes before Lucy spoke. “Do you think he’s hurting too?”
Something clenched hard in Francesca’s chest. What was Robert thinking right now, wherever he was? Was the day symbolic to him? Was he as lonely, as lost, as she? Did he still wear her medallion? Or had he moved on with some other beautiful, unattached, carefree woman in Timbuktu? No-she couldn’t go there. She slept beside another person every night but found herself unable to imagine Robert doing the same.
“What am I doing?” Francesca asked as she got to her feet. “I let him go. I have no right to feel sorry for myself…no right to cry over trying to be a good wife.” She headed down the path and kicked at a rock. She watched it tumble into the grass as Lucy came up beside her.
“You’re in love with someone you won’t allow yourself to have.” Lucy curled her arm around Francesca’s waist. “You made the only choice you could. Franny…you can’t punish yourself for a feeling you couldn’t control.”
“Why can’t I make myself love Richard the way I love Robert?”
“It doesn’t work that way. Life would be much easier if we had that power, wouldn’t it?”
Francesca nodded and allowed herself to be hugged to Lucy’s side. The solid warmth of her quelled the pain that radiated throughout her body. “I miss him every day.”
“You’re allowed to.”
“Do you think I’m a horrible woman?”
Lucy’s eyebrows climbed her forehead. “I’m in no position to judge-you know that.” Catching Francesca’s earnest expression, she continued. “You’ve spent your entire life giving every part of yourself to someone else. This love is singularly yours. If loving Robert makes this life you’re living easier to bear, then I don’t think you’re a horrible woman. I think you’re just trying to survive while you keep the promise you make to your husband.”
Francesca nodded, feeling the vise-like grip around her heart beginning to ease. “You’re a wise woman, Lucy.”
Lucy snorted. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“And a very good friend.”
Lucy leaned her head on Francesca’s shoulder as they watched a bumblebee dizzily fly past. “So are you, Franny.”
Francesca tucked her arm around Lucy’s shoulder and sighed. She would survive today and the days that followed. She had Lucy. And…she had Robert, wherever he was.
---
Prompt: four years later
Challenge: 100 Fic Challenge (#36)
Fandom: Francesca/Lucy, Bridges of Madison County
Requested by: kitnkabootle
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1309
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I was in an emo BOMC mood today, and this is what came of it. All mistakes are my own. Let me know what you think.
-
Lucy was already waiting at the door when Francesca pulled her truck into the driveway. She blinked, unsure of how she had actually completed the process of driving from her home to her friend’s. The entire morning had passed in a blur. She vaguely recalled preparing the lasagna and covering it with foil. She almost didn’t remember writing out cooking directions for Richard or the guilt she felt at knowing that he’d be responsible for dinner for the first time in almost ten years. She didn’t remember at all the process of collecting her purse, getting in the truck, or honking at Richard on the tractor as she drove past.
She blinked again at the steering wheel and felt more lost than she had in four years.
Francesca stepped out of the car, unbalanced by the weight of the guilt that had settled in the pit of her belly. She felt as though someone were pulling her down, making it that much more difficult to walk and to breathe. It took an eternity to reach Lucy’s porch.
Rather than meeting Lucy at the door, she sat on the top step, not caring for the dirt that would mar her pale blue dress. As the bile rose to her throat and she bent her head to her knees, Lucy sat beside her and pressed a placating hand to her back. Francesca felt young again, at home in Italy with her mother. It was an odd, foreign feeling. When was the last time anyone had comforted her? When was the last time anyone remembered that Francesca was a woman with feelings?
Francesca breathed slowly, deeply, trying not to lose what little contents resided within her stomach. The guilt, she thought, would suffocate her.
It was with a firm resolve and a heavy breath that Francesca fought the guilt that sought to cripple her. She’d given her life, her happiness, her soul, to Richard and her children. She deserved one day to mourn everything she’d given up on their behalf. She deserved to put herself first for once, so why did it feel like a betrayal?
“It’s been four years,” Francesca said, the words coming out in little more than a whisper. Lucy said nothing, though Francesca imagined that the woman nodded in understanding.
Francesca found she could say no more than that. Putting into words her love for Robert, her indiscretion, was too hard. It was with bated breath and crippling guilt that Francesca had been able to tell Lucy several months ago about him at all and now that four years had passed since watching him drive away, Francesca could do no more than blink back the tears that stung her eyes.
