YOU’RE HERE
She had come. He wanted to run, crawl, drag himself across the lacerating rock and bury his face in her hair. All this time. How had she done it? All at once he was overwhelmed by the enormity of what she must have endured. He picked up his pace and almost immediately tripped, just catching himself on one of the razor-sharp ridged volcanic boulders. He saw her start and reach out her hand. Carefully again he carried on, judging each footstep and handhold. When he looked up again they were only twenty yards apart. His hand throbbed and his heart was hammering in his chest. And then the space was gone.
“You’re here,” he said.
“I’m here.”
He had no idea what to say—the hundreds of times he’d played this scene in his mind and he had nothing. He took in her face, the tiny wrinkles at the corners of her mouth, the clean line of her brows, the strong jaw and the eyes. Their color was indescribable, a warm green interspersed with tiny puddles of deep blue and soft brown, and they glistened as though she were about to cry but at the same time seemed so calm, serene, accepting, so full of love and patience. He reached out with his left hand; it shook slightly. He touched her temple, right at the hairline, and gently tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. Her hair was soft and light as corn silk under his rough fingertips.
And then it came, in a rush.
“Oh God,” he cried, falling against her. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” All the strength that had propelled him and kept him going since France fell away.
* * *
Stephanie’s wineglass fell to the rocks and shattered as she flung her arms around him. She felt his tears hot on her neck. She ran her fingers through his hair and held him as he sobbed. He was a baby in her arms, too weak to stand. As she held her husband Stephanie felt something inflate inside her, swelling until it must break, rising through her chest and then bursting out of her as she gasped for air. And then she was crying, too, squeezing him as hard as she could as her body tried to make sense of what her mind couldn’t yet accept.
It was several minutes before either of them could speak, before they became conscious of themselves again. Finally he straightened up and held her face in his hands.
“How did you—” she started to say.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You’re here.”
She laughed. “You’re here.”
He was so thin. She tenderly unwrapped the bandage around his right hand and winced when she saw the melted flesh of the wound. She searched his eyes. He smiled.
“Momma!” The scream came from far away. The house. Sophie. They both froze for an instant before Stephanie started scrambling across the rocks toward the stairs. Jordan followed a step behind, oblivious to the scrapes and bruises.