“Sure.” Danny’s hands hovered over the tray beside Mac’s bed until she found the canister.
“Let me slide by, Cleo.” Abby was heartened by Mac’s recovery so far, but that didn’t mean she was willing to trust it entirely. She measured Mac’s pulse as she sipped from the bending straw. She was still pale, and her ordinarily rich voice was rather thin, but Abby could allow this brief visit. Mac had been concerned about both Danny and Cleo, and time with them would do her good. Time together was doing all four of them good.
Abby brushed one finger across Mac’s eyebrow, and Mac smiled at her.
“Mac, how many fingers am I holding up?” Cleo sounded worried.
Mac didn’t even look. “She’s flipping me off, right?” She said to Danny.
Danny glanced at Cleo. “Of course.”
Danny’s smile was brief but genuine, and Abby remembered that about grief. The first numb hours after a loss could give way to ephemeral moments of connection, small islands of light.
“You look pretty tired, Ab,” Cleo said. “They need to pull a cot in here for you or something.”
“I’ll find a bed and sleep for a while, after my patient nods off again.” Abby thought she might even be telling the truth. She was exhausted, and beginning to trust that she could leave Mac’s side for a few hours without calamity.
Abby didn’t really track the conversation that followed; the sound of their voices was company enough. Danny didn’t mention her father again, and neither did they. They didn’t discuss Mac’s injuries any further, or Cleo’s leg. It didn’t feel as if these topics hovered unspoken in the small room—they just rested for a while.
Cleo complained about the dreadful hospital lunch forced upon her before she was discharged. Mac asked about Vivian’s birthday the following week. There was some quiet laughter, nothing raucous.
Then Abby noticed Mac’s lips held a shade less color, and knew it was time to stop. “I think we’d best let Mac rest now. She has to fall asleep before the nurse can wake her up to take her blood pressure.”
Cleo snorted. “If it’s that cute redhead with the tattoos who worked on my floor last night, Mac won’t mind that.”
“Well, if it’s she, I’ll be checking her pressure myself.” Abby touched Danny’s shoulder. “I’ll come home for a few hours in the morning. I’ll see you both then.”
“Okay. Get some sleep, Abby.” Danny put her arms around Abby’s waist, the first time she had initiated a hug. “Cleo? I just thought of something. How the heck are we going to get you up all those stairs to your room?”
Cleo groaned. “I know, I’ve been imagining that.”
Danny frowned. “Maybe Scratch and I can rig up some kind of sling—”
“No,” Abby said loudly. “Cleo, the bed in the infirmary will be just fine for you tonight. Danny, I’d appreciate it if you’d sleep on the cot down there, to keep an eye on her.”
“Sure, of course.” Danny took the handles of the wheelchair again. She looked over Cleo’s head at Mac, and her face fell a little. “Good night, Mac.”
“Night, Danny.”
“I’ll be back to see you tomorrow.” Danny hesitated. “I hope you can sleep. Stay off your left side.”
“I will. Hey, Dan?” Mac lifted her head. “When you come tomorrow, can you bring that copy of Da Vinci Code you loaned me? It’s on my bedside table.”
“Sure, I’ll remember.” The shadows left Danny’s eyes. She tapped on Cleo’s head. “You ready?”
“Yep, back it up.”
There was no room to turn the wheelchair in the cramped quarters, so Danny pulled Cleo carefully toward the door. Cleo lifted her hand and forked her fingers in the Vulcan live long and prosper sign at Abby and Mac.
Abby listened to the rubber squeak of the chair’s wheels as it dwindled down the hall. She went around the bed to exchange the saline unit for dextrose. “I happen to know you finished The Da Vinci Code well over a week ago.”
“Well. Thought I’d ask that cute redheaded nurse to read the good parts to me.” Mac shifted in the bed and closed her eyes. “Danny’s having a hard time.”
“Yes, she is.” Abby lowered the bed’s railing and sat carefully at its edge. She held the backs of her fingers to Mac’s cool cheek. “Among other things, she’s quite worried about you. The best thing you can do for Danny is heal fast, and come home.”
“Yes’m.”
Abby touched a button on the headboard, and the light illuminating the bed dimmed.
