Page 8 of With Love

“Can you trust me?” he asks again.

My head nods on its own accord, as if the screaming doubt in my head were merely a whisper. He smiles, takes my hand in his, and squeezes reassuringly.

I place my other arm around my abdomen to put pressure on my ribs.

“These bumps are doing a number on my ribs,” I tell him.

“Lucy, is it time for more pain meds yet?” Marshall shouts up to my nurse, who is riding shotgun.

I can’t see her from where I am, but I can hear her when she answers.

“Almost time. Once we get her settled in at home I can administer her next dose.”

Home. There’s that word again. Maybe one day hearing it won’t make me shiver.

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