Jacob’s hand slides over mine, and I grab hold of it with every cell of my being. I hold tight and finally rest with some comfort.
“I’m here,” he whispers. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
Thank you, Lord.
I want to tell Jacob that I won’t give up, that we’re going to make it out of here together, but I can’t speak through my pain. Every bone, nerve, and muscle shrieks with agony. The most I can do is fight for one more breath. Then one more after that, until eventually I pass out.
A violent beating of helicopter blades from above. Jacob squeezes my hand. Images are sporadic. I feel myself rising up off the beach toward that loud, hovering machine, its engine roaring in the lingering glow of the sunset. I feel wind against my face. Only then do I become aware of foam blocks strapped to both sides of my head in a rescue basket.
I surrender to oblivion.
A sudden tug revives me. A man in a jumpsuit reaches out. He pulls me into the chopper. My gaze shifts wearily left and right in a grief-stricken search for Jacob, but all I can see is the roof of the chopper and a medic in a helmet, who leans over me. He shines a penlight at my pupils.
Where’s Jacob?I want to ask, but I have no voice. I’m too weak even to open my mouth. Or maybe I’m dreaming and we’re both still lying together on the beach, praying for rescue.
No, this is not a dream. People had called for help. Now I’m in a helicopter.
I manage to mumble, “Jacob?” but no one hears me above the clamor of the engine and rotor blades.
My eyes fall closed, and for some reason I’m not in pain anymore. I’m weightless. It doesn’t occur to me that I might be dying. I think only of Jacob. I pray for his survival.
Chapter Three
Soulmates
I’ve learned that pain comes in many forms. It has the power to immobilize, both physically and emotionally. It can wield this power temporarily and cause a brief paralysis, or it can apply a slow agony over minutes, hours, or weeks. Perhaps even a lifetime.
When consciousness returns, I’m in the hospital. I don’t know what day it is, or what time. Intellectually, I’m cognizant of the fact that I’ve been in a terrible accident, but my thoughts are like pea soup, thick and goopy.
Later, I’m told that a team of surgeons used pins to stabilize a badly displaced pelvic fracture, and they removed my spleen. My shoulder was dislocated, and the flesh on my forearm had been torn off by Scooter’s claws when he was clinging to me. A plastic surgeon was required to perform skin grafts. In addition, my rapid descent down the side of the mountain had scraped the top layer of flesh off my upper back, which, upon waking, is where most of my pain is centered. On top of all that, I have a concussion and three fractured ribs.
I come around slowly, gradually. Before I open my eyes, I hear monitors beeping and the soft voices of my parents keeping vigil, one on each side of my bed. They speak in hushed tones, not wanting to disturb me. I feel my mother’s hand around mine. It’s warm and loving.That’s the moment I fight like hell to open my eyes because I need to know about Jacob. Is he okay? And what about Scooter?
“Sienna?” My mother bends over me.
She knows I’m awake. I must have squeezed her hand, because I haven’t moved otherwise, nor have I opened my eyes. I’m staring at darkness, thinking about Jacob.
The heart monitor beeps faster. I need to know where he is, and I’m so afraid.
“We’re here, sweetheart,” Mom says, squeezing my hand tighter. “You’re going to be okay.” A pause. “Are you awake? Can you hear me?”
At last, I open my eyes, and I see Mom’s face, drawn with worry. She starts to cry with relief, and she bends to kiss my forehead while my father gets up and takes hold of my other hand.
“Thank God.” He bows his head and weeps over me. I’ve never seen him cry, and it frightens me. It makes me understand how close to death I must have been.
I wet my parched lips and struggle to summon the capacity to speak so that someone will finally answer me. “Is Jacob okay?”
My parents, still leaning over me, say nothing. I glance from one to the other, but they won’t look at me.
My mother shakes her head at my father. She doesn’t want him to answer my question, which fills me with dread. Did the worst happen? I don’t want it to be true, but I need someone to tell me.
“Take a moment to get your bearings,” my father says. “You’ve been through a lot. Can we get you anything? Are you in pain?”
His reply confirms what I need to know, and tears pool in my eyes. “Just say it. Please ... is Jacob here? Did he make it?”
My mother bends forward until her forehead is touching mine.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” my father says. “He didn’t.”
