Page 87 of Freeing Ruby

I know he can feel me shaking. I feel sick, queasy. My pulse is racing. I can’t do this. He thinks I can, but I can’t. It’s too far away. The space is too open. It’s not safe. Anyone could be out there.

I stand rooted to the spot, and Miguel waits patiently beside me. He’s not pressuring me. He’s not pushing. Just waiting.

“I’ll be with you every step,” he says. “I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

I close my eyes and focus on breathing. I picture the lake, the water ebbing and flowing, the water splashing on the beach. Boats in the distance. Sailboats, yachts. Seagulls soaring through the sky.

Miguel pulls me closer, wrapping his arm around me. “If you’ve changed your mind, it’s okay. We don’t have to go. We can go back inside.”

Even though he doesn’t complain, I’m sure Miguel is tired of being cooped up inside so much. It’s not fair to him. And I know more often than not, he chooses to stay in with me.

“No, I haven’t changed my mind. It’s just hard.”

He leans down and kisses the top of my head. “I know.”

“I want to do this, Miguel. I really do.”

“How about we just walk to the elevator? We’ll stop there and think it over. How’s that?”

I smile. “Baby steps.” It’s all about those baby steps.

“That’s right.” He takes my hand and gently pulls me forward.

I take one step, then another. And another. And before I know it, we’re at the elevator.

“So, what do you think?” he asks.

I find myself staring at the call button. At that down arrow. “What if there’s someone on the elevator?”

“If there is, we’ll wait for the next one.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Do you want to push the button, or should I?”

“I’ll do it.” My hand shakes, but I manage to press the button. Immediately, the elevator doors open, revealing an empty car.

“It’s all ours,” he says. He holds out his arm to brace the doors open.

I stare into the elevator as my pulse races. My heart’s pounding, and my chest feels tight.

“Together,” he says, and he gently pulls me by the hand into the car. Once we’re in, he pushes the button for the ground floor.

When the doors whoosh shut, I stumble backward until my back meets the wall.

Still, he’s right beside me. “You’re doing great,” he whispers, and then he drops a light kiss on my lips.

I know what comes next. We’ve talked through this a dozen times. The elevator will let us out in the ground floor lobby. We’ll cross the wide open space and exit from the front revolving doors. We’ll walk across the parking lot to the sidewalk, and then it’s a two-block walk to Lake Shore Drive. We’ll cross at the crosswalk, and then it’s just a few hundred yards to the beach.

The beach.

Lake Michigan.

And people. Lots of people.

The elevator does a little shimmy when we reach the lobby. Fortunately, we didn’t have to stop for any other passengers. The doors slide open, and Miguel guides me out. It’s Saturday morning, and the lobby is bustling with people coming and going from the building.

“To the doors,” he murmurs, reminding me.

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