A/N: You guys are amazing. After the awesome reviews you left on the last chapter, even the ones that threw things at me, I decided you definitely needed another nice long chapter up today. This was initially going to be two shorter chapters, but I think you deserve this big one after how great you've been. Island rules, after all...
.-.-.
Some Bright Morning
13. and we only reach that shore by faith, you see
.-.-.
Blood.
The substance gathering under her body in the clawfoot tub is … blood.
"Addison!" He says her name sharply but she doesn't respond.
Reaching one hand out, he tries to move her sodden hair so he can see her face; she draws away from his fingers but she raises bleary eyes to his at last. She's small in the tub, so small.
"Addison, what's going on?"
"No, it's … okay. Sorry, it's, uh … I'm fine." He's relieved to hear her voice, weak though it sounds, but her face contorts then and he grabs her arm, worried she's going to slide down the wet surface. Her flesh is cold and slippery, shaking under his fingers; he still can't see the source of the blood.
"Did you fall? Are you hurt?" He grasps at straws and pulls a little bit on her arm, trying to get her attention. "Addison, talk to me. What happened?"
"Nothing, I'm just, uh, well … I guess I'm … having a miscarriage."
Her eyes are very bright, her face pale.
"What?" He's stunned. "You're … pregnant?"
"I guess I must have been." Her voice is mechanical, blank.
"You didn't know?"
"No." She winces. "Not … not until now."
"But you're sure…"
She starts to shake harder, then. Her pupils are dilated; when he presses a clinical hand to her face her skin is cold and clammy.
"Derek, I'm … " Her teeth are chattering in between words. "I think I'm…"
… going into shock. Damn it. "It's okay, you're going to be fine," he says automatically. He grabs a towel hanging on the back of the door and wraps it around her shoulders, holding it closed when she doesn't make any move to help him. "Just try to breathe. Are you in pain?"
"Yeah." She exhales sharply. "Yeah, a little."
Her body stiffens under his hand then and she curses.
"Addison!"
"It's okay, it's okay, it's just … cramping." Her voice is faint.
"You need to get out of there." There's gooseflesh scattered over her arms, her lips so pale they're almost white. He shuts the faucet off with his free hand. "Can you stand?"
"I don't know." Another cramp seems to overtake her and she clutches her knees to her chest, moaning. He's alarmed. Addison has always had a high pain tolerance; he watched her break an ankle skiing in Park City and still insist on taking the lift back to the lodge with everyone else, casually chatting about what she'd like to drink that night.
"Okay. Let me help you." He holds out his hand.
Her eyes are more than bright, he realizes, they're glassy, almost vacant when she looks up at him, and she makes no move to take his hand.
"Addison." He inches forward over the edge of the tub. "You need to get out of there," he repeats. "Let me help you." But the angle is tricky and she doesn't seem willing or able to help him. He tries again. "Can you get your arms around my neck?"
She reaches one arm out very slowly, the other still clamped around her midsection.
With excruciating care, he lifts her out of the slippery tub. She groans a little bit at the pressure and he feels wetness against him that's more than just her damp body. He sets her feet on the bathmat, still supporting her weight. When he holds her away he sees there's a dark stain on his pants.
Blood. Her blood.
Her teeth are chattering harder now.
Still supporting her with one hand, he grabs the fluffy bathrobe hanging on a hook next to the shower and wraps her in it, holding her against him for a moment and moving one hand along her back instinctually to warm her. Her whole body shakes, worrying him.
"Okay. You're going to be fine. We just need to get you to – "
She's trying to say something, her voice muffled in his shoulder. He eases her back.
"No hospital," she mumbles. "Island."
Shit. Of course there's no hospital on the island.
"It's okay," she whispers. "Derek, I'm okay, I just need to…"
But then her knees buckle.
Fuck.
He grabs her before she can fall, which makes her cry out in pain; when he's holding her again he mutters apologies against the wet hair matted to her skull. "You need a hospital, Addison."
