Two months later
Nothing is so good as it seems beforehand.
― George Eliot
Cici stared down at her right hand. It trembled and soon became wet with her tears. She gritted her teeth and maintained her grip on the stress ball.
“I’m so proud of you,” Sam murmured. He pressed a kiss to her temple, and Cici exhaled, her muscles relaxing, only to quiver with exhaustion.
“I’m getting there,” she muttered.
“You are.”
“I may regain full strength and mobility.”
Sam tucked her tighter into his side. They were on the couch in their living room, enjoying the warmth of the crackling fire in the tiled kiva fireplace.
“If anyone can do it, it’s you, Cee.”
She beamed up at him even as fatigue settled over her in a warm, thick haze. But it was a good tired. A really good one.
She’d been able to return to work for short periods. Mrs. Sanchez had helped hire a lovely young man fresh out of seminary who’d happily taken over some of Cici’s duties, allowing her to spend more time with Sam as he recovered.
Today, they’d shared Thanksgiving at the Gurule Hacienda, hosted by her father. Mrs. Sanchez had insisted on cooking the meal—a good choice because Frank Gurule’s cooking skills were subpar. Mrs. Sanchez had arrived early in the morning, and by lunchtime the table groaned under her dishes. Her son and grandson had joined them, along with Evan and his date—a pretty, vivacious preschool teacher named Lena.
Cici liked her, especially Lena’s deep belly laugh.
Sam shifted, a grimace building from the corner of his mouth and traveling up his cheek. The wound in his leg had healed, but the bone remained more fragile than the doctor had expected. Sam walked with a limp and tired easily—still.
She wiggled her fingers, trying to ease the ache that built there whether she worked her tendons and muscles or not.
No, they weren’t perfectly healthy. They might never be again. Sam was still on medical leave, but that would be up soon. He still hadn’t made a decision about returning to the task force, though Jeannette had offered him many reasons why she needed him there. Cici better understood their relationship now, no longer intimidated by or jealous of it. How could she be? Sam accepted her closeness with Sterling; she owed him the same courtesy.
No, their lives weren’t perfect. But they were alive. Together. And life was peaceful. Uneventful, even.
She closed her eyes and said the prayer she’d taken to each night since she’d awakened in the hospital. The one for her sister, for her uncle, for Lydia. She hadn’t yet been able to ask for grace for KaraLynn or for Cord McGee, aka Michael Soolven. She might not ever be able to, and she was working to accept that about herself.
Sam hugged her closer even as they both grimaced. She smiled up at him. He leaned in and kissed her, and she touched her finger to his cheek as contentment washed over her.
END