Jess evidently didn’t feel like listening. Claire fought a surprising urge to chuckle. Poor thing. She really thoughtshe’d done in their houseguest.
“Youareokay, aren’t you?” she asked, turning her attention back to him.
“Don’t worry about me,” he said, and opened his eyes.
She wasn’t sure what it was—the blood, the words, the sight of his eyes opening in that ashen, injured face. Suddenly Claire lost her balance. Suddenly she lost the light andthe scent of cinnamon and the sound of chattering voicesdownstairs.
Antiseptic. She smelled antiseptic. She smelled infectionand the sweet stench of gangrene. She heard the rain.
She heard the rain pounding on the tin roof of the Quonset hut.
“Claire?”
Don’t worry about me. Get Smitty. Get my radioman….
“Claire, what’s wrong?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. She willed him to go away, tolook different.
She fought the terrible urge to cry out for help.
Claire didn’t even feel his hand close around her wrist. She didn’t realize he’d pushed himself up to a sitting position. She kept hearing the rain, and it hurt.
It hurt so badly she couldn’t breathe.
Please, you get Smitty, he’s hurt bad....
“Claire, it’s okay,” Tony insisted, and she finally felt hishand at her cheek. “It’s okay.”
“I hate this,” she raged, her eyes still closed, her heartthundering, her hands suddenly slippery with sweat. “I justhate this.”
“I know.” He brushed her hair from her face, wound hisfingers through hers to help her balance. “I know.”
It wasn’t the dislocation, the confusion, the sensationsthat were so bad.
It was the fury. The terrible, swelling grief each sightproduced. Emotions she hadn’t felt in twenty-three years since she’d held dying boys in her hands and not been ableto do anything. Emotions that ambushed her withoutwarning.
Tony still held her with his patient hands. He still watchedover her, even when he was the one who was hurt.
“I’ve heard of the myth of matching orgasms,” he saidwith a sly grin. “I’ve never heard the one about matching flashbacks.”
That got her eyes open. “What do you mean?”
“I guess there’s just something about waking up to the sound of your voice. I was damn near done in by the feeling that I was finally safe. And finally dry.” He smiled for her, but it was an infinitely sad smile, those beautiful eyesbrittle with old pain. “Did you remember me,” he asked,“just for a minute?”
“No.” Her answer was too abrupt; she knew it. But if shegave away this little bit of herself, she’d have to give it allaway. She wouldn’t just have to tell him about him. She’d have to tell him about Jimmy. And she simply couldn’t do that. “No, it was just general, uh, impressions. The smellsand sounds and all that.”
The feeling that she wasn’t moving fast enough. That shecould never move fast enough.
“I’m surprised you haven’t had flashbacks at the hospital. I’ve talked to a couple of nurses who say they findthemselves seeing camouflage at the weirdest times.”
Claire fought to hold still. To keep from telling him shethought she was the only one who’d had that happen.
“Maybe it’s one of the benefits of working coronarycare,” she said, lifting a shaking hand to reapply pressure to his cut. “Not much resemblance to Nam there.”
He nodded carefully. “Good point.’’
“Your leg okay?” she asked, trying so hard to get back on a safe plane.
