“I don’t understand how this happened,” says Maddox. “It’s my fault. After Charlie left with the baby, I had that woman pinned to the ground. But then these shadows appeared. They wrapped around my waist and pulled me off of the woman. By the time they’d let me go, she’d run off. We have to hunt that woman down. Make her pay. She talked a big game, like shehad no intention of hurting us, and then she goes and does this. What was she thinking, shooting when Charlie was holding the baby?—”
He stops himself, then looks up at us, locking eyes onto both of our empty hands.
“Oh,” he says. “I’m sorry. Where did she go? I’ll get him back.” He looks feverish. Is speaking like someone who has been under a fever for too long.
Nolan just shakes his head ever so slightly.
Maddox nods, the motion even harder to detect.
“If we can get Charlie back to the cottage,” says Nolan, “she can rest there. There’s a healer in town, about a mile north of the cottage. I can go there immediately and retrieve him.”
“No,” says Maddox. “No, I’ll go.”
He glances at Charlie and doesn’t finish his sentence. It’s written all over his face—he can’t bear to watch her die. But his words soon pivot, like a small bird darting back and forth on the beach to escape the incoming waves. “No, I’ll carry her back to the cottage,” says Maddox. “Wendy, you can come with me too. I’ll watch after both of them,” he says to Nolan, “if you’ll just go to find the healer. It’ll be quicker that way.”
Nolan pauses, not answering, and then Maddox looks back and forth between us.
“No. No, of course not,” Maddox says. “I’ll go to the healer. You two don’t need to be apart right now. Nolan, can you carry Charlie back?”
Nolan nods, then looks at me. “Do you think you can walk?”
No, is what my body screams. No, the only place I want to walk is directly into the ocean. The water itself looks so inviting. As if I could collapse into it and the waves would sweep me away, carrying me from this dreadful shore forever. In a world of tumult, the ocean whispers words of peace.
But then I look down at Charlie, at the sweat beading on her brow mixed with the salt water.
The fact that Charlie is barely holding on to life is the only thing keeping me holding on to mine. I will deal with my pain when this is over—when Charlie has either recovered or passed on to the next life. But I cannot let my grief keep my friend from getting the care she deserves. Not after what she sacrificed for me. For my son.
“Yes. I can walk,” I say.
Nolan nods, then carefully takes his hand away from my waist. He squats down and carefully picks up Charlie, mindful to keep the wadded shirt pressed to her abdomen.
It’s odd, seeing Charlie limp in my husband’s arms, her usually lively face, drained of anything resembling life at all. Her light brown cheeks have paled, sapped of color, and her dark black hair, usually so silky, falls in matted strings.
Maddox takes one last look at her, looking conflicted. Then he nods, as if steeling himself, and races off toward the northwest. I imagine he plans to cut through the woods, making a straight line for town.
Nolan and I stumble back to the cottage that was supposed to be our home.
All the while, I keep my palm on my friend’s chest.
It’s all I can do for her, make sure she’s being touched should she take her last breath.
CHAPTER 45
When we reach the cabin, Maddox is already there. It looks as if he’s just beaten us. He’s kneeling, hands braced against his knees, panting. I can’t imagine how fast he must have sprinted to have beaten us. I glance around, searching for the healer. Maddox, still catching his breath, says, “He’s on his way. He’s human, so he’s a bit slower, but he’s running, too. I just had to run ahead. I had to make it back quickly. In case?—”
Maddox stumbles forward and glances at Charlie, his eyes glazed over with tears. Making a fist with his calloused fingers, he traces them across her forehead, now soaked with sweat. He brushes her dark hair behind her ear, scratching slightly just behind her earlobe.
“Come on, Charlie,” he says. “Every step, all that way for you, and you still haven’t woken up.”
The tenderness in his face causes my stomach to writhe. Maddox doesn’t have to ask. Nolan passes Charlie over to him, then opens the door to the cottage, getting it out of the way so that Maddox can carry her across the threshold and into the house.
We follow behind him, Nolan immediately returning to my side, draping his arm around me to support my weight. My legs are still trembling, though there’s no telling what it’s from—whether it’s the adrenaline, the aftereffects of labor, or if it’s as simple and potent as grief.
“To the left,” says Nolan.
Maddox doesn’t respond, but he must hear Nolan, because he goes straight for our bedroom, where he lays Charlie out across the bed. With a manic air about him, he searches the room until he finds a basket full of quilts. He takes one of them, spreads it over her, then, apparently displeased that her body is still shaking, goes for another, spreading it atop her as well. Once she’s covered, Maddox stands with his arms limp at his sides, palms flexing open and closed.
“Do you think she’s cold?” he asks.
