Another sob rose up her throat. She turned her head and buried her face in Simon’s chest, muffling the sound of her grief.
Then they were going up, slowly, step by step, her feet bumping against the wall.
Simon stopped, leaned over and laid her on a soft surface, her head coming to rest on a pillow.
When his arms drew away from her, panic set in. The muscles she hadn’t been able to move moments ago suddenly worked. She flung her arms around Simon’s neck and held on with all her might. “Don’t,” she croaked from a throat ravaged by her sobs. “Please. Don’t leave.”
Simon froze for a moment and then said. “Sweetheart, I promise I won’t leave you, but give me a minute to breathe.” After he eased her arms from around his neck, he removed her shoes, kicked off his own and lay on the bed beside her.
Then he gathered her in his arms, pulling her close.
Holly rested her cheek against his chest again, eager to listen to the calming beat of his heart, pushing the truth to the back of her mind if only for the night. She needed time to assimilate the data and accept it. Just not tonight.
Simon’s hand stroked her hair, smoothing it back from her forehead.
Holly closed her eyes.
“Sleep, sweetheart,” his deep voice whispered against her cheek. Warm lips pressed gently against her forehead.
“You’ll stay?” she asked, her lips moving against his T-shirt.
“As long as you like,” he promised.
Secure in Simon’s arms, Holly disappeared into a deep, dark abyss where pain couldn’t follow, where numbness reigned and grief could damn well wait.
* * *
Simon held Holly well into the night, even after his arms went numb. Her tortured expression upon learning her parents might have been murdered was bad enough. Finding her curled into the fetal position on the ground had broken his heart.
He'd wanted to take her pain away, knowing he couldn’t. Instead, he’d done the only thing he could to help her. He’d held her close, rocking her gently, speaking to her in whispers, assuring her that she’d be all right when he wasn’t certain she ever would.
When her sobs had died away, he’d carried her into the houseboat and up to her bed. Though he hadn’t planned on staying, he couldn’t leave her. Not when she’d begged him to stay.
The problem was that he was afraid to go to sleep, afraid his own nightmares would turn violent and that he might hurt Holly without realizing it.
He lay awake as long as he could, and eventually, closed his eyes.
Just for a moment.
* * *
He knew he was back in a dream. Knew it wasn’t real, but he could sense the heat, smell the dust and feel Johnny dying in his arms.
“No,” he whispered, his heart pounding while his friend’s slowed. “Don’t die.”
No matter how many times he relived that night, he couldn’t change the outcome.
Johnny would give him the lucky rabbit’s foot, speak of his love for his wife and son and then die.
Only this time was different. Right before Johnny succumbed to his injuries, his hand tightened in Simon’s. “Buddy, I’m dying. Not you. You must live every day like it’s your last... Grab for the joy...”
Johnny’s face morphed into that of a withered old woman with fierce eyes.
Madam Gautier.
When she spoke, her words echoed all around him, “Live. Now.”
* * *
