The reason for this. Why there were wires hitting my head and personal belongings all over my feet.
Why there was blood.
All over me.
“Billie …”
My ears were ringing. Body tingling. I was sure my lungs were going to stop filling if they hadn’t already.
But I’d heard him.
And I understood.
So, I answered, “Okay,” and things started happening so fast again.
But this time, it was because of Jared. He was in control. And all of the movement involved me.
I couldn’t catch up. I didn’t know if I was supposed to or if I was even able. Before I tried, I was out of my seat and in the air, and Jared was holding me like a baby.
Everything turned into a giant blur of color. Navy and off-white and a flickering red. More hues flashed across my eyes, like when I looked out the window on the runway. They streaked faster, mixing with my vision and a giant gust of air and then …
Rain.
I didn’t know where it was coming from. I didn’t know why it felt so good. But when it sprinkled across my face and over my hands and on my bare foot, it felt like love.
The purest, rawest form.
Every drop of it.
Every splatter.
I felt it everywhere.
And then I felt nothing at all.
Because there was only black.
TWENTY-THREE
JARED
I’D WATCHED a documentary once about a man who had fled his homeland during World War II, and when he returned forty years later, the cameras were rolling to capture it. After the fourteen-hour flight, the man descended the steps of the plane, and once his feet touched the tarmac, he got on his hands and knees and kissed the ground.
His body shook; his hands could barely hold his own weight.
But he didn’t move.
He stayed just like that with his face hidden, breathing it all in, getting reconnected to his roots.
I knew exactly how the man had felt.
Once I set Billie on a stretcher and into the care of a paramedic where I knew she was safe, I made it only a few paces before I fell onto my knees.
My palms hit the grass and then my elbows.
My hands shook as they held my weight.
I pressed my face into the wet blades.
And when I smelled the mud, I kissed it.
“Thank you,” I whispered even though no one could hear me.
TWENTY-FOUR
HONEY
WINTER 1984
“I CAN’T BELIEVE it’s really happening,” Valentine said to Honey as the movers carried some of her boxes out of their apartment.
The girls had celebrated last night, their final evening as roommates, by ordering pizza and drinking wine and never getting out of their pajamas. Even though they were extremely excited about their new homes, they were dreading the separation. Fortunately, the condo Andrew had purchased in downtown Portland that Honey was moving into was only a couple of blocks from the new place Valentine had rented.
“I know,” Honey sighed, watching one of the guys put a box in the truck and head back inside for more. “I’m going to miss us so much.” She faced her best friend, closing the distance between them, and hugged her as hard as she could.
“You’re going to see me all the time.”
“I’d better.”
Honey had been so relieved when Valentine told her she’d found an apartment that was only a two-minute walk away, solidifying that she would see her best friend as much as she hoped.
“It’s the only way you’ll get fed on the nights Andrew works since you can’t even boil water.”
Both girls laughed.
“I hate how true that is,” Honey said. She felt a knot in her throat, and it grew with each swallow. “And I hate how much this hurts.”
It didn’t matter how close Valentine would be living to her; she still wouldn’t be sleeping in the next room, and that was a big change.
Valentine squeezed her back. “You found yourself a good man. You’re taking the next steps, just as you should be.” Her fingers dug in even harder. “I’m positive he’s the right one for you.”
Glancing over Valentine’s shoulder, Honey saw Andrew pull up to the curb and park. He had come straight from the hospital and was still in his white coat and scrubs, but he wanted to make sure the girls had all the help they needed.
“I’m positive too,” Honey said, reaching for Valentine’s hand and holding it as she faced Andrew.