Page 100 of Hearts of Locke Hill

Cyril held his breath, waiting for the imminent coughing that would follow. Ruby tightened her grip on his arm.

“Mmm.”

“That was not a cough,” Cyril whispered. He met his mother’s gleeful grin. “That was not a cough!”

“Indeed, it was not!” she exclaimed, and watched again as his father filled his lungs and sighed a clear, restful exhale.

“Mmm.”

Mama barked a laugh and caught it with her hand over her mouth.

“Oh, please,” Ruby whispered.

Papa blinked his eyes open and cleared his throat. Cyril turned to the side table and poured a glass of water. Mama helped him sit up, and Cyril steadied the glass as his father sipped, then drank thirstily until it was finished.

As Cyril returned the glass, his father spoke in his soft baritone, rough with disuse. “What is so amusing, then, my Rosy?”

Cyril turned to find his mother throwing her arms around her husband, her face awash in laughter and tears. “You’ve come back to me! Oh, my love, you’ve come back to me.”

Papa lifted a weak hand to his wife’s arm. “And that is amusing?”

Mama kissed his forehead, his cheek, his mouth. “It is wonderful.”

Ruby had rounded to the other side of the bed and now held Papa’s hand to her cheek, tears glistening there as she smiled and laughed.

Cyril moved to leave the room, wiping his own tears and chuckling to himself. He would ask for a doctor and relay the news to his other siblings.

“Son?” Father’s voice was faint but clear.

Cyril turned. “Yes?” He retraced his steps as Father beckoned with an outstretched hand. “I was summoning the doctor.” His gaze skipped between the look of blissful relief on his mother’s face and the battle-worn peace on his father’s. He took his father’s hand, warm and rough and familiar.

“That can wait a moment,” Father said. “You left the school.”

“Of course I did. You were—” Cyril shook his head. “Of course I did.”

“Thank you for being here with your mother.”

“It was the least I could do. All of us are here, though some are sleeping, I suppose. The lot of us are the talk of the hospital, I assure you. Oscar and George have charmed every nurse, of every age.”

“Shameless,” Papa said with a crook of a smile.

Where exhaustion and resignation had ruled Cy’s movements only moments ago, hope and vigor coursed through him now. “You’ll wish to see them, of course.”

“Of course, but—” He sighed. “Oof, I feel like I’ve been dragged behind the Central line from Bank to Shepherd’s Bush. No matter.” His grip tightened, and the sensation did more to reassure Cy of his father’s survival than anything else. His gaze narrowed on Cy, green and penetrating. “Go back to her, son. Go get her …” He breathed out. “And never let her go.”

Cy’s breath hitched, and he glanced between a very smug Ruby and back to his father. “How— Ruby, just earlier—”

Mama only grinned, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

“Yes, well,” Papa said, filling his lungs again, “we all know Ruby is the most intelligent of the batch.”

His jaw dropped.

“Son.”

He looked to his mother, who wore compassion like a tiara.

“I’ve watched you try to forget what it was like to have your other half by your side. I’ve watched you believe you’re doing what’s best for everyone else. But it’s time to think of what is best for you. Go,” she said. “I’ve a notion you won’t have need of Little Oakleigh, nor Eventide.” Her eyes sparked with mischief. “Though, perhaps one day soon, you may have need of our nursery.”