"No … hospital … here."
"We have to get back to the mainland then."
"Please, Derek … I don't want to make a fuss."
"A fuss? You're bleeding, Addison, you can barely stand. You need to get checked out."
"Derek, please … they have enough to deal with, Savvy's family, I don't want you to make a fuss."
"No. Are you crazy?" He shakes his head. "I'm not letting you bleed out so you can keep from making a fuss, Addison!"
"It's okay, really, it's … I think it's done …" but then another cramp seizes her and she doubles over, moaning. He's already supporting her; now he slides a hand under her knees to carry her the short distance to the bed, setting her down above her protests about stains and whatever other goddamn etiquette nonsense seems to be keeping her from realizing they're facing a real emergency.
Her fingernails bite into his hand when another wave of pain overtakes her and the violent chattering of her teeth hasn't lessened even with an extra blanket thrown on top of her.
It scares him.
He's never seen her like this and she doesn't even seem concerned that he's the one seeing her like this – that, more than anything else, more than the blood and the symptoms of shock and the necessity of ensuring all the pregnancy vacates her body before infection set in – that might be what scares him the most.
He speaks quietly and urgently, hoping he can transmit to her some sense of calm he doesn't actually feel, or at least convince her that it's serious.
"We have to get to a hospital. You're bleeding ... too much, Addison. You may need a D&C and you definitely need someone to look at you. I'm worried you're going into shock."
"I'm an OB/GYN."
"Which means you're a doctor which means you're a terrible patient, damn it, stop fighting me on this."
She looks like she wants to protest but her teeth are chattering hard now and her color is frightening him. "Addison. It's okay, just – hold on."
Of course there are no telephones in the room, no phone lines at all on the island. Just the one conservationists' cell tower that doesn't work in high winds. He shoves his boots back on, shrugs back into his windbreaker and fills its pockets with the miniature flashlight from the bedside table drawer and his blackberry, never taking his eyes off the still form on the bed, then wraps her in the extra blanket and lifts her into his arms.
"Derek…?"
"Just hold on to me if you can."
"What are you doing?"
Her tone is anxious but he doesn't answer, can't answer, he's already made his way to the door and he's forcing it open into the wind. The scream of the hinges doesn't promise the storm clearing any time soon. Addison isn't the only one shaking as he picks across the sandy path, rain soaking him almost immediately.
Altogether, he's as certain that they need to get off the island as he is uncertain about how to make it happen.
Rain pelts his face; he hoists her higher in his arms to try to protect her from the deluge. The riverfront outside their porch is deserted in the terrible weather, of course; with curfew called, the island is still and silent except for the call of wet wildlife that only emphasizes how isolated they are. He's not even sure if anyone else is staying at Reeds; there are other rooms, he knows, but their entrances are on the other side, up an embankment he can see is muddy and walking there with Addison seems dangerous; leaving her alone so he can go there seems worse. Savvy and her family are staying in cottages on the other side of the island; that's a non-starter.
He can't take her with him to find help but he can't leave her and as she moans in his arms all he can think about is getting her to a hospital. It's only the two of them – they might as well be the only ones on the island. No one else can help them now.
Making up his mind, he sets his sights through the dark wet night on the closest dock to Reeds.
It's only fifty feet or so down the path. There are a number of small motorized skiffs that wouldn't last ten minutes in this weather. But then he sees Beau's shining little mahogany runaround, the same one that ferried Derek and Addison from the shore to the island.
"I need to put you down for a minute," he says, and her glazed eyes look confused in the moonlight as he props her on the wooden bench at the end of the dock.
He studies the runaround; it's small, but it got them from the mainland last time – and it will have to do. Of course the key is in the ignition already – it's the island.
Kneeling on the wet dock, giving up any pretensions of staying somewhat dry, he hauls out life jackets. The rain is driving diagonally now as he straps on his life jacket and then approaches Addison. She looks confused for a moment, then shakes her head.
