April 22, 1919
If Sarah focused all of her attention she could pretend as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. It was a skill she had honed over the years, ever since that fateful day seven years ago. But as she sat on the porch swing, her hands clutching a cup of hot tea, she'd turn and see Pat sitting next to her and the pretense would crumble. The events of the previous night came rushing back at her and it was all she could do to keep from worrying. If Pat had been feeling the tension just as much as she, he didn't say anything. But every now and then, a troubled look crossed his face, revealing his thoughts.
Nevertheless, it was a better morning compared to recent ones and Sarah felt fully present. The day hung gray, heavy with the promise of impending rain. She was moderately cold but the green, earthy smell that surrounded them was too enticing to not want to be in the middle of it.
"It's no terrible place to live here," Pat said after a moment. "Not a sight of the ocean to be found."
"No ocean but there is a river a half mile that way." Sarah gestured toward the back of the house. "I still won't go near it if I can help it. The sound of it over the rocks…" Her voice trailed off, the memory still too vivid. "The rhododendrons are lovely though."
"The what?"
"The pink flowers," Sarah clarified. "They smell wonderful. Kate always…oh." She fell silent as she saw Kate standing at the end of the road. Her expression was unreadable but Sarah had a good idea of what she might be feeling.
Kate seemed to stiffen for a moment, but instead of turning away, she continued her determined stride toward the house. "Good mornin', Sarah," she said, looking pointedly at her and ignoring her brother entirely.
"Morning," Sarah replied. She held out her arms for the baby but Kate shook her head.
"It's a bit too chilly," Kate said. She shifted the child to her other arm and let herself inside.
"Does she always just walk in like that?" Pat asked, after the door had closed.
"She lived here for quite awhile," Sarah explained. "She can come and go as she pleases."
"And ye still won't tell me what she calls her child?"
She shook her head. "She's your can ask her yourself."
They fell silent as a small bird landed on the porch, hopping a few inches before taking flight once again. Sarah followed it's path until it vanished behind a tree.
"I've been meanin' to inquire," Pat said. "What's the reason for those?" He gestured to the row of branches. "Besides bein' excellent weapons, that is."
Sarah sighed. "John likes to collect things. Those, rocks, pinecones…if he can pick it up, it ends up in a pile somewhere."
"Perhaps he'll be a fine naturalist one day."
She tapped a nail against the glass of her cpu. "I'd rather he'd end up as something a bit more successful than that."
"I'd have reckoned ye'd prefer him to end up happy." A heavy silence fell over them. "I didn't mean–" Pat began.
"I do poorly enough by him already," she said softly, looking down at the ground. "Please do not make me feel worse than I already do."
Pat looked at her. "Do poorly?" He asked. "I find that mighty hard to be believin'."
Sarah took a moment to respond and studied the line of branches. "He looks so much like John," she said at last. " Every year it gets more and more…sometimes it's difficult to look at him. I can hardly say his name." The weight on her shoulders lifted as she finally voiced the thoughts that haunted her for years. "Does that make me a terrible mother?" The question hung in the air, her fears laid bare. Her entire life she had wanted children of her own but her dreams always involved raising them alongside her husband, not entirely alone.
Pat shook his head, steadfast in his belief. "I'm certain yer a wonderful mother. How could ye be anythin' else?"
Sarah ran her hands nervously over the fabric of her skirt. She didn't feel like a wonderful mother. A wonderful mother wouldn't avoid looking into her own son's eyes. A wonderful mother wouldn't spend her nights crying herself to sleep. A wonderful mother, she thought, would've done everything better.
"Why did ye give him the name John?"
"Everyone expected me to." There was a burning in her eyes and she blinked back the tears. "I'm sure I'll get used to it in time."
"Sarah," Pat began, his voice gentle yet firm. "Yer still mournin', so naturally things like that are goin' to be troublesome."
"It's been seven years."