“You could stretch out right here with me, Doc.” Mac was beginning to slur her words. “The lady lover always does that in the movies, climbs into the hospital bed with the wounded hero.”
“Yes, I’ve seen those movies.” Abby stroked Mac’s hair off her forehead. “But the lady lovers usually aren’t doctors who understand that it’s less than wise to knock loose an intravenous line.”
“Ah, where’s your…dang romantic spirit…”
Abby watched Mac’s eyes drift closed, and her breathing grew deep and even. Abby did understand practical precautions. She promised herself she would be both practical and cautious. She stretched out carefully on the narrow bed next to Mac, against her right side, minding the IV line. She rested her head on Mac’s shoulder.
And was asleep in seconds.
Chapter Nineteen
“I can take the pain, wench.”
“Perhaps, but you still can’t take the basket.” Abby shifted the hamper higher, then slid her arm around Mac’s waist again. “Honestly, is this marathon hike really necessary for your first outing? Fractured ribs take a long time to heal.”
“Women of the desert heal quickly. We must, as the deadly scorpion is our main source of food.”
“Nice try, mighty Amazon of the desert.” Abby snickered. “But I’m still concerned about your ribs.”
“My ribs have had more than two weeks to heal.” Mac kissed the top of her head. “I’m too sore to walk without the bodily support of a beautiful woman, though. Also, I shouldn’t carry heavy baskets for a while.”
“That’s true enough.” Abby had pulled rank when they began this twilight jaunt. She carried the basket, or they stayed home. She didn’t mind its light weight, as long as Mac’s arm was draped across her shoulders. But that arm was draping rather heavily, and Abby knew her physical support was helpful. In spite of her bravado, Mac’s side was still hurting her. “Honey, it’s beautiful out here. But how far is our mystery destination?”
“Not far now.”
The scattered yells of the kids playing in the open yard had long since faded behind them. They had passed the flat plains of the gardens Scratch had begun to prepare only this week; it was still too early for planting summer vegetables. Mac had chosen an unusually warm twilight for her first venture outside since the accident, and Abby relished the spring breeze on her face as they stepped off the trail.
“I’m embarrassed that I’ve lived here a full year and I’ve never explored this far.” Abby ducked and followed Mac beneath overhanging evergreen branches, and they emerged into a small grassy meadow, enclosed by towering trees and carpeted in wildflowers. “Oh, Mac. It’s lovely here.”
Mac straightened, and Abby knew she was pulling in breath carefully before she spoke. “Welcome to my cool fort, Abby. I brought Danny and Cleo here once. I wanted to share it with you too.”
“Lord.” Abby turned in a circle, gazing at the colorful blossoms, then up at the treetops. “I know very well that twenty women and kids are sitting down to their suppers, right over that hill out there. But I’d swear you and I were alone in the world in this place. Thank you, for sharing your fort with me.”
Mac nodded toward a low rock that sat in the earth near a thick bank of leafy hedges. “Let’s set up over thar.”
“Yes, m’lady.” Abby approved of Mac’s chosen landing zone; she could sit fairly comfortably on the ground, with the rock to lean against for support. Abby opened the basket and shook out a small blanket on the
grass. Then she extended her braced forearm, and Mac grasped it and lowered herself to the blanket, a routine made familiar by weeks of team-driven recuperation. Abby eyed Mac’s face surreptitiously as she unpacked the basket. She seemed fine; she was catching her breath quickly.
“Man, I missed the sky.” Mac rested her head against the stone. “Too many days inside on my back.”
“I know it’s been hard for you.” Abby lifted a thermos from the basket and twisted its lid. She took an appreciative whiff of the fragrant steam rising from the tea. “Mac.” She sniffed again. “Is this Twinings?”
“Yeah, Twinings Prince of Wales.”
“Macawai.” Abby sat back on her heels. “Where, in all the vast tea dens of Fredericksburg, did you find Twinings Prince of Wales?”
“Actually, in the vast dens of the Internet.” The dimple appeared in Mac’s cheek. “You said some time ago this tea was one of your favorite memories of your years in England.”