"Derek, no …"
"We need to get to the mainland, Addison. No signal here with these winds. There's no other way."
"But where…"
"We'll be able to call once we get close enough to the mainland." Their towers are a little sturdier on the mainland, and his blackberry is waiting in his pocket for the first moment he can use it.
"No, Derek, we can't."
"Yes. We're getting on that boat. Just … hold still," and he unwraps the blanket so he can put the bright orange life jacket over her shoulders, buckling it and then carefully tightening the straps.
She says his name one more time, weakly, as he eases her into the still-docked boat as carefully as he can. "I've got you, just … hang on."
She moans softly but doesn't protest any further, which isn't exactly reassuring. He covers her with the blanket before vaulting in beside her.
"Hang on," he says, "just hang on, Addie."
The boat roars to life and he steers with one hand, the other on Addison, trying not to remind himself how stupid it is to charter an unfamiliar course in this weather. But he forces himself to remember what he's learned and what he knows; he can see familiar landmarks if he squints into the rain – the dark blot of an island he wasn't supposed to look at; and then the far-off lighthouse of Two Crab Island.
Which means he just has to aim … well, that, and keep them both alive long enough to get help.
.-.-.
In open water, Addison worryingly quiet beside him with her head lolling back against the seat, he forces himself to stay calm. There's cold water splashing into the boat, which is rocking now with the force of the winds. They've made headway and he's about seventy-five percent certain they're on course so far. Maybe even eighty. But he can't go too fast without the very real fear of pitching them both into the water.
"Derek…"
"It's fine," he says grimly, raising his voice to make sure she can hear him, relieved to hear her talking. He's been trying to keep her awake. "We're fine, Addie. I've helmed in worse weather than this. You remember that time on Narragansett Bay, that place with the boat? Hm?"
She doesn't answer.
"Stay awake, Addison." He chances a quick glance at her. "Addie? You remember the boat?"
"I … yeah."
"You were so mad at me when the storm rolled in," he recalls. "You said we would have been perfectly safe if I'd just listened to you. Remember?" He touches her leg and his hand comes away sticky. Damn it. "Talk to me, Addie. Come on. Get mad at me again."
She doesn't say anything. He's afraid to turn his head too often, since he can barely see and he's basically steering with his shoulders now. "Addison. Stay awake, Addie, come on, we're almost there."
He swipes rain out of his eyes. She's quiet next to him and he reaches out to shake the knee close to him, not wanting to hurt her but needing her to stay awake. She doesn't even flinch, which worries him further.
"Addison. Wake up. You need to wake up. Stay with me, Addie, we're almost there."
.-.-.
Tired.
She's so tired.
There's a hand on her face, patting her cheek firmly. His hand, she'd know it anywhere, but why is he trying to wake her up? Did she miss the alarm?
"Come on, Addison."
She's so tired.
She doesn't want to wake up.
"Open your eyes. Open your eyes, Addison."
"… tired."
"I know you are, but you need to stay awake. Come on, Addie. Talk to me."
It's noisy. It's raining and it's hard to hear over the rain. Derek feels very far away ... misty.
"Addison. You with me?"
Some cold water sloshes onto her and now the rocking motion makes more sense. She's not in bed at all.
"We're … on a boat," she mumbles, confused.
"Yeah, we are." He turns his head for a fraction of a section to smile at her. "Stay with me, Addie, okay?"
"Island," she mumbles, remembering, their angry words sloshing in her head like cold water into the boat. Their fights.
She's supposed to stay awake, she knows that, but everything feels black and faded.
And then someone is touching her. Someone else must be touching her now. Not Derek, who hates her, because the hand on her cheek is gentle, kind.
Loving, even.
Whoever it is, she's grateful for their touch; it reassures her as her eyes slide shut and the darkness takes her.
.-.-.
"Come back to bed."
