This is where it gets harder.
I close my eyes for a second, shove down the memories.
So scared. Itching like a madwoman. Throwing up and shitting myself.
“And it was the combination of all of those things that killed my siblings,” I force out, the words a rasp. “Chicken pox. Bad water that added to all of that sickness. And my parents not knowing better.”
His fingers flex again.
“The twins died first. I woke up in the morning and went to check on them and…” I exhale, trying not to remember the horror of finding them. “Th-they were just gone,” I whisper. “And my parents were out of their minds with grief. Charlotte and Ava were really sick too and even though I begged my parents to take them to the hospital they refused. They said the plants and honey we had would make them better.”
Damon curses.
But I don’t acknowledge it, acknowledge him or the pity in his eyes, the sadness in his frame.
I need to finish this.
“So, I packed the girls and I up, and I walked us all to the hospital.”
A cold night.
A raging fever.
Stopping to puke and clean up my sisters.
Knowing we’d never make it.
And finally, finding a fire station.
“But we couldn’t get there. It was four miles away and we’d only made two, so when I saw the fire station, I knew it was my only hope.” An exhale. “But it was shut up tight, the lightsoff, no sign of anyone, but I banged on the door until one of the fireman came out. And then I passed out.”
His fingers on the counter are drawn into a tight fist, the anger in his eyes a furious, terrifying thing.
I can’t stop now, though.
“And when I finally woke up, days later, they were all gone.” A beat. “It was just me left. I was fourteen,” I whisper. “They were gone and I was too young, too fucking young to make it on my own.”
“Of course you were,” he whispers.
“My parents were there, wanted to take me home, but I didn’t want to go. I refused actually, screamed and yelled until the doctors and nurses took pity on me and didn’t go through with the discharge.”
“Baby,” he murmurs.
“I couldn’t look at them.” My throat works. “How could I fucking look at them? Live with them?Lovethem?”
“You couldn’t,” he says gently.
I nod in agreement. “I couldn’t.”
His hand on my side shifts, running lightly up and down my torso.
“Then the fireman who opened the door for us came into my room, and he fought for me.” My voice breaks. “He was theoneperson who’d fought for me at that point. I went home with him. He and his wife healed me, brought me hockey, showed me what a real family could be like.”
“He sounds like a great man.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “He is. They both are. And now they’re retired and touring the country with his wife, Beth. Last I heard, they were spending their days hiking in Arches National Park and then heading toward Zion.”
That hand is still gently moving on my side. “You ever go with them?”
