CHAPTER SIX
SIGNE WAS SCARED. Ham got that.
He’d just have to prove to her that he could protect her. Them. Because she was going home with him.
Aggie needed her mother. And, regardless of the betrayal that ground through him, Signe was his wife.
They’d figure that out after they made it to the top of the elevator shaft, after they escaped this disintegrating hotel, after she handed over the NOC list, and, frankly, after he got her home and got to the bottom of . . . well, “I haven’t endured everything I’ve gone through for the last ten years to fail at this. To let Pavel Tsarnaev take more, take everything from me.”
Sheesh, now he had way too many dark scenarios in his head and it only added to the panic as he ascended the rope behind Signe.
Who was struggling.
“You okay?”
“Golden. Call me Catwoman.” But she’d started to slip a little, even with the cloth around her hands.
“Just a couple more feet, you’re almost there.”
She had her legs wrapped around the cable, her hands inching her up, but in truth, the cable was oily and rough and even he was fighting, his hands starting to bleed from the fibers in the cable.
The building was still shaking, battered by what he assumed was debris-filled water. The bricks of the elevator shaft broke free as they climbed, falling to shatter on the box below.
The entire structure could go down.
The lift was dark, with no more than a graying smudge at the top where a vent had dislodged. The air reeked of sulfur and ash.
The two-story drop fell to darkness.
“What if I pushed you—”
“Keep your hands to yourself, there, Batman.” She moved another few feet. “I can almost reach the ledge.” She leaned out, trying to touch the edge of the next floor. Missed.
She grabbed the line, and it shook. Metal fibers bit into his hands.
“Signe—”
“I got this! I just need a second.”
They didn’t have a second. “Next to the ledge is the metal girder. Just transfer your weight there, dig your feet into the edge of the bricks. Then, climb up to the ledge holding on to the girder.”
She leaned out, and her fingertips just grazed the metal.
“I’m going to climb up underneath you and brace you. Give you something solid to push off.” He moved up underneath her and her feet met his shoulders.
“You’re going to fall—”
“We’ll both fall if we don’t get off this—now brace your feet on me and grab that ledge!” He was using his senior chief voice, but he didn’t care.
“On three,” he said. “Grab the girder and pull yourself up.”
She let out a noise—half frustration, half pain—and launched.
The girder shuddered as she grabbed it, but she clung to it like a koala.
His grip was slipping, but he had to get her off that metal before he joined her or it could detach from the wall and send them both southward.
“Can you reach the door?”
She made another sound of effort and scrambled up the pole. Atta girl.
A weird sense of pride swept through him, an old, errant feeling that he’d thought was dormant.
His girl.
Yes, they had to get out of here and fix . . . everything.
She put her foot on the ledge and grunted her way higher until she could stand on it. Then she braced herself on the metal pole with one hand and reached out for the metal grate covering the doors with the other.
The grate was designed to zigzag back.
Please let it not be wedged. Please let him not have made a lethal mistake.
It shuddered with her efforts.
“Keep pulling.” He tightened his legs because his hands were slipping.
She got her foot into the space and widened it, maybe two feet. “It’s stuck.”
Below them, he heard the water banging into the lift.
“Okay, maybe I can reach it. Hang tight.”
The skin on his hands might be peeling back, but he worked his legs, grit his teeth, and shimmied up the pole.
The only easy day was yesterday. The SEAL motto hung in his head as he focused on the edge. He was nearly even with it now. But if he put his foot out, his hand would slip—
“Grab my hand. I’ll pull you over.”
“I’ll yank you right off—”
“Grab my hand, Ham!”
He blew out a breath, then entangled his hand with hers. It was a crazy wide step, but if he could get his other hand around the grate, he could wedge it open. Then he could kick the doors in.
“Don’t miss, Batman.” She gave him a look, then smiled.
Oh, his old instincts were igniting. Game on, honey.
He put out his foot, ready to catch the ledge.
On her mark, he let her force tug him over, and he sprang for the door.
His hand closed around the metal bar, his foot landed on the lip—
The lip gave way.
She shouted as he fell, but he had one hand on the grate.
The other hand in hers.
Which saved her life because just as he suspected, his weight tore her from her perch and she fell into the chasm. Her scream echoed into the chamber—
“Hold on!”