"In a minute." She doesn't turn around, she's looking out the window of her old room in her family's cottage, watching diagonal sheets of rain douse the island.
"Sav ... come back to bed."
"I can't sleep," she admits, fingering the lacy curtains her mother's mother picked out.
She hears Weiss sit up in bed behind her. "At least come lie down and try, honey."
"I already tried."
He doesn't ask again, but she hears his footsteps approaching and then his hands on her shoulders. They stand quietly together for a few moments; he's watching the storm, too.
"It's really coming down out there, huh?"
"Yeah." She feels his warm, solid weight behind her as he wraps his arms around her waist. "I can't remember it like this, not for years and years."
If she closes her eyes she can summon a long-ago memory of great gusts of wind and pouring rain, the clanging curfew bell. She's small in her memory, huddled with her brother and her two closest cousins in one of the cottages – not theirs, maybe Aunt Cee's – watching the storm. Why can't we swim anyway? That's what Augie, the littlest of the four, asked, and Beau shook his head. 'Cause you'll get swept out in the ocean and eaten all up. Augie cried then and Savvy wrapped her arms around her. She was two years older, and it was her job to protect her little cousin. Don't worry, Aug, nothing's gonna happen to you. I'll keep you safe. Beau said sorry, Augie, he never meant to scare them, exactly, he was just Beau and he always had a lot of big ideas. That night there was thunder and all four of them squeezed hands and waited for the storm to pass. She remembers that the sun came out in the morning and threw a coat of warmth over the island, drying up the rain and turning everything gold again. See? She put her arm around Augie as they walked down to the beach. Told you everything would be okay.
Savvy leans back against her husband. "I have to say goodbye tomorrow," she whispers.
His lips press onto the top of her head. "And if you don't go to sleep … it won't be tomorrow?" He holds her tighter.
"I don't know. Maybe," she admits.
"I'm so sorry, Sav." He rocks a little from side to side. "It's going to be hard, but I'll be right there with you the whole time."
"I know." She rests her arms over his where they wrap around her midsection. She pauses. "Weiss?"
"Yeah, baby."
"Something isn't right."
"I know it's hard-"
"No, I mean … something else. It just feels … off, you know?"
She senses him stiffening slightly behind her, a tensing of his muscles. "Sav…"
"I know, I know, you still don't believe in island intuition after all these years."
"It's not that."
"Good." She leans back against him again. "Because if anyone should know this island like a real Beaufort, Weiss … it's you."
"That's an island compliment, all right."
"It is." She leans forward slightly as if she'll be able to see more through the darkened rain-slashed windows. "I hope I'm wrong, honey, I really do … but I still feel like something isn't right."
.-.-.
He's shouting instructions before the ambulance doors swing open. He dialed 911 as soon as he had a signal, still a few hundred feet from the shore, and by the time he pulled in he was desperately grateful to see he had company. He's going to make a hell of a donation to whatever small town emergency services unit that came out to help them if they make it through this.
There are two other men outside now, too – Derek realizes he's pulled into a private boat launch; where, he has no idea. But he can't be worried about that; he's too grateful to be on the mainland with a cell signal, to have a sea of hands helping him dock the boat and carry Addison to shore. Her head is lolling against his shoulder now and he's doing his best not to panic as he barks as much as he knows to the EMTs, a jumble of physician's orders and civilian's panic.
"Set her down. Set her down, sir," one of the EMTs says sharply, pushing over the gurney and finally helping Derek unpeel his hands himself. They lift the bloodstained blanket from her to strap her in and he feels nauseous as they start to examine her.
"She's tachy," one says to the other, who nods; "pressure's low. Core temp too – let's get her covered up."
They place a warming blanket on her.
"Sir? What's happened? Talk to us," and Derek realizes that he's been mumbling to himself.
"She says, uh, she says she's miscarrying." He touches her face, worried by its pallor, the blue-tinged look underneath, if reassured by the slight movements of her chest under the blanket. The EMT brushes him back.
