Page 95 of Spiral

“Don’t say sorry, Henry. I just hope you can forgive me for not telling you sooner.”

He nods at her, affirming that he has, and gives his sister a quick hug, too.

“Don’t be strangers anymore, please,” Sarah whispers, flickering her gaze between the two of us.

Henry smiles at her warmly. “We won’t.”

He pauses for a moment then, his expression composed. Standing directly in front of Donald, who matches him in height and sturdiness of frame, Henry says nothing as the tension in the room grows.

I can't decipher what he's feeling right now. Is it anger? Hurt?

Several seconds pass, and I briefly worry that Henry is going to start yelling, directing all his pain at Donald after years of confusion and anguish.

Then, without a word, Henry envelopes him in a firm embrace.

As they hold one another, arms wrapped tight across the other's back, I can just barely make out the tears brimming along the edge of Donald’s eyes as he sighs in relief.

“Thank you for taking care of my Mom,” Henry whispers to him as they part, his voice gravelly with emotion.

Donald smiles. "It's been my honor, sport."

Henry nods in his direction once more, a silent acknowledgement of forgiveness, before stepping towards the entryway of the home and entwining my hand with his.

“Well, it's getting late,” Henry comments, his speech groggy from exhaustion. “We should probably start heading back.”

And with one step over the threshold of the door and one more round of friendly goodbyes, the cool night envelopes us in its comforting silence.

“I’m so proud of you,” I whisper as the soft glow of streetlamps shimmers across the shadows on my face.

We’re cruising down the highway now, about halfway between Henry’s mother’s house and University Station. His truck is quiet and steady as we speed along the empty road, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking.

“Proud of me? For what reason?” He shoots a half-smile at me from his place in the driver’s seat, his thumb grazing the edge of my hand as he holds it.

“For sticking up for yourself… and for being so willing to forgive them.”

Henry’s hand squeezes mine as his eyes remain fixed on the open road. His expression is soft, relaxed – as if thousands of pounds of weight were lifted off of his shoulders tonight.

“Georgia?” he asks, his voice is warm and vulnerable as it breaks the comfortable silence.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

My cheeks blush and, instantly, my mind races with memories from the past year.

Six months ago, I hated Henry Anderson more than anything. I despised him for hitting my boyfriend, for meddling in my life, for choosing Natalia over me – or so I thought. How did I get here? How did I get so lucky?

“Henry?” I reply, unable to hold back a smile.

“Yes?”

“I love you most.”

EPILOGUE

Six Months Later

THE SUMMER HEAT has returned in full-force to University Station, evident by the sweat dripping down my back as I walk Georgia to the Liberal Arts building. She’s on her way to Dr. Randie’s office, hoping to start the printing process for the sixth rendition of her literature column.

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