Page 64 of Eternally London

Loïc.

I have to focus all of my energy on Loïc.

I picture the three of us—Loïc, Lindi, and me—in the future. I see us tomorrow. Lindi throws a blueberry toward Loïc, and he catches it in a dramatic fashion, causing Lindi and me to cheer. I see us next summer and picture Loïc teaching Lindi how to ride her super-pink tricycle, complete with pink and purple tassels coming out of the handlebars. It was a present for her second birthday, and she loves it. I see us in several years as Loïc and I drop our perfect princess off for her first day of kindergarten. I’m, of course, a crying mess. Loïc wraps his arm around my shoulders, strong and steady—my rock. But, in my peripheral, I don’t miss his free hand wiping away a stray tear from his face because the sight of our girl growing up is that special and bittersweet. I imagine it all—from her losing her first tooth to learning how to drive, from her first heartbreak to her wedding. In all of my pictures, Loïc holds a significant role. He’s there for me and for our daughter. He’s always there.

I can’t imagine what it’d be like without him, and I don’t want to. He’s there. He has to be. My dreams could never be complete without Loïc. It’s because of him that such beautiful dreams exist.

So, while we wait, I replay my family’s future on repeat in my mind. I put these images out into the universe, letting the creator know how it’s supposed to go, how it needs to happen. A life without Loïc isn’t a life I want to live. There would be less joy, less love, less purpose in my world. That’s why losing Loïc is not an option.

It’s not.

It’s not.

He’ll be okay.

He’s strong.

A strong grip on my shoulder causes me to open my eyes. My dad sits beside me, staring thoughtfully. I’m suddenly aware of the streams of tears rolling down my face, and I wipe them away with my shirt.

“It’s going to be okay, honey,” my dad says.

With his hectic work schedule, he was never the one to handle the hard stuff. Mom was there to wipe my tears and hear my frustrations throughout my childhood. He wasn’t the type of father that Loïc is. He wasn’t hands on or present. But I know he loves me, and I can see the pain in his eyes. He’s hurting because I am.

“Thanks, Daddy. I know. It will be.”

It has to be.

He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in close. I lay my head against his shoulder. His touch brings a small amount of comfort. Now, it’s just spinning. No matter how old a girl gets, she’ll always need her daddy. He wasn’t always there for me, but he’s here for me now. I’m grateful. His strength is holding me together.

“Your sister called,” he says after a minute. “She was at the house with Paige. They’re driving over here now.”

I nod.

Soon, Paige and Georgia arrive. They hug me, and I hug them back. No amount of people, words of encouragement, or love is going to ease my aching heart. I just need Loïc to be okay. That’s the only thing I can focus on.

My mom introduces them to Lindi, and I sit back down next to my father and wait.

The girls take Lindi to the cafeteria to get some food. People come and go from the waiting room. The girls come back. Lindi falls asleep on my mother’s chest. And, still, I wait.

Finally, a man in blue scrubs comes into the waiting room. I lunge out of my chair and close the gap between us. I stand in front of him, silently begging him to tell me what I want to hear.

And he does.

“The surgery went well.”

I let out the breath I was holding. My knees go weak, and I’m sure I’m falling until I feel my father’s arm around me. Sobs that I have no ability to stop escape me.

“He’ll be okay?” I choke out.

The doctor nods. “He’ll be okay,” he reassures me. “He was actually very lucky. The bullet went through his abdomen but missed all of his major organs and his spine. He was shot at such a close range that it’s astounding more damage wasn’t done. There was a lot of internal bleeding, which is why the surgery took a long time. We repaired everything, and he should be fine. We want to keep him in the hospital for a week or so and monitor his progress. He’ll be sore for quite a while, but he shouldn’t have any issues long-term.”

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” I hug the surgeon, soaking his scrubs with my tears. “I will never be able to repay you for saving my husband. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Mrs. Berkeley. No repayment needed.”

I take a step away, and he gently squeezes my arms. I smile back at who I’m sure is an angel on earth.

What a gift this man is.

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