She dangled from his grip. “Ham!”
“I’m not going to drop you. Just hang on!”
Please.
He still had ahold of the door, and now scrabbled his feet into the bricks, trying to find a foothold.
“Swing me to the pipe!”
His feet caught, a three-point hold. “Can you grab it?”
She nodded, a fierceness in her eyes. He swung back, then forward with everything he had in him.
Her hand closed on the girder and she clung to the metal pipe, letting him go.
He grabbed the door and scrambled up to the opening. Wrenched open the gate. Kicked open the wooden doors.
Then he crouched inside the door and reached out for her.
She went into his arms as if she’d always belonged there, as if she knew he’d catch her.
As if they were once again a team.
He used one arm to pull her against himself, the other to hold on to the door. Then, he simply fell back to safety, holding her tight, breathing hard.
She had her arms around his waist, also breathing hard.
“You okay?” he said.
She lifted herself, met his eyes, something unreadable in them.
Then she blinked hard and pushed herself off him. “Let’s go.”
She was right. No time to explore what-ifs and once-upon-a-times.
They were back on the terrace, and he followed her across the roof. A terrible gash in the tile ran the length of the building, and the shaking had toppled planters of begonias and even a couple tall palm trees. Dirt and glass and plates and food debris, broken tile, plants and overturned furniture littered their path, and everything was covered in a film of ash.
She made it to the edge of the building. “Oh no . . .”
He joined her, and the sight took his breath.
The sea had risen, maybe twenty feet, sweeping over the water breaks and taking with it everything in its path. Fishing boats, cars, wooden structures, and probably even people, although Ham couldn’t see anyone, all swirled in a cauldron of black water. The wave moved through the city, breaking windows, tearing down buildings. Already, the house two doors down had dislodged from its moorings.
The water reached to nearly the second floor of the hotel, flooding in the windows.
“If we’d stayed in the lift, we’d be under water by now,” Signe said.
“Don’t think about it.” He took her hand, and miraculously, she gripped his back. “We need to get off this roof before this house goes down.”
So much for the “old and quaint” hotel listing. Next time he was going for new, sturdy, and very boring with lots of exits and far, far from volcanoes and other natural disasters.
He glanced back toward the volcano, but it was still shrouded in a gassy cloud, the city haunted with eerie smoke. A few fires flickered, but he couldn’t get a good fix on them.
“How?” Signe said, referring to his suggestion. “We’re surrounded by water.”
Good question. But they were situated in the lower side of the city. Just a block to the south, the city rose on a hill . . .
“We need to get to those buildings,” he said and pointed to the higher ground. “And nearly every building is connected.”
“Except ours.” She had let go of his hand and walked over to the side of the building. “There’s a ten-foot gap here.”
“But our building is taller.”
“No, Ham—”
“Signe. You’re one of the best long-jumpers—”
“You’re out of your mind!”
“There’s no other way off this building! And—”
His words cut off as the building gave a terrific shudder.
“We gotta go.”
She gave him a fierce, angry look, her jaw tight. “Okay, let’s line up a couple tables and get a running start.”
Atta girl, Catwoman.
They dragged over four tables and lined them up perpendicular to the railing, like a runway. Signe got on one and tested it. “This is a stupid idea.”
“You can do this. It’s only ten feet—”
“And four stories down!”
“Remember that time we found that rope swing out over the river?”
Horror filled her expression. “I’ve never been so scared in my life! That was forty feet high!”
“But you did it. You just decided—and you did it.”
“If I remember correctly, there was some name-calling involved.”
A terrible whining sound wove through the air, probably the foundation separating from its moorings.
“Don’t be a chicken.”
“I hate you.” But she backed up, wiped her hands on her pants. “Oh, geez—”
“Just—”
She took off running. When she launched, she screamed, her arms windmilling as she fell.
Please!
She cleared the wall and landed on the terrace, on her feet, scrambling until she stopped herself against a table.
“Your turn!”
He climbed the tables. They were more rickety than he’d thought as he put his foot on the first one.
“Hurry!” Signe had gone to the wall. “The building has a massive crack up the side!”