"How far along was she?"
"I just - I don't know," he admits. "She said she didn't know she was pregnant."
"No prenatal care, then? No sonogram?"
"Obviously not," he snaps, then panic surges through him. "You think it's extrauterine?" The thought hadn't even occurred to him, he'd been so focused on her symptoms of shock, on the blood and her fading consciousness.
"We won't know until we get her to the hospital, so let's move." The EMT turns back to him as they snap on the rest of the monitoring equipment. "What the hell were you doing out on the water tonight?"
"We had to – no doctors on the island," he mumbles.
"That damn island. I should have known." The EMT shakes his head. "You're a fool is what you are."
"We didn't have cell service in the storm!" The rain is lighter on the mainland; they're somewhere rural, clearly, but it has the sense of a … normal place, for lack of a better word, without the island's wild foliage and constant sense of eerie otherworldliness.
"Well, everyone on that island is a fool, then. Living like a bunch of hermits all secretive with their ways. Damn Beauforts."
The two EMTs are practiced and efficient despite their critical words, loading the gurney into the ambulance and even taking Derek's instructions. He barely has time to thank the locals who helped with the boat before he's vaulting into the ambulance to take a seat next to the gurney.
"She's not a Beaufort," one of the locals points out as one of the EMTs climbs into the driver's seat, the other in the back with Derek to monitor Addison. "She's got red hair, see? And he's a Yankee."
"Then it's probably a good thing they left the island. You know what happens to strangers who go near that place, don't you?"
The doors close before Derek hears the answer. He's holding Addison's cold hand in his. It's her left and her rings cut into his fingers; she's still wearing them. He stares and the EMT misinterprets it.
"Better take those off before her fingers swell."
"But-"
"Go on."
Numbly he loosens and then slides off the rings, with some difficulty, they're clinging to her finger. Either her hand is already swelling or she just doesn't want to let go. And then he's holding the rings in the palm of his hand, suddenly confused.
"Put 'em on," the EMT directs patiently, "so you don't lose 'em. Bet she won't want to wake up to find you lost her jewelry, I know mine wouldn't."
He slides the two cold metal rings onto his pinky finger and takes Addison's hand again. It looks different bare; other than in the OR, he hasn't seen her without her rings since the day he first slipped them onto her finger. Somehow her hand seems smaller, now. For a moment they're back in the church, she's laughing and crying at once under an elaborate hairstyle, a cascading veil, and he's joining cold metal to her warm hands, joining the two of them together.
Then the siren echoes through his head and he's ripped back to reality.
"Hurry," he pleads as the two EMTs speak to each other.
"She's decompensating. Get that mask on."
He's pleading with them to help her, forgetting everything he knows about shock and emergency treatment, just another terrified family member of a patient whose world is a blur with one terrifying focal point.
Addison.
And when the doors to the ambulance swing open and then the sliding emergency doors welcome them with blinding fluorescent lights and a flurry of activity all he can do is plead. They hold him back anyway as they wheel her away for treatment, there are hands on his shoulders, questions aimed at him and it all sounds like jibberish.
"Sir. Sir! We need you to try to calm down. We have some questions."
"She was fine," he mumbles, "she was fine, she was … she went outside, and it was raining."
"Sir," it's a young doctor, when did he and Addison get so old that they stopped being the young doctors, and this kid must think he's crazy with the two glittering rings on his pinky finger, soaking wet clothes, still clutching the blanket from Reeds for no other reason than Addison's reaction if he misplaced something from the island.
"They crossed Three Rivers in the storm – get him something dry to put on before he goes into shock too," the doctor snaps to someone, and then soft-voiced nurses are helping him; they're being far, far too kind, if they only knew what he had done…
"I was fighting with her." Derek's voice echoes in his own head: he could be whispering or he could be screaming.
