Page 17 of Nineteen Eighty

Tears streamed down Elizabeth’s face, but she didn’t dare close her eyes. She didn’t dare miss even a single moment. “You did all this for me?”

“I had some help,” Connor said, blushing. “Augustus really loves you, you know. Not as much as me, of course…” They both laughed. “But they all love you, Lizzy. Did you know I asked permission of every single one of your siblings before doing this?”

“What? Why?”

“I would’ve done it anyway,” he said with a grin. “But I wanted them to know they didn’t have to worry about you anymore. That I’ve got it from here.”

Elizabeth wiped her cheeks with her palms. “I don’t want you to worry about me, either.”

Connor brushed her hands aside and cupped her damp cheeks. “I never worry, when you’re with me. There’s no safer place in all the world, for either of us, than together.”

Elizabeth nodded and kissed him. “It’s the only safe place for me.”

“And me.” Connor turned to Father Alan. “We’re ready, Father.”

Elizabeth repeated the vows with dutiful patience, but she knew later she’d never remember a single thing she’d said. Her eyes never left her husband’s, as she passed her love, her trust, her entire self to him before the painting of Psyche and Cupid, which Connor had chosen, of all the thousands of pieces in the museum, to reflect the purity of what he felt for her. And it had always been as such with them, going back to when they’d only been the best of friends, tackling their schoolwork, and the world, with wide-eyed curiosity. As it had been when he followed her harebrained ideas about changing the future, and when she’d been so deep in her own pain she knew only one escape. As it had been when he made love to her, each and every single time. As it always was when he looked at her.

She didn’t think of what she’d seen for them ahead. She thought only of the unspoken words passing between them as they linked their pasts to their future, sealing forever the bond that had saved them both, over and over and over.

CHAPTER 7

The Accident

Augustus closed his eyes, for the first time in his life believing that if he could only force himself to wake up then the day would prove to be a dream. That none of what he’d seen was real. That his Ana wouldn’t be hooked up to machines keeping her alive. Keeping her breathing.

Irish Colleen’s bony hand on his shoulder startled him back into the reality he wished he could escape. She squeezed and dropped into the chair next to him. Her heavy breaths were set to the steady beeping from the monitors. Kellan Jameson joined her, scooting his chair back toward the wall to give them privacy.

Augustus’ mother didn’t proffer false assurances, or deal in encouragement. All the healers he knew were gone, in this moment of his greatest need. Colleen was camping near Houma with her family. Evangeline, in Switzerland. Luther, overseas on a late honeymoon with his new wife. There were others, probably, but he didn’t know who to call. Who to ask. Evangeline, who might have known, wasn’t answering her phone, and the others had no access to one.

Charles was, at that moment, driving to Houma to try and find Colleen, but she hadn’t said where she was going, exactly. She hadn’t needed to. No one foresaw a day like this would come.

Maureen rested in a chair in the corner, eyes rimmed in red. Perhaps she was remembering a day, a decade ago, when another one of their beloveds had been in an accident involving a car. Perhaps remembering, also, how that had turned out.

A coffee appeared in front of him. He looked up. Cordelia.

He smiled. She smiled in return, a rather unnatural look for her but nonetheless kind, saying nothing as she settled into the opposite corner of Maureen.

It had all happened so fast. So much, so quick. The nurse popped in to say there were other guests in the waiting room, Sullivans, but Augustus didn’t even know how they got to this moment, let alone how to exist in it. The room was already full, and none of the people who could help Ana were anywhere near her.

In a family full of healers, Ana’s fate was left to the doctors, and one, as he left, whispered, “Pray.”

But Augustus, who knew better, whispered, “Heal, Ana.”

People liked to say that bad fortune came out of nowhere, but in the case of the car that had broken so many of the bones in little Anasofiya’s body, it really had come out of nowhere, peeling out from the corner of Eighth just as the soccer ball went rolling into the street.

Every evening after work, this was their tradition. Ana would be waiting in the yard, ball in hand, babysitter laughing as she accepted her day’s payment, and before Augustus could even take off his sport coat Ana was ready to go. The purple hues of twilight were a ways away yet, because Augustus was coming home on time now. For her. Because of her.

Earlier that day, he’d gotten word from Paris that his sister would now be signing her checks Elizabeth Sullivan, and he was in a good mood. The best in a while.

He chuckled and rolled up his sleeves, breaking into a low sprint when she started the game by kicking the ball before he even made it off the back porch. He nearly tripped trying to block her goal, throwing his entire body into it, no doubt ruining his shirt as he slid across the grass in what he thought was probably a pretty cool looking move.

The twinkle in Ana’s eyes indicated it was, in fact, a pretty cool move. She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. As if he was a superhero.

“Yeah, Dad! Cool!” she cried, pumping her little pale fist in the air as she leapt in admiration.

Augustus laughed as he futilely dusted the remains of the garden from his clothes. “Not cool enough, apparently. You still got one in!”

“I’ll give you that one, Daddy,” Ana replied, his little diplomat.

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