Yeah, yeah, no problem. She weighed about a buck twenty while wet and he was over two hundred, and getting his buffalo body over that gap—
“Just jump, Ham! Don’t be—”
He took off, four big steps across the tables—
Just as he launched, the last table tipped. He managed to get a foot on the edge but didn’t get the oomph he needed.
He tumbled like a brick through the air, dropping hard and fast.
His fingers brushed the edge of the building.
Then he was plunging into the alleyway below.
Signe just knew that Ham was going to get killed trying to save her. She screamed as his hands scraped the edge.
She tried to reach out for him, but she was too late, and she caught herself before she nearly went over too.
Below her was a cauldron of lethal water, rebar, wood, and broken metal, ready to impale him.
Batman caught the railing of the next balcony down.
His roar tore through her bones, but he hung there, moaning, refusing to let gravity have him.
It took her a second to get it through her head that Ham hadn’t landed as a splat on the dirty rapids of water below. “Hang on!”
She ran across the broken terrace to the doors to the stairwell, avoided the lift, thank you very much, and ran down to the next floor.
Apartments, and it took her a second to figure out which one might be right. She banged on the door but got no response.
She backed up and slammed her foot into the door, at the lock.
It broke and the door eased open.
She was through it, weaving around broken glass and toppled furniture all the way to the French doors.
Ham dangled from the balcony, his face a knot of pain.
She grabbed his belt, and he got his feet up on the balcony and then he tumbled over the railing and into her arms.
She just wanted to hold on. Never let go.
Never. Never. Never.
“We have to go.” He rolled away from her, but as he did, he winced and brought his arm in close to his body. Let out a moan.
“Is it dislocated?” She reached out for him.
He caught her arm before she could touch him. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. You’re in pain.”
“I’m fine. It’s probably just sprained.” But as he got up, he let out a grunt.
“It’s more than sprained.” She could be just as stubborn as he could, thank you. She ran into the apartment, found a towel, and returned. He was right behind her.
“What’s that for?”
“A sling—”
He grabbed the towel from her. “I’m fine.”
“You’re so stubborn! Why can’t you admit you’re hurt?”
He stared at her. “What good would it do? So, I’m hurt. The danger doesn’t stop because I got an owie.”
“Let me fix it!”
“Really, now you want to fix it? Now you care?”
She stared at him. “What are we talking about here?”
He drew in a breath. “Sorry. I . . . listen. Let’s just get out of here.”
She didn’t move. “Ham. I’ve always cared. I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped loving you.”
Her words seemed to stymie him because he just stared at her.
“C’mon. We gotta go,” she said. “But let me sling your stupid arm.”
He handed her the towel. She ran it up under his wrist, then around his neck, to knot it. He had to lean over a little, and the familiarity in his scent wove through her, a swift and brutal memory of being in his arms, his breath on her neck.
“You okay?”
She stepped away from him and his devastating presence. “Yeah. Yes. Fine.”
“Your hands are a little dinged up there.” He’d caught one of her wrists.
“For cryin’ in the sink, it’s a scrape. Yours are like raw meat.” She tore away, walked out of the apartment, then back up the stairs.
The next building was attached and a little lower. She easily lowered herself down.
Through a break in the clouds, she spotted lava spitting into the air, bleeding down the slopes of Etna. Below them, the confused, blackened sea swirled with wreckage. Water rushed over a catamaran wedged between buildings.
The next building was separated by a three-foot gap, and she easily leaped it. Ham landed almost immediately next to her. Back stairs led down into a gated garden filled with water.
A sea kayak floated in the middle, the paddle wedged into the webbing on top.
Almost as if waiting for them.
Ham pointed to it.
“Good idea, Huck.”
He grinned, and the light from it found her soul. “That was your terrible idea, if I remember correctly.”
“Blame it on our sixth-grade teacher. She’s the one who made us read Huckleberry Finn.” She grabbed a broom, climbed down the stairs, and hooked one end onto the kayak.
“But you were the one who said we could take a raft down the Mississippi.”
She dragged the edge of the kayak toward her. “Not so much a raft as a dinghy.”
“Milton Anderson’s dinghy, to be specific.”
She pulled the kayak close. “You get in first. I’ll sit in front.”
Ham grabbed the kayak and eased into it. Propped his legs on the side.