They corral him once he's shoved dry scrubs a size too big over his head, request his permission for an emergency D&C, for his wife, and he says of course, of course, just help her, and then they force hot coffee into his hands laced with sugar and cream. Addison would hate it but he drinks it anyway knowing his body needs it.
It's a straightforward procedure and intrauterine and she's going to be fine and sometimes these things just aren't meant to be and she's going to be just fine and he doesn't scream, slap the coffee from their hands, or tell them how many straightforward procedures Addison herself has performed. They say I'm sorry and he doesn't ask for what, they say just hang tight and he shakes his head.
"I was fighting with her. All weekend I've been fighting with her. She was upset, and I … and I said things …"
"That's not how it works," a new doctor says gently, a woman this time with a ponytail and shadows under her eyes. She must have been working all night.
"But she was upset. We were fighting and she was upset."
"And if every woman who fought with her husband had a miscarriage, the human race would have died out long ago." She pats his arm. "You really got on the river in this weather, came all the way from that island out there?"
He nods, forcing himself to drink the hot sweet liquid, knowing he won't be any use if he lets himself slip away.
"I'd say you made up for the fighting, then. She may be fine now … but she was in bad shape."
"No … you don't understand," but before he can say anything else, the first doctor is striding toward him, chart in hand.
"Mr. Shepherd?"
He's too exhausted to correct him, or maybe it just doesn't matter.
.-.-.
She's floating peacefully on the water. It's calm, probably the bay. She can hear Derek just faintly; he must have talked her into fishing with him. He says it's peaceful out there, and maybe he's right.
"Addison."
She blinks.
"That's right, open your eyes." His voice is quiet, but insistent.
Slowly, a face comes into focus above hers.
"There you go. Hi."
"…hi," she says hoarsely. "What, um …" she looks around, seeing unfamiliar white walls, bright lights. "… what happened?" Her body feels heavy and tired.
"What do you remember?"
When she doesn't answer, he places a hand on her cheek, gently, and the touch of his fingers brings it all back. The cold water pooling around her. The blood, the fear. Pain. Derek bursting through the bathroom door. The feel of movement that wasn't her own, suspended in the air, hurting her. The boat, shaken by the wind. And his hands, reassuring her.
"You took … you stole a boat?"
"I stole a boat." He grimaces. "I figured I'd make it up to them later."
"Did you crash it?"
"Don't you have any faith in me?" His tone is gentle, too, even teasing. "The boat is fine, Addie. Don't worry about the boat. I'm, uh, I'm glad to see you awake."
"Thanks," she says hoarsely. She glances down her body to her midsection, comprehending the soreness. "I was …"
He nods.
"But I'm not …"
He nods again. "You went into shock," he tells her gently. "There's no hospital and we're the only doctors on the island unless you count that one cousin who's an aromatherapist."
"I don't," and she'd smile if her lips didn't feel so dry.
"I know you don't. So … "
"So you stole a boat." She pauses. "Water," she whispers.
He feeds her ice chips instead and she's grateful for the cool moisture.
She flexes her fingers carefully, trying to come back to her own body, and then the empties of her left hand registers. Oh god. Her rings are at the bottom of Three Rivers, or halfway out the Atlantic by now. "Derek," she chokes out, "my-"
"It's okay, I have them."
"You do?"
He shows her his left hand, both her rings decorating his pinky. She reaches to touch them but her arm feels heavy.
"Take it easy, Addie."
"I'm tired," she whispers. She feels that gentle pull of the darkness again, less terrifying this time but no less insistent.
"Close your eyes," he encourages.
"Are you-"
"I'm not going anywhere," he says, but she hangs onto his hand anyway as her eyes drift closed.
.-.-.
The OB comes in to check her out.
He's still holding her hand when her eyes flutter open, watching confusion register on her face. She's been murmuring in her sleep; he has questions, and this time he's going to ask them, but not now. He reassures her instead.
"Addison, you're in the hospital," he says quietly. "You, uh, remember you had a D&C but you're fine now."
"Here?" Her eyes widen.
