Noah took that as his cue. “I’ve spent these hours trying to figure out what I should say. How I can move beyond just another apology. Beg for another chance. All that I’ve already said.”
“And?”
“I have no idea. Nothing I’ve come up with even holds a candle to how I feel.”
She poured them both a mug. Added milk to her own. Took a step away from where he stood. Said what had come to mind when she’d seen him waiting. For her.
“Growing up, I had these times when I felt no one would ever be there for me. My mother was in the next room, locked in battles she fought by herself, a war she’d never win. I was certain she couldn’t even see me. As far as she was concerned, I just reflected the man who had robbed her of the future she thought she deserved.” Jenna watched Noah’s unsteady hand as he plied the milk pitcher. Watched him use both hands to take a sip. “I’ve spent most of my life being framed by this sense of not belonging. Doing what I could for others, so they wouldn’t end their lives the way mine had begun. It’s only now, over these past couple of days, that I’ve seen how much this solitude has come to dominate my world. Shaped my perspective. Kept me adrift. And alone.”
Noah might have nodded.
She said, “Now it’s your turn.”
His words emerged in a soft, steady beat. Like they were timed to a verbal metronome. Counting out the lost minutes. “I’ve spent these days looking back over our time together. I’ve had these incredible moments when I’ve seen you clearly. Just for a few seconds. Realize what a truly amazing woman you are. Then my past would drop like a veil. And I’d get so scared.” He showed her that raw and open gaze. “I’m scared now. Terrified. I have no idea what to do. Just the same, I know . . .”
“Tell me.”
“I want us to be together.” The words became slightly fractured, like he struggled against some internal quake. “I want to be good enough to deserve you.”
Noah’s desperate urgency pushed her into the same protective bubble she maintained around patients. Keeping her safe regardless of what crisis she faced.
She wondered at this. How love had brought her to the point where she was again facing the same impossible situation she had experienced with her patients. And just like then, she did not have the answers.
But having the answers was not the issue. Not really.
What she could do was help Noah find his own way forward.
She nodded, a fractional move; most of it was internal. Feeling harmony with the thoughts as they took form. She knew what to do. The question was, how would he respond? Because this wasn’t just about giving Noah her heart.
She needed to know if he was truly ready to take himself, and their relationship, to the next level.
Open himself up to a new tomorrow. One where Noah did as he said he wanted, and saw her for who she was. Without yesterday’s veil forming a divider between them.
Soon as her decision took shape, Jenna knew what she was going to say.
“My favorite professor in my master’s program talked about the brain’s flexibility. The example he used came from surgeries to remove severe cataracts. These barriers to good vision don’t develop in one fell swoop. It takes time. Months, sometimes years. Often the transition is gradual, the patient can pretend it isn’t happening, until there is an event. Perhaps they discover one day they can’t read a book anymore. Or they don’t recognize their own child. Something. The reason why they’re able to ignore this transition is because the brain is constantly recalibrating. Adjusting to the external situation. Interpreting whatever the senses are able to offer.”
She could see Noah was confused by this. He wanted to ask where she was going. But fear held him back. Jenna took her time, holding to her internal state.She was in control.This was her choice, her next step. This was a new kind of liberty.
She went on. “After cataract surgery, the patientcan’t see. Going from their previous long-term blurred state to clarity means the brain has to recalibrate. The incoming sensual data is unfamiliar. The mind needs to relearn how to filter things out. This process is a very real shock. Often the patient is terrified by what is required.”
Noah scarcely breathed the words. “I think I understand.”
She resisted the urge to hug him. The intensity of being close with this man, the hope that things might truly enter a new phase, forced her to stop. Take a breath. Then she continued. “The patients I dealt with faced this same situation, only in reverse. Age and infirmity meant that in most cases, theyresistedchange. They were as terrified of it as they were of death. Sometimes more so. Control was stripped away. The daily decline was one step further along a road they had no choice but travel. This defined the second part of my job. Of course my primary task was to ease their final transition. But to be a true friend in these last hours, I needed to help them deal with change. And with fear.”
He took his time. Spaced out the words. “I really, really want your help, Jenna. Ineedit.”
“All right.”
He swung completely around, so as to face her, his right knee now pressing against her. “Really?”
“Yes, Noah. If you’re absolutely certain.”
“I could not be more so.” He took a long breath. “About the boat. I want you to have the two percent. Have control of what we do. Become the primary decision maker.”
She could see the next step as clearly as if the words were scripted in the air before her face. “I think we should meet with Amos.”
“I . . . What?”
