A new chapter. So sorry for not posting in a while. Been a little busy. My apologies for the short chapter. I'll try to have a longer update next time. Enjoy though. :)

She opened the door for Mrs. Ann a short while later. Then she spooned a halved bowl of savory chicken broth and swallowed a cup of sugarless green tea. Mrs. Ann reminded her about changing his bandages soon. Abbie put his loaned clothes in an empty drawer she never used and placed his crutches by her closet door. In four hours, he needs more medication, Mrs. Ann said. A dry erase board was placed on her nightstand. To help him communicate, she also said. Abbie gave her a nod, maybe a small okay. Mrs. Ann hugged her and reminded her to rest. By this point, Abbie numbed, feeling everything and nothing. The bed was big enough for both her and Crane, so she showered, changed into her pajamas, and slid under the covers. He was sleep, of course, knocked out on pills and pain. She carefully put her head on his chest as she closed her eyes. His breathing was shallow due to his broken rib. She'd breathe for him if she could. But she couldn't. It was out of her control, like other things.

Like her sister's silent anger, her feelings for Crane, and how the world saw her. She wouldn't be able to control the town's disapproval of them if they went public. Their severe stares, their crooked frowns, and their wrathful words would corner them everywhere. Some of the worst had already happened this evening. She wasn't too much afraid of their lives shedding and falling apart anymore. He survived. They survived. And she believed they'd rebuild themselves, like a forest after a bitter fire.

She awoke to medicate Crane. The sun was still somewhere behind the moon, but Abbie didn't feel like going back to bed, even if it was close to 2a.m. She kissed his forehead before she grabbed their bloodied clothes and went to the laundry room. Mama used to do laundry late at night, too. That's only if she was bothered or upset. Like Mama, like daughter. Or daughters. Abbie wasn't the only one in a mood; Jenny was there, too, folding over the dryer.

Abbie didn't speak to her as she began the washer and dropped their clothes in it. An argument would just ensue, she knew. There was enough for her to deal with already, but apparently, Jenny thought otherwise.

"I want him out of here," she said.

Abbie slammed the washer door and quickly turned around. "He's not going anywhere."

"You think this is going to work, huh? That you two will just be happily ever after? Wake the fuck up, Abbie! Look a—"

"I have eyes, Jenny! You don't think I know people hate me? You don't think I know me and Crane won't catch plenty of hell for being together? I know that. I know that. He literally could have died tonight. And that's just for coming to this neighborhood—nevermind visiting me. I know what we're up against."

"So you're going to risk your goddamned life for him? For a white man? When most of them don't give a shit?"

"Crane gives a shit. He—"

"He what? Loves you?"

"Yes! What the hell is so wrong with that? Our skin color? I don't give a fuck about that. In the schoolroom, it's only us. There's no separate but equal, no reminders of my place as a second-class citizen and as a woman. He's respectful, empathetic, gentle. Do I feel guilty for caring about him the way I do? Yeah. I know what happened to our parents. I saw what you went through. Our community suffers every single day. Our ancestors have endured much, much worse. But he sees my humanity, my vulnerability, my beauty. And I see his. I'm not giving that up. I'm not giving him up."

"If we were in the South—"

"Don't lecture me, Jenny. I have a pretty good idea of what would happen to me and Crane in the South. We'd end up dead. Lynched."

Like May and her lover and their baby beneath their feet. Abbie pictured the grief on their families' faces again. Did they think about their parents and siblings during their note passing and sneaking off? Did they think about the consequences, about the emptiness they'd leave their loved ones with? Abbie liked to think they did. Yet, they still risked their lives, their families. For what?

Jenny flinched. "Is he worth it? You love him enough to die for him?"

She thought of her Mama's words. How she should hold on to that stringy, loved-filled balloon. Whether it was familial love with her sister and parents or romantic love with Crane, Mama wanted her to have it in all its forms. Abundantly. Unconditionally.