"Here," he confirms. "We were on the island, and –"
"Where are we now?" She looks around nervously.
"Don't worry, we have real hospitals down here," the OB says cheerfully. "I even went to Duke. They call it the Harvard of the South, you know. I assume you went to the Duke of the North?"
"Columbia, actually."
"Ah." The OB raises an eyebrow. "The Emory of the North, then."
Addison smiles a little bit at this and Derek finds himself squeezing her hand, and then wincing.
"Derek?"
"It's nothing, Addie." He pats her hand.
The OB is frowning at him. "Have you been checked out?"
"Me?" Derek glances around. "I'm fine."
"So fine you're favoring your left arm and flinching on the right?"
"It's nothing," he assures her.
"Okay then," the OB says briskly, "Guess you don't need me to look. Probably don't use your hands at your job, right … doc? You have one of those straightforward type desk gigs where you can dictate everything?"
Derek sighs. "Fine."
Reluctantly he slides off the sweatshirt hastily procured for both of them from the hospital's gift shop.
"Ooh." The OB winces sympathetically. "I'll get ortho to take a look, but I'd say you'll be fine with some ice and anti-inflammatories."
Addison is staring. "Your shoulder."
"It's fine, Addie."
"You broke down the bathroom door," she says softly.
He grimaces. "I, uh, I didn't really have a choice."
"And based on the damage, I'm guessing he carried you a ways too." The doctor looks over the chart at Addison. "Don't worry, he'll be fine, ice and rest. Maybe some PT when y'all are back up in New York."
He sees Addison tense at this. Before he can say anything, she looks at him. "Derek … we need to get back to the island."
"You need to rest first." He looks at the OB for confirmation.
"Derek, I'm stabilized, it's an outpatient procedure. We came for the funeral, and I want to be there for the funeral. You have to return the boat anyway," she adds, but he's focused on her words.
We came for the funeral. Not each of them, but we. When did that happen?
Before he can think about this too much, Addison sends him out for coffee. He's already paying at the small cafeteria when he realizes that she must have wanted to talk to the doctor alone.
…
It takes a few hours during which he persuades her to eat some breakfast and procures prescriptions for both of them before they clear her to leave, a new doctor coming in one more time to check her out.
"Just to confirm, y'all will need to wait a few months before you try to conceive again," she warns.
They look at each other nervously. "No, we weren't –" Derek hastens to explain. "I mean, we ..."
"Oh, I'm sorry." She glances at the chart on the table. "This says the husband brought her in. You're not the husband?"
"No, I am the, uh, the husband," he says grimly.
"Oh." She looks from one of them to the other. "Okay, well, Mrs. … Shepherd, you'll want to wait a few months before you try again. And no intercourse until your cervix is fully closed – we usually recommend two weeks."
"That shouldn't be a problem," she mutters.
They get a lift to the private boat launch where he docked the night before, the homeowners who helpfully tied up the runaround have it ready to go and are vocally pleased to see Addison up and walking.
It's a completely different experience in the boat together this time; the weather is cool with the promise of sunny warmth and the sky clear. The boat bobs gently, in no rush, as he charters a course toward the island.
Addison is sitting up in the seat next to him with her legs curled under her, squinting a little in the light and watching the blue water. Her long hair, curling from yesterday's rain, fans out behind her when the breeze picks up.
He waits until they're halfway across, his gaze focused firmly on the horizon where the first hint of the tiny island is starting to come into view, to ask her.
"Was it mine?"
To be continued. Of course. Hopefully quickly. So ... some answers, and maybe a couple more questions. Par for the Addek course. All of you had such good and interesting guesses about Addison's medical condition, often way more thoughtful than mine, and I love seeing you start tying together the threads of the past/flashbacks. No need to hate me too much though, because next chapter, you're going to get some answers. Like real ones. For real. So ... pretty please keep up the awesome reviewing because it truly inspires me to update as quickly as I can!
