And I realize something simple and terrifying:
I don’t want to ever do this without her.
Not missions.
Not mornings.
Not anything.
“Laney,” I say.
She looks over. “Yeah?”
The words are there.
They just aren’t ready to be spoken yet.
“Nothing,” I say.
She gives me a look like she knows that’s a lie.
She always does.
I drive into town later.
Not for supplies.
Not for work.
For a jeweler I remember from before everything went wrong.
I don’t know what I’m looking for.
I just know what I’m not.
Nothing flashy.
Nothing delicate.
Something that lasts.
Something that doesn’t pretend life is gentle.
The man behind the counter asks, “What kind of ring?”
I say, “One she can live in.”
He nods like he understands exactly what I mean.
That night,Laney is asleep before I am.
One hand curled around my chest.
Like she’s anchoring me to the bed.
I stare at the ceiling for a long time.
Thinking about roads.
