The hammering makes sense now. I try to remember what happened, where I am, where I was.
Wyatt.
Egypt.
The plane crash.
I turn my head to the side and see stars, it hurts that much. I roll my eyes from side to side, searching. But there is only Brian, as if he is true north and I am a compass that needs adjustment.
Did I imagine it all?
Was Egypt and the tomb some fever dream? Was my reunion with Wyatt just a synapse firing beneath the probe of a surgeon?
At that thought, my own eyes swim. I close them, and a tear tracks down my cheek.
“It’s okay,” Brian soothes, gripping my hand more tightly. “It’s going to be okay now. I’ve got you.”
I’ve got you.
My lips press together around the one word that bubbles to the surface. “Meret,” I whisper.
“She’s home. With Kieran. She’s fine.” Brian hesitates. “When I got the call…I thought I should see you first.”
To make sure that I was not hooked up to wires or cut into segments or burned beyond recognition.What happened to me?
I try to remember, but my mind is full of vivid textures: the sting of sand, the corona of the sun, the shimmer of the desert. Pictures that do not match the hospital room, with its blue chair and plastic water pitcher and wide, blind mounted television.
The only thing I can recall, other than Egypt, is Meret’s DNA test. I close my eyes. “Sorry,” I exhale. “So…sorry.”
Brian shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter right now. Let’s just get you well enough to go home.”
Homeis such a loaded word. Is it still mine, if the last thing I remember is leaving it?
It hurts to move my head, but it also hurts to think. Maybe that’s what happened. Maybe, when I drove away from Brian and Meret, I never got to where I was headed.
That tugs a string of pearls: Thane, England, Win.
Lose.
Can you miss something you never truly had?
Orsomeone?
That thought hurts even more than my skull.
Brian traces his thumb over the back of my hand lightly and exquisitely, like he is touching a butterfly that might take wing at any moment. “I should get a nurse. Tell someone that you’re awake.” A sob catches in his throat, and he bends over, kissing our joined fingers. “I thought you were gone for good,” he says, his voice breaking.
He said that to me once before, too.
I lift my free hand and slowly touch it to the back of Brian’s head. His hair is soft as down. I run my nails over his scalp, let my palm settle against his cheek. My eyes drift shut, entrusting myself to him, like I always have.
There is a commotion in the hallway, a muffled argument. Then the door bursts open, and one voice rises above the others: “I don’t care if I’m not related to her. You can’t bloody keep me out of there.”
Wyatt pushes his way into the room. He stands, wild-eyed, assessing the bandage around my head and the machines I’m hooked up to and my husband, who has gotten to his feet and is still holding on to my hand.
And me. Awake. Alert.
A smile breaks over his face, and it feels like a sunrise inside me.You’re real, and you’re here,I think, and I know that is exactly what is going through his mind, too.
