“No,” she says.
“Was there a tree—did we sit in a tree, and did I wrap my arm around you? Or am I imagining something that didn’t happen? It’s hard to tell the difference lately.”
With another trembling breath, she nods, hope flashing in her eyes. “We had a tree. It was our tree. Our favorite of all the trees.”
“You mean to tell me I sat in a tree with a beautiful girl who I loved and didn’t ask her to marry me?” Suddenly, a form of desperation pleads for the answer.
“Someone else you love once told me, ‘Marriage is nothing more than a binding piece of paper, and nowhere on it do the words describe the meaning of love.’ That was enough for us.”
The words drawl in my head as a voice different from Ella’s. “My grandmother said that, didn’t she?” I whisper.
Ella smiles again. “She did.”
“She must have loved you, too.”
“The world was once filled with love, and we’ll have that again soon, I believe,” Ella says.
“I hope so,” I say.
Ella sighs and drops her gaze. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time today. I’m sure you?—”
“Time. Too much time? There’s not enough time,” I tell her. “I almost ran out of time. Don’t go. Please. Don’t go.”
She presses her hand to her chest. “No, no of course not. I won’t leave if you don’t want me to. I just?—”
“Don’t be so courteous. If I’ve learned anything about myself in the last couple of months, it’s that I don’t like when people are careful when they speak to me. I already know I’m broken.”
“You’re not broken, Luka.”
“May I hold your hand?” I ask, holding mine out. She doesn’t hesitate to lift hers and weave her fingers between mine. “Just for a moment.”
With a struggle, she rises, wincing a bit as she does. I recognize that pain. I drop my feet to the ground and pull the brake on my wheelchair.
“What are you doing?” she asks, looking behind her to make sure I’m not doing something I shouldn’t, which I am.
I use the handle of my chair just enough to get my knees to straighten out so I can stand upright. Once I’m up, I’m steady. “Could I?—”
She’s staring up at me with curiosity and hope and what I imagine to be love because my heart is telling me to hold hercloser, in my arms, right where she’s supposed to be. I wrap my free arm around her back and ease her against me. I rest my cheek against the top of her head and close my eyes.
I see her lips—I stared at them for a long moment once upon a time, before I realized I couldn’t stop myself. Her cheek was damp from the sudden rainstorm, but she was warm and sent sparks shooting through my body. I told her—I told her…
“I remember our first kiss. I compared you to a song—one I would sing over and over to recall that perfect moment,” I whisper in her ear.
She pulls away but doesn’t let go of me, staring up into my eyes, her breaths hard and heavy. She rests her hand on my cheek and presses up on her toes then, her lips brushing against mine.
She’s part of me—inside of my heart. If I lose her, I don’t know if I’ll still be myself. It’s hard to breathe as I pull her closer, and kiss her harder, desperate to remember this moment and never forget.
We both tug away for a breath, our chests heaving against each other’s.
I cup her cheek and murmur, “I do love you. I need you. You’re the missing piece to the broken parts of me.”
Tears fill Ella’s eyes. “I didn’t think I could cry ever again, but my heart—it’s been aching for you for so long. I sing myself to sleep every night with a song you wrote for me—I’ve kept you with me that way. I can always hear you if I need a reminder that you’re with me.”
Tears fill my eyes, too. “Will you sing it to me?”
A quiet, sweet hum utters against my ear as she sings to me:
The sky is dark and gray
