He couldn’t remember ever having eaten anything so wonderful.
Beside him, James huffed a light laugh, but then copied Cassian, lapping up the rest of his soup in the same sloppy manner. Once they were both finished, they smiled at one another. James exhaled a long sigh, as though he had finally just let himself relax. Happy to see it, Cassian set his bowl on the floor next to his handkerchief but startled when he heard a clatter. He turned to see James’s bowl lying on its side, a small chip broken off. James’s hands had started shaking.
“Sorry,” James whispered. “I’m shaking. Suddenly.” He held up his hands and stared at them. “I’m not sure why I’m shaking. But I am. I’m shaking.”
Instinctively, Cassian snatched James’s hands and began to try to warm them—blowing on them and rubbing them and massaging them—and only then did he realize that the rest of James’s body was shaking, too.
“I’m not even that cold anymore. I promise,” James said. He inhaled a shuddered breath and met Cassian’s eyes. His own were filled with fear and worry. It looked as though the man might cry. “Cassian, what’s happening to me? Why can’t I stop shaking?”
“You must still be cold, even if you can’t feel it,” Cassian said. “Let’s head back to the saloon and meet with the physician. See if he can check you over again.”
Still clutching both of James’s hands, Cassian stood, pulling James up with him. Reluctantly, Cassian forced himself to let go, lest someone recognize him and wonder why he was holding hands with some random member ofTitanic’s crew. He started for the saloon, and James followed. Once there, Cassian wasted no time ensuring that James could be seen, though he fought to keep his voice level when he spoke with the crew members, rather than show the extent of his panic. Luckily, one of the three physicianswas free to examine James right away. Cassian hurried James over to the physician’s station. His heart was in his throat as he showed James to the right chair.
But then, afraid of how it might look if he stayed, Cassian made himself leave James behind to be treated and headed out onto the boat deck alone.
There, Cassian began to chew his fingernails, pacing back and forth between the wooden lounge chairs, most of which were vacant, though a couple of weary-wornTitanicpassengers were resting in others. Logically, Cassian knew that his legs were still weak and that he ought to sit himself, but he knew, too, thatifhe sat, he’d fall to pieces.
“Cassian?!”
Ethel’s voice stopped him mid-step. He looked to his right to see her rushing over to him.
“I can’t believe my eyes,” she said, throwing her arms around him, her movement so forceful that it knocked him back. “You made it. Oh, how horrible this has been. I’m so relieved to see you.”
Recovering, Cassian embraced her, too. John Quinn joined them. After another couple of seconds of hugging Ethel, Cassian hugged John as well.
“Ethel and I thought the worst,” John said.
“I believe I somehow caught the last boat,” Cassian replied as they parted.
Concern rippled across Ethel’s forehead.
“Did your friend...” She paused, faltering. “Oh, maybe that’s not for me to ask.”
“He made it,” Cassian confirmed. But then, immediately, he began to relive those moments inCarpathia’s Smoking Room, and worry welled up inside him like the swell of the sea, causing his throat to constrict. “He made it, but he’s...” Cassian’s voice broke. “Apologies.” He took a breath. “He’s in the saloon. Beinglooked over by one of the physicians. He seemed perfectly fine, but then... not.”
Quickly, Cassian covered his mouth to contain the sob that threatened to burst forth, but a mortifying couple of rogue tears still fell. Swiftly, Cassian wiped them away with his fingers and prayed that nobody else had seen them. Ethel touched his arm.
“He’ll be all right, Cassian,” she said, gently. “I’m of the impression that the physicians on board are very knowledgeable.”
“Yes, that’s precisely what I wanted to say,” John concurred. “Mr. Morrow will be fixed up in no time.”
Cassian pressed his lips together and nodded. He knew he’d probably cry again if he started to speak. He needed a little longer to recover.
Ethel and John seemed to know it, too. Neither of them spoke for a minute or two. Cassian felt a little mortified over his outburst, but overall, he was really very grateful for their compassion, especially since Ethel, at least, seemed to have figured out that James Thomas Morrow was no merefriendof Cassian’s, but more.
After a little while longer, Ethel restarted the conversation.
“I was with Ingrid earlier,” she said. “She hasn’t found Jacob yet.”
Grief twisted in Cassian’s stomach as the image of Jacob being crushed by the funnel flitted into his mind, bringing with it the smell of soot and smoke and the salty sea.
He swallowed hard.
“He didn’t make it, Ethel,” Cassian said.
Ethel’s hand flew to her chest.
“Goodness,” she said through an exhale. “How awful.” She looked up at him with pleading eyes. “I hope he didn’t suffer long. Was it—”