“Ah, you sweet ball of mush.” Abby kissed Mac soundly on the cheek. She rested her forehead on her shoulder, touched not just by the gift, but by how typical it was of Mac’s thoughtfulness. Many lovers might have preferred a bottle of chilled wine for an early evening tryst like this. But Abby would never again touch alcohol, in any form—so Mac brought along her favorite tea instead. She felt blessed. “Thank you, dear.”
She poured the lightly scented brew into the plastic cup, and wrapped Mac’s hand around it, her touch lingering on the empty space on her forefinger. “I’m so sorry your favorite ring was lost, Mac. I could have sworn you were wearing it at the hospital. I wish I’d paid better attention.”
“You had other things on your mind, Doc.” Mac took a sip and swirled the liquid in her mouth in a scholarly manner.
“Yes, split heads and whatnot.” Abby accepted the cup and savored the tea, transported briefly back to the history-rich streets of London she had walked as a girl. But she didn’t linger there long, as tonight she much preferred a certain small circle of trees in northeast Virginia. She saw Mac studying her ringless finger, and she traced her lower lip with her thumb. “That’s a mysterious smile, Counselor. Do you have a story to tell me?”
“Part of a story. I’ll tell you the whole thing, someday.” Mac rested her chin on her knuckles. “You remember that long call I made to New Mexico, the day I got home?”
“I do. You talked to your parents.”
“My dad, mostly. He knew I was okay, I just wanted to fill him in.”
“I’m glad you did. It must have been frightening for them, being so far away and knowing you were injured.”
“It was.” Mac nodded. “It’s scary to think you almost lost a daughter, especially if you’ve already lost one. It seems I had a twin, Doc.”
“A what?” Abby set the cup down on the blanket.
“A twin sister. She died when we were both three.”
“Mac.” Abby lifted Mac’s hand onto her knee. “You’ve always said you were an only child. You didn’t know about this?”
“Well. I’ve suspected it for a while.” Mac smiled at the ground. “But my dad confirmed it.”
“What did he tell you?”
“About her death? Just that Ayashe drowned during a family day trip, a picnic by the Rio Grande. My mother had to be hospitalized after the funeral. And twice more, the next year. My dad and her doctors finally decided they had to put away any reminder of what happened—any reminder of Ayashe. So, she just disappeared from our lives.”
“Ayashe.” Abby watched Mac’s face, amazed that she could relate all of this so calmly. She felt slightly queasy herself. “My God, Mac. All of a sudden, your entire history has changed. Are you angry that your parents kept this from you?”
“I’m not sure angry is the word. I guess I understand my dad’s reasoning. But I told him I felt cheated, yeah. Robbed of knowing a member of my family. He was obviously still so conflicted about the whole thing, I didn’t dump on him for it.” Mac shrugged. “Guess I’m culpable in the family secret myself. I agreed not to tell Mom that I know.”
Abby studied Mac’s loved features, imagining her twin if she’d lived. Another woman with red streaks in her dark hair, with Mac’s deep laugh. “And you don’t have any memories at all, of this little girl?”
Mac shook her head, playing with Abby’s fingers. “Looking back, I remember small flashes. Not of Ayashe, but of some big turmoil in my family when I was very young. My mother crying all the time. Never wanting to play with me. I reckon it was about that time I made up a little girl to play with.”
“Ashley.” A shiver worked up Abby’s back. “Oh, honey. You did remember her, didn’t you? Are you all right with all this?”
“Yeah. I really am. I remember her again now.” Mac lifted Abby’s hand and kissed it. “I’ll tell you more Ashley stories, someday. After I’ve had time to digest this all a bit.”
“I’ll look forward to that.” Abby fingered the sleeve of Mac’s soft linen shirt. She didn’t know how to respond to nebulous promises of someday because she didn’t know how many of those there would be. She tried to resolve, again, not to dwell on an unreadable future. Mac was here now. She had come close enough to losing her forever to savor every day they had left.
“And tomorrow, she is a woman.”
It took Abby a moment to realize Mac meant Danny. “Yes, a red-letter day for Fireside, in many ways. We meet our new child advocate tomorrow, and Danny turns eighteen. And she graduates next week.”
“Our brave papoose.”
