The way I screamed, and how it sounded even more hollow and distorted after I snagged theemergency oxygen mask with one hand and held it to my face, because I didn’t want to let go of Ellen’s hand, even though she’d already squeezed mine one last time, reflexively, and I knew she was gone.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
She cups the nape of my neck and plays with my hair, the way Ellen used to. For just one blessed and all-too-brief moment in time, I can close my eyes and not hear the screaming.
I can remember Ellen. Ellen used to play with my hair just like this.
Case always seems to know when to do it to anchor me to the here and now. It was something she never did before we lost Ellen.
That’s more guilt I know I’ll always carry with me—I took her best friend away and never brought her back after swearing so many years ago I’d never come between them.
Thank the gods there might ormight not be that Case doesn’t seem to hold that against me.
Because if she did she wouldn’t be here with me, and there’s no way I would still be here today.
In this office, in this job.
Or on this earth.
