I was asleep by the time Georgia came back from the bathroom. I woke up to find her in my arms, sunglasses still seated firmly on her nose. She didn’t stir as I extricated myself, tiptoed out of the room, and started down the hall toward the kitchenette. I needed coffee. Coffee would make everything better.
Mahir was already waiting there, his hands cupped around a mug of tea. He raised his head at the sound of footsteps, and asked, “Well?”
“She’s okay.” The words were like a prayer. I smiled, and repeated them: “She’s okay.”
“Thank God. Is she awake?”
“Not right now. They told you about the…?” I pointed to my left eye.
Mahir nodded. “Yes. I’m sure she’ll adapt well. You both will.”
“Yeah. About that.” Maybe it was selfish to focus on myself at a time like this, but if George was going to live, I was going to stay with her. Completely with her, no matter what that required. “Before we go, I’m going to talk to Dr. Abbey about getting myself medicated. I’m tired of this.”
“That sounds like a very wise idea,” said Mahir. “Are you going to disappear again? Never come to see us?”
“We have to come back here every eighteen months,” said George. I turned. She was standing in the kitchen doorway, sunglasses in place, and she looked so right that my knees went weak. “Maybe we can arrange to meet up. See each other. Debrief.”
Mahir smiled. “I’d like that.”
There was a pot of coffee on the hot plate. I went to pour myself a cup, finally content, all the way down to my bones. It was going to be okay. George was going to live; I was going to get better; we were going to find a way to balance our privacy with our responsibilities. It wasn’t happy ever after—that doesn’t happen until you’re dead—but for the moment, considering the alternatives, it was more than close enough for me.