“Oh. Well, okay.” She pushed me to the bank of elevators, and we stood there together, waiting in silence. There was a clock on the wall, and the ticking sounded loud in my head, the minutes potentially counting down to the moment when I’d be forced to acknowledge that I was on my own. And yet, part of me wanted just that. If only I wasn’t virtually helpless. The pain pills I’d taken earlier were starting to wear off. I was in need of another dose, and I shifted in discomfort. The clock continued to move, my heart rate seeming to match its steady tick.
“Maybe—” the nurse began to say just as an elevator dinged open, Gabriel stepping out, looking rushed, his hair pushed back from his forehead as if he’d jumped out of the shower, run a hand through it, and driven here.
His face broke into a smile when he saw me. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Oh you’re not late,” the nurse said. “You showed up just in time.”
You showed up just in time.
Just in time?
The words echoed in my head for some reason.
“Good,” Gabriel said, smiling at me. “Ready?”
I knew I glowered back, but I couldn’t muster a smile. I felt broken, humiliated, confused, and helpless. And it didn’t help that I knew I was barely tolerable to look at. At the very least, I had always had my looks. Now I had nothing at all. “Yeah.”
The nurse stayed with us as we traveled down in the elevator and out the front doors of the hospital, where Gabriel’s truck stood waiting in a patient pickup zone. The nurse pushed the passenger seat all the way back to make room for my cast and helped me into the truck as Gabriel returned the wheelchair to an orderly outside. Five minutes later, we were pulling out of the parking lot.
“How are you feeling?” Gabriel asked, shooting me a concerned look.
“About as good as I look,” I muttered.
He grimaced slightly. “That bad, huh?”
I couldn’t help laughing, although the resulting movement hurt my ribs. “I think you’re supposed to lie and tell me I look great.”
“If I said you looked good now, you wouldn’t believe me later when I really mean it.”
I made a noncommittal sound followed by a grimace as I adjusted my body and pain shot down my leg.
“When was the last time you took something for the pain?”
“Too long ago. I’m due for a dose.”
Gabriel nodded. “We’re only about twenty-five minutes away. Can you wait?”
“Yeah.” I sighed and leaned my head back on the seat. I was so tired. “Where do you live anyway?”
“I live a couple of miles from the quarry where I work.”
“And what exactly does one do at a quarry?”
“We sell slabs of granite for various uses—countertops, memorials, stairs, all kinds of things. But I’m a stone sculptor. I use a few different materials—marble mostly—to create pieces for customers.”
I paused, surprised, and not sure why. He was an artist? Well yes, I could see it now. Quiet, intense, steady. I supposed you’d have to be all those things to chip away at rock all day—not that I really had any earthly idea how one went about creating things from marble or any other type of stone. “Interesting.”
I saw him smile slightly from my peripheral vision, but he didn’t respond. We completed the rest of the trip in virtual silence. I watched the scenery go by as we left the town of Havenfield and headed toward Morlea where I knew the quarry—and Gabriel’s home—was.
We turned off the highway and drove through the small downtown, moving toward the heavily wooded outskirts. The trees were still green and lush, the forests thick with summer growth. But fall would be upon us soon, bringing the changing leaves and cooler weather and … what? What would fall bring for me? What was there to look forward to?
Gabriel turned down a paved back road, and then made another turn onto an unpaved road that ended in a driveway leading to an elegant yet rustic home of both wood and stone. A front porch spanned the entire length of the house, a porch swing swaying gently in the breeze.
I swallowed. It was beautiful, the most beautiful home I’d ever seen. “I guess stone sculptors do well for themselves,” I said, not taking my eyes from it.
“I’m glad you like it,” Gabriel said, shutting off his truck and getting out, walking quickly to my side. He opened the door and then paused, a look of mild distress coming over his face. Oh.
“I can … I can try to get out if you just hold my hand,” I said. “Or …”
“No,” he said immediately, an insistent edge to his tone. “No. I’ve got you.” He reached up and supported me as I maneuvered myself out of the truck. I felt dizzy with the pain of my broken ribs, and I had to take a moment to get my bearings.
Gabriel’s arms slipped around me, holding me up, and though his stance felt stiff, his grip was solid, his expression one of resolve, and the lean strength of him gave me comfort. His hazel gaze caught mine, his eyes wide, his jaw set with focus, and I could see the obvious effort he was exerting in being this close to me. Was he holding his breath? It stabbed at my heart, breaking through my own pain. He’d touched me—supported me—because I needed him to. Offered something so very difficult for him.
He reached behind the seat with his other hand and grabbed the hospital crutches. I took them one at a time, situating them so I could walk the short distance to Gabriel’s front door.
He walked slowly beside me and helped me up the two wide steps to his front porch, opening the large wooden door and leading me inside.
I stopped in the foyer, taking a moment to look around. The whole space was wide open, with cathedral ceilings featuring massive, dark wood beams. There was a living room area directly ahead and a floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace separating what looked to be a kitchen at the back of the house. A set of French doors off the dining room area to the right made the whole space light and airy.
I didn’t think I’d ever been inside such a beautiful home. My entire apartment could fit in the living/dining room area alone. I tried to admire it, to look around at the particulars, but my body hurt more and more by the second. I just wanted to sag down onto something soft.
“Where’s your brother?”
“He’s on a fishing trip.” There was something odd in his tone, but I didn’t attempt to analyze it.
Gabriel led me through the living room to a short hallway on the left and used his foot to nudge open a door. I hobbled behind him, and when he turned, he must have been able to tell by my face that the short journey from the truck to this room had worn me out completely. He guided me quickly to the single bed, made up with what looked to be a handmade quilt, the simple wooden headboard stacked high with pillows, and helped me ease down onto it. I groaned with the movement, my midsection screaming in pain. It didn’t feel as if my lungs had enough room to expand.
“Where are your pain meds?”
“They’re in my purse,” I mumbled, closing my eyes and grimacing again. “I forgot my bag and my purse in the truck.” Shit.
He left the room, and I took the opportunity to glance around groggily. Other than the bed, there was a blue dresser that looked like it might have been in a kid’s room at some point, some sort of superhero sticker on the bottom drawer, a simple wooden bedside table with a reading lamp and a clock on it, and a rocking chair in the corner. There was a door next to the chair that I assumed led to a bathroom.