Page 23 of Happy After All

“Are you asking me if I saw terrible things? Because yes. Of course.”

“Right. I just think that it either gives you perspective or ...”

It makes me wonder if that’s why he drinks. Maybe that’s why he writes military thrillers. Sometimes I wonder if I write romance because I’m trying to go over the things that went wrong in my own. Though that’s pretty well-worn ground at this point. I know for a fact I’m trying to reassure myself that happy endings can still exist.

“Or what?” he asks. “You didn’t finish your sentence.”

“I didn’t really finish mythought,” I say.

“I thought you were a wordsmith,” he says.

“That is why they pay me the medium bucks, yes.” Sometimes, though, something feels too heavy to put into words, and even if I don’t know what it is right now, there is something heavy sitting between us.

“You were fantastic tonight,” I say.

I can still hear helicopters flying overhead. The smoke is so thick, so intense, my throat is dry, and my eyes burn, but I can’t bring myself to go inside. I feel like I have to hold a vigil here.

People are sharing rooms and sleeping in the lobby. People who have just lost their homes, and I feel like I want to keep watch for them.

“So were you,” he says.

I don’t have anything salty to say to that. I just want to take the affirmation that I did something right in a crisis.

I didn’t fold in on myself. I didn’t disappear.

“You should get some sleep,” he says.

“Are you concerned about me?”

Our eyes meet and hold. I want to move closer to him, but I don’t. I’m afraid of what would happen if I do more than I’m afraid of what will happen if I don’t, so I stay there, rooted to the spot.

“You look exhausted,” he says.

He doesn’t say it in a way that offends me. There’s concern underlying his words.

“You were the hero today,” I say. “You should go get some rest.”

He shakes his head. “I was in the military, remember? I’m happy to keep watch for a while. You go get sleep. Tomorrow ... There’s a lot of extra people in your motel. There’s going to be work to do.”

He isn’t wrong, and I feel exhaustion roll over me in a wave.

“Right. Well. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

As I go into my room and climb into bed, then check my phone one more time to make sure I haven’t missed any new evacuation updates, I reflect on how aspects of today felt similar to the last emergency I survived.

The one that stole part of myself. The one that changed everything.

This is different. But it reminds me of those feelings all the same. It reminds me of loss and despair on a profound level, wreathed in smoke and flame this time.

But tomorrow I’m going to get up, and I’m going to be the hero in my own life. The one I need. That is the perk to being single.

I’m not going to wait for somebody to rescue me.

It was great to have Nathan here. Being the hero.

But I can be one too. For myself and for everyone I love.

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