It's a stranger that catches your fall. Someone at the ready when the pretty girl in the fancy dress races from the car, no mystery, the picture speaks for itself. Soon, Lanie and Espo are pulling you back. Away from what is not possible. The ring on your finger a solid reminder as you press it against your mouth. To speak, to scream would acknowledge the lie your eyes are telling you.
You curl against his pillow, unable to cry. Unable to feel. Daddy has only so many words to say on any day, but you are in mom's dress, so the irony of the universe steals his words too. He still strokes a hand down your back, his own dreams for you shattered in that one gesture.
"Katie."
You can feel his grief for you rolling off him in waves, and even that isn't enough to allow your atheist eyes to spill. You welcome a deeper level of numbness as soon as you close them.
Lanie hoovers, strokes your hair, works the buttons down your back. You bury your face in his pillow, imbued with his scent, and let her slide your wedding gown off your shoulders and down your exhausted body.
You haven't a clue how Alexis came to be at your back, her face buried between your shoulder blades, her soft breathing announcing sleep. The moment you sense her, it comes back to you. The fire. Him.
And suddenly you can't catch your breath, you are trapped by the sheets and blankets someone has lovingly wrapped around you. It is as if the flames have engulfed you too, and they have.
It's Alexis that finds you, hands pressed to your face, knees to your chest, your lover's wedding trousseau spilled out in the walk-in closet.
"Kate." It's all his daughter says, stumbling to embrace you. She's weeping and needy and you can't embrace her, but you let her embrace you. It isn't long until Martha's hand is on your neck and she's whispering words of comfort to you both.
"I know it hurts, darling."
But it doesn't. Not yet. Not like it's going to.
You want to stay here, on this closet floor, with his things. It doesn't matter if it's comfortable. Lanie tries to persuade you otherwise, to drink, to sit up. But you know, if you leave this room, there are consequences.
And then Espo is lifting you by your arms, draping one over his shoulder, holding you there, forcing you to walk or be dragged. The hate you feel for him is the first emotion you've felt in the last day.
The sun and salt air assail your senses the moment you exit the front door. You squint as the perfection churns your stomach. What fresh hell is a beautiful day full of possibility when you are so between. When you see Ryan at the wheel and the passenger door open, your senses alert. You aren't leaving. They can't make you.
"Kate!"
You hear Espo reprimand, even as you go limp, refusing. It doesn't seem to matter.
And when they wheel you into the room, it's almost too much to hope for, to believe. Your Rick is here. He's bruised, he's battered, but he's here, lying in a hospital bed.
"Kate?"
He whispers your name, one blue eye visible, the other hidden in swelling. His open hand stretches out to you across the bed in invitation. And that's when your eyes find their home, and their relief is uncontained. You can hardly see through the blur to take his hand, crawl up the bed, curl into his arms.
And you weep, and you weep and you weep for your reprieve.