Abby smiled. “She is brave, Mac, isn’t she?”
The teachers at Danny’s high school had been universally supportive. No one would have faulted Danny if she’d fallen apart these last weeks. The pressures of final exams and term papers could easily have defeated a young woman who had lost her father so suddenly, to a violent death. But even grieving and filled with the ambivalent shock of this loss, Danny had finished her senior projects. She would graduate with the rest of her class, and several voices would be there to cheer when she crossed the stage—Mac, Abby, Cleo, Vivian, Scratch—and Degale and Jo and Tina, Danny’s Fireside family.
“Wait,” Mac whispered. “I think I saw one.”
“One what?” The last of the light was leaving the sky, and Abby couldn’t see much of anything.
“Just watch. There.”
And after a few seconds Abby saw it too, a tiny, sleepy blink of light deep in the hedges nearest them. It glowed briefly, a pale shimmering in the dark leaves, and then faded.
“Isn’t that one?” Mac’s tone was hushed and delighted.
“It is! They’re quite early this year.”
Cleo had tried to describe fireflies to Mac on a few occasions, and Mac had smiled politely and asked Abby to order antipsychotic meds. Apparently lightning bugs were unheard of west of the Mississippi, and Mac pretended to insist they were figments of Cleo’s fevered imagination. Now more of them were appearing in the depths of the thick greenery, small lamps blinking for several seconds at a time, subtle flashes of green and gold.
“Looky,” Mac breathed.
Abby rested her head on her shoulder again and watched the circle around them come gradually alive with the tiny flickering lights. Mac was seeing them for the first time, and she was thrilled to share this with her. Fireflies usually appeared weeks later, in full summer rather than spring, but Abby could believe they came early to this place. Every firefly ever born might have emerged into the world through this magical ring of trees. Perhaps their gentle light was generated here, in a space that felt timeless and somehow sacred, even to Abby’s practical sensibilities.
“All right. Perfect.” Mac kissed Abby’s forehead. “Excuse me, ma’am.”
Abby lifted her head, and Mac shifted and started to get up.
“What do you need, honey? I can find it.”
“I believe that’s true.” Mac lifted Abby’s hand and rested it on her raised knee. She knelt in the grass before her a little stiffl
y, given her sore side, but with an air of chivalrous dignity. She covered Abby’s hand with her own. “I have something to say to you.”
“All right.” Abby sat back against the stone, both bracing herself and preparing to listen with an open heart. “Tell me.”
Mac watched the faint stars overhead, as if to summon her thoughts. “I’ve been wandering for a while, Abby. A long time.” Her shoulder lifted. “And I think it was traveling I had to do. I have no regrets. But as I’ve told you, things have changed for me here, at Fireside. And the honor of being with you has been a big part of that.”
Abby sat still. The light of the fireflies was too distant to reach Mac, but their lovely luminescence still seemed to flicker over the strong planes of her face.
“I want to stay with you, Abby, if you’ll have me. I want to wake up with you every morning, for the rest of my life. You’re my home. I love you, and I want you to be my wife.” Mac paused, and Abby was grateful for the chance to absorb the gut-deep resonance of those words. “I’m willing to work very hard, querida, all of my days, to keep this good for us both.”
Abby lifted Mac’s hand and kissed it. She started to speak, but Mac shook her head.
“Say anything you want, honey, but I’m not looking for an answer tonight. I just had the desire to tell you what’s in my heart.”
Abby had the same desire, but decided she didn’t need words to express it. She drew Mac closer and their lips met. The kiss began lightly and then deepened, and Abby explored Mac’s face with her fingertips, as if she’d never seen her before. She lost awareness even of the beauty of the twinkling lights around them, and reveled instead in the private pleasure of their touch.
Mac was stiff, and even cushioned by the blanket the hard ground was unforgiving, so there was nothing tempestuous in their joining that memorable night. They made love gently, generously, their slow dance witnessed only by wildflowers, and illuminated by fireflies and starlight.
*
A full moon was rising by the time Fireside came into view again. Mac tried not to lean too heavily on Abby, but she wasn’t overly worried about burdening her diminutive lover. She knew Abby was strong.
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