Page 12 of In Every Chapter
Bagels and broomsticks, she was tall! I was five-six, which was nothing to sneeze at, but she was lofty. Amazonian. At least six feet. Curvy, unlike me, in all the right places with the most stunning pair of aquamarine eyes. Next to her sleek all-black ensemble like she was prepared for a funeral at a moments notice, my khaki skirt and blouse with an oversized cardigan were downright frumpy.
“You don’t look snobby enough for a Sabrina. I’m Juliet.” Her lips curved into a slight smile, like she was out of practice. “Hope you don’t mind, I already started unpacking.”
“Not at all.” I glanced around and dropped my stuff on the lower bunk opposite hers.
She returned to folding her sheet corners with forty-five-degree precision. She was better prepared for boot camp than university. “What are you here for?”
I almost laughed. Her phrasing made it sound like we were in jail. “English literature, so I can get my master’s in Library Science. You?”
“Lawyer.” Her eyes were firm, though her mouth softened into a bit more of a smile. “This was the best law school I could find within a day’s drive of home.”
That made my heart twist. Home. Must be nice having a place you didn’t want to leave. A place you belonged. “And where’s that?”
“Serenity Springs, Idaho. Just south of Caldwell.”
Geography wasn’t my strong suit. Mostly because I didn’t have my driver’s license yet—there’d been no one to teach me—and I’d never traveled outside of Oregon before. But give me a fantasy map of Middle Earth, and I was a regular Lewis and Clark. “You’re close with your family then?”
“Something like that. I’ve got five older brothers. Two are married and popping out kids and a third one’s engaged, so I kind of wanted to be around for that.”
Family. Belonging. Nieces and nephews. The whole-package deal, like the storybooks. Just thinking about it clogged my throat, and I wrangled my sheets since it was easier than wrangling my emotions. “Sounds perfect.”
Juliet shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. If only she knew. “What about your family?”
“Don’t have any. Just me.”
Mr. V had told me last summer that Mom had died of liver failure, thanks to all the alcohol. I’d aged out of foster care and was officially alone in the world.
Juliet studied me, her head tilting. “And where’s home?”
Where indeed. Middle Earth probably, but that wasn’t an accepted zip code. “I lived in Oregon, but it isn’t home.”
“Why Library Sciences?”
The abrupt conversation change gave me whiplash. Something I sensed was common with this girl. “Oh, I love books. They’re . . . home, I guess.”
She nodded, like my reasoning made total sense. “Do you have a favourite? Or is that a terrible question?”
Little did she know she’d uttered the magic words. Give me the chance to talk about books, and I would never shut up. Don’t be weird, don’t be weird, don’t be weird.
“The Lantern Bearers, but no one’s heard of it.” The tattered copy in my backpack was well loved and nearly falling to pieces. But I’d found it secondhand, and it had gotten me through years of foster care and was the one book I wished I could reread for the first time again. It resonated so hard it hurt sometimes. “So, I say The Lord of the Rings.”
Juliet nodded knowingly. “One of my brothers is a Tolkien nerd.” A hint of sadness cloaked her expression. “But he’s a Marine and never home. Always too busy saving the world.” After helping me with the fitted sheet, she added, “Want to grab dinner?”
Looked like I found my Mary Anne after all.
Chapter five
Greyson
When Paisley’s breathing fell into a steady rhythm punctuated by her cute snuffling sleeping noises, I quietly ducked into the hallway, easing the door shut behind me. It was nearly midnight, so this part of the hospital was quiet, minus the squeak of rapid footsteps in the never-ending maze of sterile corridors.
I scrubbed a hand over my face. The last thirty hours had taken ten years off my life. More so than any other event in my almost thirty-two years, and that was with three military deployments overseas, one of which landed me in a German hospital riddled with bullets. In all my plaguing nightmares from PTSD, Paisley forgetting me and thinking she was still married to that garbage ex of hers was never one of them.
Only it wasn’t a nightmare. A nightmare meant waking up and having her gentle touch rub my back, grounding me, holding me close while the horrors of the past threatened to tear me apart. Hearing whispered words of love and comfort and hushed prayers.
No, this was reality. My wife, my best friend, had forgotten me.
Yesterday, I’d watched her fall from that ladder outside the library. I’d cradled her limp form in my arms, trying to stop the blood . . . so much blood. And seeing her unnaturally pale face against the stark whiteness of the sheets made my gut clench. She needed me, and I couldn’t protect her. I shuddered and forced the image away. I needed to focus on the positive.
