great, either.
Pacing the floor like an expectant father in a hospital corridor, he wrestled with the temptation to knock on the door to check if she was okay.
He shouldn’t have left her, should never have agreed to let her have a bath.
What had he been thinking?
What if she collapsed or fainted? What then?
He was almost tempted to peep through the keyhole, but the thought of trying to explain his actions held him back until he was sure she’d had more than enough time to wash. He gave a brisk knock on the door.
“How are you doing in there?”
“Fine.”
He wasn’t convinced.
“You’re okay?”
“Noah, I’m fine.”
“Not feeling dizzy or anything? You’re not going fall asleep on me?”
“I’m pulling the plug out now” came the answer.
“Well, hurry up and we can both get something to eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
She was about to call out a murmur of thanks, but as she was wiping the steam from the mirror, something stirred inside, a horrible memory. Wood snapping. Hands frantically gripping the steering wheel. Struggling to gain control as everything around her fell apart—
“Cheryl?”
She could hear Noah calling her name, a note of anxiety in his voice as he waited for her response. But it was as if his voice were coming from afar now. Her reflection seemed so unfamiliar as she stared back, wiping the mirror again, catching sight of the long damp brown hair that framed her sallow face. Seeing the scar above her left cheek, she lifted her hand and fingered it, peering closer into the mirror and admiring Noah’s handiwork.
He’d done a good job, Cheryl noted. The edges were beautifully aligned, and he’d used 6/0 nylon—the finest of threads to assure the minimum of scarring.
6/0 nylon.
The words resounded in her head. How did she know what thread he had used? How could she know that? She stared at the scar, struggling to capture images that seemed to slip away as quickly as they appeared. A strangled sob of terror escaped her lips as the mirror steamed up again, as the windows on the Jeep fogged over, as the bridge started collapsing around her. Her hands flew to her eyes and she attempted to shut it all out, to block away memories too painful to visit—
“You’re safe.”
Strong arms were holding her, just as they had before, and a deep, steady voice was pulling her back from danger.
“Cheryl, you’re safe.”
“I remembered something. I was looking at my stitches. Somehow I knew the type of thread that you’d used.” Sobs racked her body, and she clung to him, herhead buried in his chest. She could feel his cheek against hers, his lips gently shushing her as he held her tighter. “It was horrible—the windows were steaming up and the bridge was giving way. I knew I was going to die. I can still feel it, still hear Buster barking.” She hesitated. Another memory pinged back and promptly slipped away as horror overtook her once more. “I can remember what it felt like to know for sure I was going to die. Oh, God, Noah, I really thought I was about to die and no one would even know….”
“You’re safe.” He said it for the third time, only this time she allowed herself to be reassured, to hold on to the one thing she knew in this lonely, scary world, the one thing that was good and kind and safe—Noah.
There was a subtle shift in her response to him. He still comforted her, but as she became aware of her nakedness, the innocence of a moment ago was missing. She could feel his hand on her damp soft skin, was achingly aware of her breasts pressed against him. The rise and fall of his chest stirred her nipples into a heightened awareness, and his breath was warm and soft on her cheek. Like a flower to the sun, she turned her lips toward Noah’s, her eyes holding his. There was nothing left to do but close the tiny distance that separated them. Noah seemed to realize that, too, and their lips met with exquisite gentleness, not moving,
Pacing the floor like an expectant father in a hospital corridor, he wrestled with the temptation to knock on the door to check if she was okay.
He shouldn’t have left her, should never have agreed to let her have a bath.
What had he been thinking?
What if she collapsed or fainted? What then?
He was almost tempted to peep through the keyhole, but the thought of trying to explain his actions held him back until he was sure she’d had more than enough time to wash. He gave a brisk knock on the door.
“How are you doing in there?”
“Fine.”
He wasn’t convinced.
“You’re okay?”
“Noah, I’m fine.”
“Not feeling dizzy or anything? You’re not going fall asleep on me?”
“I’m pulling the plug out now” came the answer.
“Well, hurry up and we can both get something to eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
She was about to call out a murmur of thanks, but as she was wiping the steam from the mirror, something stirred inside, a horrible memory. Wood snapping. Hands frantically gripping the steering wheel. Struggling to gain control as everything around her fell apart—
“Cheryl?”
She could hear Noah calling her name, a note of anxiety in his voice as he waited for her response. But it was as if his voice were coming from afar now. Her reflection seemed so unfamiliar as she stared back, wiping the mirror again, catching sight of the long damp brown hair that framed her sallow face. Seeing the scar above her left cheek, she lifted her hand and fingered it, peering closer into the mirror and admiring Noah’s handiwork.
He’d done a good job, Cheryl noted. The edges were beautifully aligned, and he’d used 6/0 nylon—the finest of threads to assure the minimum of scarring.
6/0 nylon.
The words resounded in her head. How did she know what thread he had used? How could she know that? She stared at the scar, struggling to capture images that seemed to slip away as quickly as they appeared. A strangled sob of terror escaped her lips as the mirror steamed up again, as the windows on the Jeep fogged over, as the bridge started collapsing around her. Her hands flew to her eyes and she attempted to shut it all out, to block away memories too painful to visit—
“You’re safe.”
Strong arms were holding her, just as they had before, and a deep, steady voice was pulling her back from danger.
“Cheryl, you’re safe.”
“I remembered something. I was looking at my stitches. Somehow I knew the type of thread that you’d used.” Sobs racked her body, and she clung to him, herhead buried in his chest. She could feel his cheek against hers, his lips gently shushing her as he held her tighter. “It was horrible—the windows were steaming up and the bridge was giving way. I knew I was going to die. I can still feel it, still hear Buster barking.” She hesitated. Another memory pinged back and promptly slipped away as horror overtook her once more. “I can remember what it felt like to know for sure I was going to die. Oh, God, Noah, I really thought I was about to die and no one would even know….”
“You’re safe.” He said it for the third time, only this time she allowed herself to be reassured, to hold on to the one thing she knew in this lonely, scary world, the one thing that was good and kind and safe—Noah.
There was a subtle shift in her response to him. He still comforted her, but as she became aware of her nakedness, the innocence of a moment ago was missing. She could feel his hand on her damp soft skin, was achingly aware of her breasts pressed against him. The rise and fall of his chest stirred her nipples into a heightened awareness, and his breath was warm and soft on her cheek. Like a flower to the sun, she turned her lips toward Noah’s, her eyes holding his. There was nothing left to do but close the tiny distance that separated them. Noah seemed to realize that, too, and their lips met with exquisite gentleness, not moving,
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