She’s humming as she makes one last meander along the riverbank. Lost in the landscape, she’s burrowed beneath a coat and scarf, like she’s just another winter walker. Like this is any other November day.
But it’s not, of course. Because I can already hear the air ambulance from across the fen, helicopter blades whirring like dragonfly wings. I made the call a few minutes ago, so she wouldn’t lose a second. I needed to be sure I’d done everything I could.
Even as she pauses now, delighting in the dart of a kingfisher, I’m trembling with hope. That she’ll simply turn around, exhale, and walk on.
Turn around, Callie. There’s still time. But you need to do it now.
“Joel?” She has seen me.
My heart breaks open as we face each other. And for a moment that seems like an hour, I hang on to the sight of her and don’t let go.
But already her eyes are asking the question. So, as gently as I can, I nod.I’m sorry, Callie.
The softest of smiles, a whispered “Oh.”
Then she puts out a hand.
Seconds still as, for the final time, I close my fingers around hers, feel the warmth of her skin through the wool of her glove. I place my other arm across her back, draw her calmly to my chest. Without saying anything she rests her cheek against my shoulder, perhaps for comfort. And then I kiss the top of her head, tell her one last time I’ll always love her.
After that no words are left. But in another life, we are turning to walk off down the footpath together, hand in hand toward a sunset that sees us home.
And now, here it comes—the buckle in my arms, the faint gasp for air that feels more like a cough. As gently as I can, I lower her to the ground, brush the hair from her face. I loosen the scarf from around her neck, my tears falling into its folds.
After all this time, I’m still not ready to say good-bye.
Ten.
My heart is punching out the seconds.
Nine.
“Callie,” I whisper, “I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere, okay? Stay with me.”
Eight. Seven.
In desperation I take off her glove, rub her hand with mine like I think it might stop her slipping away.
Six.
Maybe it will. “Come on, Callie. Don’t let go. I’m still here, stay with me.”
Five.
And then. Perhaps I’m imagining it, but I swear I can feel her try to grip my hand. Like she’s fighting so hard to hang on.
Four.
My heart upturns and the tears get fiercer. But still I keep whispering, squeezing her hand. “Stay with me, Callie. The ambulance is coming. Don’t let go, okay?”
Three. Two. One.
But at last I know. She cannot answer me because she is gone. So I try with everything I’ve got to restart her heart as, somewhere nearby, an ambulance lands.
•••
Minutes later, the helicopter becomes a bird soaring skyward above the trees, carrying her away.
I did everything I could. All that’s left now is to wait. Hoping so hard it hurts, praying she’ll pullthrough.