She didn’t know what she’d hoped today would accomplish. She purposely made the choice to stay away from home. She couldn’t bear the ghosts that clung to every inch of the house. Even the linoleum reminded her of Robert. She’d considered going to one of the bridges, but in the end Lucy reminded her that Robert would not be there waiting. It would just be a covered bridge, haunted by memories.
She wished she could say that she didn’t regret choosing to stay with Richard, but not a day had passed that she hadn’t wondered what it would have been like to slide into Robert’s truck before he had a chance to drive away. Richard loved her with a steady sureness. He was constant. He needed her far more than she needed him. But Robert…Robert’s love was intense, passionate. Robert’s need for her existed in a way that Richard’s did not; his need reached to who Francesca was at her very core, not what she could do for a household.
There were days when she hated the monotony of her life, days when she wanted to stay in bed in a sleepy haze and dream of Robert lying beside her. There were days that she resented Richard for wanting to take her out of Italy to give her a life that he felt she deserved. There were days that she resented Robert for not trying hard enough to give her a life outside of Iowa.
Francesca knew she had only herself to blame. She chose to marry Richard, chose not to leave her marriage. Every choice she’d ever made brought her to this moment, crying against her friend’s shoulder and yearning with every cell in her body for the man she’d never see again.
The only choice she never had was whether or not to fall in love with Robert. It was an unstoppable force, something that would have happened had Francesca been a waitress at the little café by the church in Barre or a housewife in Iowa. She did not regret loving Robert. How could she regret feeling the full wakening of her heart for the first time?
Francesca sat upright and wiped her eyes, dragging the back of her hand across her nose. She sniffled. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Lucy replied quietly, squeezing Francesca’s shoulder.
“But I am.” Francesca inhaled deeply. “I’m sorry I let him go.”
“I know.”
“But I’m not sorry I stayed.”
“I know.”
Tears renewed in Francesca’s eyes. “It feels like he’s leaving me now…like I’m reliving that moment over and over again.”
“I don’t think this is supposed to become any easier.”
“It doesn’t. It just gets…worse. It hurts more today than it did four years ago.”
They sat in silence for several minutes before Lucy spoke. “Do you think he’s hurting too?”
Something clenched hard in Francesca’s chest. What was Robert thinking right now, wherever he was? Was the day symbolic to him? Was he as lonely, as lost, as she? Did he still wear her medallion? Or had he moved on with some other beautiful, unattached, carefree woman in Timbuktu? No-she couldn’t go there. She slept beside another person every night but found herself unable to imagine Robert doing the same.
“What am I doing?” Francesca asked as she got to her feet. “I let him go. I have no right to feel sorry for myself…no right to cry over trying to be a good wife.” She headed down the path and kicked at a rock. She watched it tumble into the grass as Lucy came up beside her.
“You’re in love with someone you won’t allow yourself to have.” Lucy curled her arm around Francesca’s waist. “You made the only choice you could. Franny…you can’t punish yourself for a feeling you couldn’t control.”
“Why can’t I make myself love Richard the way I love Robert?”
“It doesn’t work that way. Life would be much easier if we had that power, wouldn’t it?”
Francesca nodded and allowed herself to be hugged to Lucy’s side. The solid warmth of her quelled the pain that radiated throughout her body. “I miss him every day.”
“You’re allowed to.”
“Do you think I’m a horrible woman?”
Lucy’s eyebrows climbed her forehead. “I’m in no position to judge-you know that.” Catching Francesca’s earnest expression, she continued. “You’ve spent your entire life giving every part of yourself to someone else. This love is singularly yours. If loving Robert makes this life you’re living easier to bear, then I don’t think you’re a horrible woman. I think you’re just trying to survive while you keep the promise you make to your husband.”
Francesca nodded, feeling the vise-like grip around her heart beginning to ease. “You’re a wise woman, Lucy.”
Lucy snorted. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“And a very good friend.”
Lucy leaned her head on Francesca’s shoulder as they watched a bumblebee dizzily fly past. “So are you, Franny.”
Francesca tucked her arm around Lucy’s shoulder and sighed. She would survive today and the days that followed. She had Lucy. And…she had Robert, wherever he was.
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