“Of course she is.” My tone sounds loud and confident. Maybe too loud, too confident. “And she loves you so.”
“Then that means that you and I are getting along. My mother hasn’t frightened you away. This is all true?”
“It’s true, Jahleel. All you’ve said has happened. Why would it not be?”
“Well, that’s what you want me to believe. In my dream, you were a rusalka. And you swallowed me whole.”
“A what?”
“A Medusa or a mermaid. You said anything to convince me.” His face is blank, but I know this look.
I remember it from when we returned from our wedding trip, when he rushed to see his sister. He didn’t know if she lived. “Jahleel, what if everything is not true?”
“Then I’m still in my bedchamber, lying in that bed dying.” He turns to me. “I’d rather have this dream. I’d rather live in this fantasy of us, of us and Lydia, than to know I’m still weak and fevered and never leaving that room.”
The emotion in his voice rips out my heart. I’ve been so fearful of how his sickness affects me that I forgot about him. The terror he must feel fighting to breathe. How does he remain calm, knowing he must fight an illness that wants to defeat him?
He wipes at his face and loses his balance for a moment.
I grab him by the lapels and kiss him.
Both his hands wrap around me.
Thud.His cane falls and tumbles away. Jahleel’s full weight is against me. He recovers and takes a slow step backward. “Can you get my cane? I’ll try the stairs tomorrow.”
“No. Let’s go down together. You’re awake. You’re recovering. I’m not lying. You … you’re not dying.”
“Katia, you’re strong, but we’ll struggle.”
“A little struggle is fine.” I dip under his arm so he can hold the stair rail and me at the same time. “Let’s go.”
The man doesn’t have a choice, because I start.
Jahleel’s forehead dampens. He bites his lip, and we take a step together. Then we rest.
His arm slides from my shoulder to my waist, a better placement. Our rhythm meshes, becoming stronger. We keep at this until there’s one step to go.
He pauses. “It was a great three weeks. The best in a long time.”
The poor man doesn’t believe me. “Just one more step, and you’ll know the truth.”
He nods and whispers in Russian words that sound likegoodbye. His thumb traces my cheek. “It was the nicest dream.”
“Come on, Jahleel. Together.”
We take that last step. Our feet now touch the marble of the hall.
I stoop and give him his cane. “See, you are awake and recovering, Jahleel.”
His face remains blank. He starts down the corridor.
“Jahleel. Wait. Let’s go for a drive.”
He shakes his head. “The garden. I need to think.”
I rush to him and collect his arm. “I’ll go with you.”
“No. There are mums there. That’s no place for you.” He walks away.