For the first time she noticed that his leg was bleeding. “Ham?”
“Just a flesh wound. I’ve had worse.” He gave her a slow grin.
“Stop,” she said, but the old quote from one of his favorite Monty Python movies loosened her own smile. She climbed in, crouching in the well in front of him. Grabbed the paddle. “I guess I’ll have to do all the work here.”
“Just don’t dump us.” Ham pushed off.
“You were driving.”
They reached the gate and she maneuvered over to the latch.
“I got this.” He worked the latch, then wrestled with the gate. It eased open, and she helped pull them through.
The waters in the alley still churned, but the debris wasn’t as thick.
“The road rises to the south,” Ham said, pointing.
“I know. I’ve been here a couple days.” She started to move them into the current. Ham tried to push aside debris.
“Really?”
“I saw you arrive. Saw your team scope out the castello. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t being followed.”
They paddled past more gated entrances, downed palm trees, cars slammed into stone walls, and the occasional completely submerged house. Fires crackled on the hillside above them, smoke blackening the air.
“Were we?”
“I don’t think so. But I was careful last time too. Maybe you’re right, maybe they traced me through the burner phone when I answered your call. But then they would have had to track me through Italy, then Croatia, and Bulgaria—”
“Wow.”
“I finally made it to Germany. I stayed with Zara.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “They killed her and her husband Felix.”
“Who’s they?”
“A guy named Martin—or so he said. And possibly others. Russian, American, I don’t know. One of them nearly caught me, but I got away. I opened his knuckles with my knife.”
She turned back around.
“I’m normally pretty good at taking care of myself. At least when I’m not caught in the apocalypse.”
“The good news about the world ending is that maybe whoever is trying to kill me is currently under a building.”
“You really think they’ll find you here?”
“I don’t know.” A terrible cracking and the whine of metal rending made her turn around. Glance past him. “If I knew who—oh wow.”
He turned too.
Their hotel moved completely off its moorings, cracked, then dissolved in a cloud, falling into the black sea.
Ham said nothing. Turned back and met her eyes. “So much for that croissant.” He gave her a wry smile. “Sorry. Bad taste, I know. Jake’s stress humor is clearly rubbing off on me.”
She looked at him. For Pete’s sake. But oh, she missed him. The thought just erupted from her heart, filled her entire body with heat. She probably never knew a time when she didn’t love Hamilton Jones.
This had gotten so messy.
She kept paddling, heading toward the hill where the water shallowed. The air had cleared, just a little, and she made out a wall, stairs rising above the water that led to higher ground.
The air smelled rotten, and another tremor shook the earth as they pulled up to the stairs. Or maybe it was just her body, trembling, feeling Ham’s body behind her, his legs around her. She was very, very aware of the effect being around him had on her soul.
She had to get out of here.
The water pooled to the third step, but beyond that, it was clear. Ham held the boat as she climbed out. He followed her.
“Now where?” She looked out across the devastation, buildings toppled over in the water, a gray landscape of water, ash, and smoke. Ham’s body was covered in ash too, which was still lilting from the sky.
“We find shelter. Then we figure out if my team is still alive. They both left the hotel. Hopefully they didn’t return.”
His team. Right. The people who actually knew him.
Who would return home with him—if they were still alive.
She started up the hill.
“Where are you going?” Ham asked.
“There’s a pizza joint up this way.”
“You’re hungry?”
“Starved, but that’s not the point. My guess is they’d have internet, if there is any. And maybe bottled water.”
The cobblestones had hiccupped from the earth, cracks in buildings scattered debris, cars sat parked, dented, dusty. Trees were whitened, ghostly arms reaching to the skies.
“Sig.”
She glanced over her shoulder. Ham was keeping up, holding his arm. “You know I forgive you, right?”
Aw, shoot, don’t go there. “I think it’s right up here.” She pointed to a blue building with a gated area, the tables on the sidewalk toppled over.
“I never forgot you.”
Her jaw tightened. She came to the gate and opened it. The place was empty.
She walked up the steps and went inside.
She’d eaten here two nights ago, had a pizza with fresh tomatoes, basil, arugula, and burrata cheese.