Her heart clanged like the washing machine, loud and steady, performing the work it's purposed to do. She asked herself the same question. Would she really give up her life for him? He's in her bed, severely injured. He bore the beating, so she didn't have to, no matter what it cost him. Then the night with her sister hit. She was ready to die for Jenny or with her.

"Yes."

She let her boldness settle beneath her tongue. There's a burning in her spine, a power of some sort, courage. She left her sister standing in the laundry room by herself. There's nothing else for her to say. Love wasn't just sacrifice; it was the high-pitched laughs, the sweet air, the sour treetops, the honey hugs, the tuneful "I love you." It was everything.

Somehow Crane managed to lean against the headboard with fluffed pillows behind his back. Her lamp was back on, which she turned off before she left. He wasn't supposed to be moving around, though maybe his medication started kicking in. Smiling, he held open his good arm. She closed the door, then carefully snuggled up to him. It made her happy to see him awake, even if he was ridden to the bed.

She brushed hair from his face. "How are you feeling?"

"Abb—." He winced.

"Don't talk." She grabbed the dry erase board off the night stand and explained why he needed it. "It'll help."

He opened his mouth to speak once more, but she covered his mouth with her hand.

"Write."

He pouted but scribbled on it anyway. "How are you? I heard you and Miss Jenny arguing."

"I'm sorry we woke you."

He erased and rewrote. She read.

"Do not apologize. Was she really upset?"

"Well, she didn't jump for joy." She briefly recounted their argument. "My feelings aren't changing. Jenny will have to be pissed off."

"I'm sorry I've caused such a rift between you two."

"It's not your fault, Crane."

"How does this make you feel?"

There was nothing else she could do. She's not defending her relationship to her any longer.

"I expected this. I'm fine for the most part. I'm strong in us. That's all that matters." She squeezed his hand.

He smiled, then wrote something else. "Tonight was quite terrifying for both of us. I'll have to provide more details about that when I'm able to speak. Are you alright? Did anyone try to attack you, Abbie?"

"I'm fine, Crane."

He raised his eyebrow.

She glanced at the open and red cuts on his face, the rib she couldn't see, his broken arm and ankle. There were probably other wounds she didn't know about. Her hands carefully touched his cheeks. The dread she felt earlier blanketed her. This night could have been worse. He kissed her forehead as she began to cry into his chest.

"Abbie." His lips pecked her palms.

She sniffed. "You're not—"

"I love you."

She couldn't bring herself to reprimand him. "I love you, too."

It felt right to say it aloud. He said it ten more times while he kissed her lips, eyelids, the bridge of her nose, her cheeks, jawline. Did he not care about his rib?

"I was scared. I thought…" she said.

He nodded, wrote on the board. "I was frightened, too. If those men saw you, they would've hurt you. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you were harmed, Abbie. The last thing I'd want is for you to risk your—"

"You didn't show up. It worried me. I had to find you, no matter what it cost me. It's that simple."

He frowned at her, shook his head, quickly wiped his old message, and scribbled his new one.

"It's not that simple. You could've been in—"

"Crane. Ichabod. Let's talk about this later. Can we just…be present? We're both safe now. Can that be enough?"

Nodding, he gave her the board, and she put it back on the night stand. She checked to make sure he didn't have to go to bathroom, asked him about his pain, and switched off the lamp.

"We'll have to discuss our jobs tomorrow. You won't be able to work for a while."

She figured he must've frowned. He loved his job.

"You'll need a nurse, Mr. Crane. You want me to be your caretaker?" she whispered against his lips before she nuzzled them with her own.

He tugged her closer. "Mmhm."

"I'll prescribe you lots of hugs and kisses."

His beard tickled her neck. Then his lips and breath. And she couldn't help but giggle. She carefully rested her leg on his knee.

"You're going to be trouble, I bet."

He tickled her, causing her to laugh more.

"Stop that, Crane."

He smooched her lips once more.

"I love you, too. Now, sleep."

He drifted off, and she did, too. She's never had better rest.