This must be Carter.
I blink back parched tears as I watch them and struggle not to hear the scream of the wind through the fuselage in my brain. I can still feel Ellen’s hand on mine.
I wonderif they retrieved her body from the wreckage.
I wonder if they evenfoundthe wreckage.
Even if the answer to those two questions is no, at least I know her fate. I’d rather have her back with me, but I take comfort in knowing I spent her last minutes with her, holding her hand.
Telling her I loved her, and her telling me she loved me.
I stand there, watching as they start moving again, thecrewmen carrying Susa’s stretcher and Carter now holding her hand as they walk.
My work here is done.
Hopefully I’ll get to talk to her, and meet him, before we all head back to the States.
I finally let the medic helping me get me moving again.
Once we’re at the hospital and I get checked over and put in a bed in their ICU, a government official approaches me.
“Mr. Forrester?”
I nod.
He introduces himself and has a folder full of paperwork for me. But I’m so exhausted and justdonethat I really don’t process much of what he’s saying, until he holds a cell phone out to me.
“You can call anyone, sir.”
Ellen’s dead, so I can’t call her. My phone was in my carryon, and there are only two numbers I know by heart.
One of those was Ellen’s.
I don’t even know my kids’ numbers.
“How do I dial the US?” I ask.
He punches in a country code for me, and then I carefully dial. I don’t know what time it is in the US. I think it’s twelve hours, maybe? Middle of the night there, probably.
He steps away, retreating to the door of the little cubicle where my bed is located in the ICU. I close my eyes as the call finally connects and starts ringing.
I wonder if she’ll even answerit, a strange number, middle of the night.
Just as I think it’s going to voice mail she answers, her voice sounding haggard and thick with sleep. “Casey-Marie Blaine.”
My heart skips. “Hey, Case.” I lick my lips. “It’s me.”
Silence meets me. “Whois this?” Now she sounds more awake and very, very wary.
“Me. George.” I don’t know what else to say, so I add, “Surprise.”
Another long pause,and she’s fully awake and sounds downright angry when she next speaks. “Look, I don’t know who thefuckthis is, but—”
“The stuffed bear. I gave him to you the first Christmas I was dating Ellen. You named him George, Jr. And I told you I was going to buy you a T-shirt for him while we were over here. I…I’m sorry. I got you one, but it’s in my luggage, and that’s probably still in the bottomof the ocean. Unless they got the plane up.”
I hear her sob. “George?” she whispers. “What’s on the wall in my office?”
“Last year for your birthday, I got you an autographed picture of John Barrowman, the actor. He’s wearing the TARDIS dress, and—”