Funny that she’d remember that, and the fact that she’d watched every person who came into the place. Clearly, she was too conditioned because even now, she scoured the place for trouble. Noted the exits.
“This place smells amazing,” she said.
No response from the man behind her.
She turned. Ham was standing at the doorway, his gaze on her.
Fine.
“Ham, the fact is, you don’t even know what you’re forgiving me for. You have no idea—”
“It doesn’t matter, Sig.” He came into the room. “I don’t need to know. And you never have to tell me.”
“There isn’t enough forgiveness—”
“Nope. You’re wrong there too.” He walked over to a standing cooler and opened it. Grabbed a water and handed it to her. “Forgiveness has no limit. There’s an endless supply.”
She took the water. Oh Ham. “I don’t understand how you can say that after . . . well, what your stepmother did to you. Or what I did to you.”
He made to open his water bottle but struggled with his hand in a sling, so she opened hers and handed it to him, took his.
“Thanks.” He took a drink. “I guess the fact is, if I walk around with anger in my heart, it just darkens my own soul. Forgiveness is hard, but really, it costs me nothing because it doesn’t come from me.”
Oh. Right. “So, you never lost your faith.”
“It’s the one thing that never let me down.”
She drew in a breath, but yes, she deserved that.
He met her gaze. “Including me, Sig. I’m not perfect. I’ve done a lot of things that I’m ashamed of. But God seems to keep forgiving me, even when I let myself down.”
She took the cap off her water, took a drink. It filled her parched throat, her cells, and she closed her eyes.
When she opened them, Ham stood in front of her. He touched her face.
The world began to shake again.
“Seriously?” Ham grabbed her hand and pulled her over to a table. He pushed her down under it, then climbed in beside her.
Then, without asking, he pulled her against him, his good arm around her.
Shoot, she’d let him. Because right now, with the world crashing down around them, tomorrow didn’t matter.
Her sins didn’t matter.
Just the fact that right here, at this moment . . . she was home.
“I hope someone comes by to take our order,” Ham said. “Because I’m really hankering for a deep-dish pepperoni and mushroom.”
Jenny couldn’t move.
She just stood on the rooftop of Caffe Greco, her hands pressed to her mouth, unable to breathe at the sight of her hotel disappearing into the sea.
No. No, no—
“Jenny, just breathe.”
Harley touched her arm.
Jenny turned away from him, ran to a garbage can, and lost the bile left in her stomach.
Then she sank down into a ball, put her hands over her head. Wake up. Wake up!
She closed her eyes, tracking through the past hour—
The taste of the Mediterranean still stung her lips, her clothing soggy from her dive into the sea. She’d clung to the pylon, her arm around Gio as they ducked under the water, holding their breaths until her lungs wanted to burst.
She surfaced, gulped a breath, and went down again. Gio’s arms were around her by then, and when she felt him panic, she hit the surface again.
This time, she bobbed, searching the horizon.
The cloud of volcanic debris blanketed the air, hanging over the sea, and she could barely make out the shore. “Pull your shirt up over your mouth,” she told him as she did the same, tucking it over her nose.
That’s when the sea betrayed her.
At first, as the water fell away from shore, she thought it might be a normal wave. But when the sea swept past the dinghies tied at the dock, when it fell to reveal rocks and boulders and the debris of the shoreline, she knew they were in trouble.
“Run, Gio!”
Jenny grabbed Gio’s shirt as they stumbled up the shoreline, past huge sailboats now dug into the seabed, past fishing trawlers and nets and buoys. She lost her flip-flops and Gio tripped and fell, cutting his knee on a rock.
“Get up!” She didn’t mean to scare him, but she could already hear the deep, dark thunder of a tsunami.
She didn’t realize they had tsunamis in the Mediterranean, but of course they did. Turkey had been hit with one a few years ago, right?
They hit the shoreline and kept running.
“My grandfather!” Gio pulled away from her, heading toward the pier.
“Gio!”
The shout came from an elderly fisherman in canvas pants and sandals. Ash covered his hat and vest, and he ran down the shore and scooped Gio into his arms, shaking, weeping.
“Nonnino!” Gio struggled free and said something in Italian.
His grandfather turned, took one look at the sea, and took his hand.
