Page 118 of Bittersweet & Strange

“There you are,” he whispers.

My eyes burn, and I blink hard against the tears threatening to spill. I don’t want him to see me upset.

“Yeah.” I laugh again because I don’t know what else to do. “Where else would I be?”

His mouth moves into the smallest smile. I wipe my face against my shoulder because I refuse to let go of his hand, then lean closer until I’m blocking everything else from his view.

“You’re going to be all right. Mara’s coming.”

He keeps looking at me, and the longer he does, the more nervous I become. I lift my head.

Rhys is there, one hand pressed against his upper arm. He should be agreeing with me, telling me Mara will fix this, telling me Dad is going to be fine.

He doesn’t say anything.

“She’ll fix this,” I repeat, louder this time. My eyes dart toward the road behind us. “She’s coming, right? Someone went to get her. She’ll know what to do.”

Dad’s thumb moves weakly against my fingers. The barely there movement deepens my fear.

“Remember when you got sick last winter and I told you I was going to drag you out of bed myself if you didn’t get up?” I tighten both hands around his. “You told me I couldn’t drag a sack of flour across the kitchen, much less you, and then you got up just to prove you were right.”

His smile grows a fraction.

I nod frantically. “See? You remember.”

“I remember.”

“So you can make fun of me again when we get home.”

His eyes soften.

Home.

“We’ll go home,” I tell him. “I’ll take care of everything. You won’t have to do anything. I’ll cook. I’ll even make that awful stew you like, and you can sit on the porch and complain that I cut the potatoes wrong.”

His eyes close.

“Dad.”

They open again.

“Don’t do that.”

“I’m tired, son.”

The words tear straight through me.

“No.”

His fingers twitch in mine.

“You can sleep later.”

“Boone—”

“No, you can sleep when Mara gets here.” My voice breaks. I lean closer, desperate to keep his eyes on me. “You always tell me I sleep too much anyway, so now I’m telling you. Stay awake.”

A shadow falls across us when Rhys kneels beside me. I know he’s there without looking at him, but I keep my eyes fixed on Dad because I don’t want to see Rhys’s face again. I don’t want his silence or that terrible softness in his eyes confirming something I’m still desperately refusing to understand.