She was the only one here.
These chairs did not feel indestructible, she noted as she sat on one. And neither did she.
Clenching her hands in her lap, she bowed her head.
Of all the things Jude could have been thinking about in the moments following his injury, he’d been thinking about her and had asked a fellow agent to tell her he loved her. That request was intensely bittersweet.He loved her. That was the sweet part. But it was also bitter because he’d tapped someone else to speak this very private thing to her, which meant he’d feared he would die and be robbed of the chance to tell her himself.
How was she supposed to continue on if she didn’t get the chance to tell him she loved him, too? Her mind shut down at the question. It was too impossible to imagine.
He could not die. For a million reasons.
God, she prayed with a ragged heart.Fight for him. Save him.
The fear was vicious and yet she wasn’t alone. God was with her in it. Vast love. Bottomless compassion. Unending grace.
God, I love him. Please, please don’t ask me to part with him.
Just . . . no. She refused to part with Jude. Even if parting meant heaven for him and heaven was better than this difficult, painful life.
Golden sunset light moved from behind a cloud, coating the space, warming her shoulders and bent head.
I am here, she sensed in that space.
Not,He will be well.
ButI am here.It was enough to pull her back from the edge of a cliff and enable her to make it through two more minutes of this awful day. Then two more minutes. Then two more.
* * *
Gradually, Jude became aware of strange and confusing things.
An unfamiliar male voice. Then the sensation of a warm sheet on top of him. A soft surface below him. His sluggish body seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.
“Ms. Clare,” the male voice said in a friendly way. “Feel free to talk to him.”
Ms. Clare was Gemma.Gemmawas here? Anticipation pushed against the heavy mud of his brain.
“Jude.”Hervoice. Unbelievably, her voice. “You’re doing great. Everything is well.”
“Jude,” the male voice said, “you asked specifically for Gemma a couple of minutes ago and so I went and got her. Gemma’s here. Can you wake up for us?”
He had no memory of asking for Gemma, but he was so glad he had.
“Can you open your eyes and talk to me?” she asked.
He struggled to open his eyes. He was really out of it. This wasn’t like him. Why was he so out of it? With effort, he squinted into the light.
“That’s it,” she said. “I’m next to you. Do you see me?”
He was finally able to open his eyes fully. Gemma was standing next to him, holding his hand. He was reclining in some sort of bed with rails.
She smiled encouragingly and her eyes glowed with warmth. Freckles dotted her ivory skin like sprinkles on a cupcake. Her copper hair . . . so beautiful.
“Gemma?” he rasped. His throat felt like someone had gone after it with a scrub brush.
“Yes.” She was bright, lit from the inside. “Hello.”
“Hello.” Moisture fuzzed his vision because he was so grateful to see her. “You were . . . in Maine.”