“This way!” Jenny said, not sure why, and took off up the road, toward the coffee shop.
Toward the hotel.
Back to Orion.
She couldn’t remember where it was except to retrace her steps, but as she ran, her hand over her mouth, she thought of turning around, going back along the harbor.
The hotel overlooked the sea.
Gio and his nonnino ran past her, and she glanced back. A wall of gray sea roared toward shore, foaming, hungry, gobbling everything in its path. It hit the sailboats at anchor beyond the docks like they might be toys, scooping them up, swamping them. Spray filled the air and she could already taste the death.
She sprinted up the hill, passing Gio and his grandfather, flinging herself into the coffee shop.
People were hurt, bleeding, crying. She spotted the Americans. Harley was wrapping a cloth around the hand of one of the girls.
“Tsunami!” Jenny shouted and Harley looked at her.
She turned to a barista. “Stairs—where are your stairs?”
He pointed to a door in the back, and Jenny pushed Gio and his grandfather toward it. “Go, go!”
Already the thunder had turned deafening and water crashed into the open, broken windows of the cafe.
She sprinted up the stairs, followed by the screaming patrons fighting to get up as water flooded the ground floor. Jenny looked down as she hit the second floor and spotted the water rising on the lower level stairs. Harley was at the bottom, pulling people in.
So much like Orion.
Two apartments were on the second floor, and she banged on the doors as she ran by. “Get out!”
She ran up to the third floor. Someone had already opened the door to the terrace and she ran out, past spilled planters and toppled furniture, all covered in ash.
She cupped her hands over her eyes and watched the sea erupt in fury, tearing at apartments, taking down trees.
Their building shivered, but it was protected by the buildings around it, the higher altitude.
People were crying—the two American women holding hands, staring at the sea, then the mountain.
Harley came up beside her, breathing hard. “We got everyone out. Thank you.”
She nodded but didn’t really see him. Because behind him, along the shore, she watched an apartment building as it surrendered, collapsed into the sea in a foamy splash.
Oh.
No.
An entire building.
“Are you okay?”
“My boyfriend is in a seaside hotel on the second floor.” She searched the horizon. “The one with the green umbrellas.”
“There’s no way to get there.”
“I need to try.” And then, as she watched, the umbrellas on the roof began to shake and . . .
The hotel fell into the sea.
No . . . wait—what?
Her legs nearly buckled.
“Jenny, just breathe.”
She fled to the trash can . . .
Now, Harley crouched in front of her. “Hey. Can I get you anything?”
She shook her head, emptied. Numb.
“Maybe he got out,” Harley said. His expression betrayed worry.
Gio came over to her. “My nonnino wants to thank you.”
Right. Okay. Because what else was she going to do?
She got up and Gio led her over to the old man, now seated on a chair, breathing hard.
She crouched in front of him. Focus. Move forward. “Hi. Are you okay?”
Gio translated.
The man pressed his chest but nodded. “Grazie.” He clamped his hand on Gio’s shoulder. A tear spilled down his face, and he wiped it away.
“You’re welcome,” she said, and glanced at Gio. “What’s your grandfather’s name?”
“Marcello.”
“Marcello, you have a brave grandson.”
Gio translated and Marcello smiled.
Then, to her horror, he groaned and doubled over, holding his chest.
Oh no. “Gio, ask him where it hurts.”
The boy translated. Marcello made a face.
“He says it’s just his blood pressure.”
Maybe angina. Maybe not. “Let’s get him down on the ground. Loosen his clothing.”
Harley had come over. “What’s going on?”
“He might be having a heart attack. Gio, ask him if he has any medicine he takes.”
Harley translated instead. “Yes, but it’s at his house.”
“Do we have any aspirin?”
“I do!” said one of the women. “But it’s in my pack . . .”
Jenny got up. “Stay with him,” she said to Harley. “Loosen his clothes and if he stops breathing—”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Harley hit his feet and followed her.
She ignored him. “What does your pack look like?” she said to the woman.
“It’s orange. It’s got my name—Angie Hunter—on a tag. And—oh, a green ribbon—”
“You’re not going down there,” Harley said.
“Marcello needs his aspirin.”
