Page 107 of Tipping Point

She nods. “It was me.”

I remember the smell of burning flesh. “You can remember it?” I ask her.

“Sometimes. Very little.”

We breathe through the silence, battling for control.

“She was pinned by the car.” My voice is empty, raw. “I knelt by her. She was burning.”

Hope gives a small sob.

“I unzipped my suit, the top half. It’s fire resistant. I thought it could protect her from the flames.”

“What?” Hope’s voice is small. A small frown between her eyebrows. “You tried to put out the flames?”

I nod.

“I don’t remember that.”

“Someone had grabbed you away. It was an explosion hazard.”

“You stayed by her?”

I nod.

“But…didn’t you burn?”

I nod again.

She gives a small gasp. “I didn’t know.”

I shrug.

“Don’t,” she says with a small sob. “It matters. I never knew you stayed by her side.”

“I couldn’t leave her there.”

With a sob, Hope throws her arms around me, buries her face in my neck. She’s crying in earnest.

My arm is in a sling so I can’t pull her to me. I settle for awkwardly patting the back of her head with my free hand.

We let her cry. When she sits up, her eyes are swollen and red, and she wipes at them with her forearm.

“I’m so sorry, Hope.”

She nods. “I’m sorry too.”

I shrug again. Then I shake my head slightly. “Thank you, I mean.”

It’s hard to say it, because I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve forgiveness. But since she had given it already, months ago, I needed to learn to live with it.

She smiles at me, a weak, watery smile, and I mirror it with my own. When we turn back towards the camera, Camille’s eyes are on mine.

She’s crying.

“Cam?” I make to get up, to comfort her.

It breaks the spell in the room.

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