“Hey—no!” Harley stood in front of her. “You are not going down there—”
“I absolutely am going down there. I’m getting Angie’s orange backpack and I’m only telling you once to step back, pal. I know I don’t look like it, but I served in Afghanistan alongside special forces, and trust me when I say I’m giving you just one warning.”
Harley’s eyes widened. “Okay. Um.” He glanced at his friends, back to her. “If this is some kind of psychotic break—”
“I’m a psychologist, for Pete’s sake, and right now, I need to do something. Okay?” And she might be scaring herself, but she couldn’t . . . oh. She pressed her hands to her gut, fighting the words in her head.
Why didn’t I just say yes to Orion? Tell him she loved him, and that if he wanted a family, then . . . well, she’d just figure it out. They could adopt. Or maybe . . . maybe the doctors were wrong.
Whatever. Wow, she’d been stupid, and the rush of it nearly made her cry out.
Instead, she drew in a breath and met Harley’s green eyes.
Orion had green eyes.
Stop. “Listen, I’m a climber and a swimmer and I’ll be fine. Hopefully the pack is still there. I’ll go look, and if not, then I’ll be right back—”
“I’m coming with you.”
Yes, okay. Because maybe, like her, he needed something to do also. “C’mon.”
The stairwell was only filled to the bottom four steps, the water dark and gritty, debris swirling in a mass. She stood at the edge of the water and peered into the shop.
Wood, Styrofoam, plaster, foam, rubber, clothing, even plastic dishes filled the room. However, near the corner, a pile of clothing, purses, and yes . . . an orange backpack.
“I’m going in.”
“I’m right behind you.”
She gasped as she plunged into the chilly water. It came up past her waist, and she clung to the bar as she worked her way over to the corner. The current hit the wall, then rushed away, rocketing water throughout the tiny cafe. Harley pushed a piece of wood away from her.
The pack was caught in a debris pile, near the back, past a cauldron of water.
“Be careful,” Harley said as she neared it.
“I got—”
The current grabbed her.
Swept her feet out from under her. She went under, the water collapsing over her head.
Something whacked her, she opened her mouth, managed to swallow water, scraped her foot on the bottom but fell before she could right herself.
No. Not like this—
Hands hauled her up. Pushed her against the bar.
She clung to it, coughing.
“You okay?” Harley said.
She was a stupid fool. Headstrong, thoughtless, cruel . . . and she began to weep as she coughed.
Harley stood there, his hand on her back.
She bowed her head into her hands. “He asked me to marry him, and I said no.” Her breath washboarded in. “I said no!”
Harley said nothing, just nodded.
She looked at him. And maybe it was because he was a stranger. And so terribly reminded her of Orion. And because her regret, more than the water, was drowning her. “Because I had an abortion when I was nineteen and there were complications.” She looked at him. “The doctor said that I probably can’t have kids. But Orion loves kids. And I didn’t even think about that when we first met—we were overseas in Afghanistan, and having a family was the furthest thing from my mind. I mean, who thinks of having kids while you’re in a war zone, right?”
Harley nodded, lifted a shoulder.
“And then we found each other again and I . . .” She closed her eyes. “I was so selfish. I was so . . . stupid. I was . . .” Her breaths caught again.
Somewhere in there, Harley’s arms went around her and he held her in the swirling mass of filthy, lethal water.
She didn’t know when she came back to herself but, finally, “I’m sorry, I’m so—”
“Stop. Just stop. It’s okay.”
She looked up at him. He wore concern in his eyes.
“I’m sorry I’m so unraveled.”
“Tsunamis do that to people.” He gave her a small smile. Then he reached around her and snagged the orange pack, providentially dislodged from the pile of debris. “Let’s go.”
She followed him back up the stairs, out of the darkness.
Marcello was sitting up, breathing better, but Harley dug through Angie’s backpack anyway and found the aspirin. Marcello chewed a couple.
Jenny went over to the railing and stared at the space where the hotel had been. And right then, Scarlett’s question found her, the one she’d asked in DC.
The one that really mattered.
“What are you so afraid of?”
This. She was afraid of this.
The moment when God took away her happy ending.
Because she didn’t deserve one.
I’m so sorry, Ry. Jenny sank down on the floor of the terrace, brought her knees up, curled her hands around them, and wept.