"Aye, but what of it? Pain doesn't just cease after a few years."
Sarah's fingers trembled slightly as she gripped the now-empty teacup in her hands. "Maybe so," she said. "But that doesn't make it alright."
"No, but it doesn't make ye a dreadful mother," he replied. "Because I know how much ye mind, not only for yer son but for everythin' else."
"How can–" She began.
"If ye didn't mind, then ye wouldn't be so troubled," Pat said.
"That's–"
"Simple for me to say," he finished for her. "I know." He reached over and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
She looked down at her bare feet and wiggled her toes. "My feet are cold," she said.
"Let's be headin' inside then," he suggested.
Nodding in agreement, Sarah rose from the porch swing, the creak of wood accompanying her movement as they went inside.
When Kate had woken that morning, she had fully intended to make things right with Sarah. They had been through too much together to let an argument ruin six years of close friendship. Pat had already ruined enough of her life and she refused to let him ruin any more of it. But when she saw them sitting together on the porch, that resolve had vanished in an instant. The realization that her own brother held a deeper place in Sarah's heart than their own friendship was a bitter pill to swallow. Yet, she couldn't simply turn her back. She had too much pride for running away.
Instead, she deposited her child in a pile of blankets on the sofa. She gathered up the dishes that still remained from the disastrous dinner of the night before. Then, taking a moment to marvel at the miracle of it, she filled the sink with hot, soapy water and began to wash the dishes. With each plate wiped clean, she could feel her own anger dissipating. The warmth of the water, the rhythmic swishing sound, and the content babbling of her child in the next room, it all felt right.
But then voices and the two she didn't wish to see were there. A plate slipped from her grasp, crashing into the water with a splash and a jarring clatter.
"You didn't need to do those," Sarah said.
"Well, if ye'd be likin' the critters to pick 'em clean, I can fetch 'em back outside," Kate replied, sharply. "For I know ye won't be botherin' with washin' 'em."
"Katie," Pat warned.
But she had already turned her attention back to the sink.
"It's fine," Sarah said. "Leave her alone."
Leave her alone. Leave her alone. Leave her alone. The words echoed in Kate's head. Just leave her alone. That's what Pat had been doing for the past six years, leaving her alone, pretending she didn't exist. She stared into the soapy water, her gaze fixed on the distorted reflection staring back at her. Her hands made fists beneath the bubbles. Desperately, she tried to push down her anger until she couldn't hold it back a moment longer. "Ye needn't be frettin', Sarah," she said. "Pat knows all too well how to be leavin' me alone."
"Kate–" Sarah began.
"He left me well enough alone for a good six years, no trouble at all," she continued, her words biting with a sense of hurt that had festered deep within her.
"Kate, couldn't you let that go?" The plea in Sarah's voice hung in the air.
Let it go? How could she? "He'll do the same to ye, I'm certain of it," Kate said. "Once he grows weary of ye. Aye, he had no qualms about takin' advantage of a grievin' widow, but his heart only beats for himself, so why would he care?"
"Katie, that's enough," Pat cut in sharply.
But Kate refused to yield. Her gaze hardened, her words biting with a raw honesty. "I'm certain yer husband is twistin' in his grave at the sight of ye pair," she proclaimed.
A heavy silence enveloped the room.
Sarah dropped the cup in her hands, the sound of shattering glass broke the silence. She clamped her hands over her mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle a sob.
Without hesitation, Pat closed the distance between himself and his sister. He grasped her shoulders and roughly pulled her away from the sink, forcing her to face him. "How dare ye?" He tried to keep his voice level but it was difficult. He could hear his heart beating in his ears. "This is just like ye. Always layin' blame on everyone else for every little thing ye be unhappy about. Why don't ye be mindin' yer own affairs, now?"
Kate lifted her chin defiantly. "Do ye be listenin' to yerself?" She fired back. "Yer the very one who can never be mindin' their own matters."
"When have I ever—"
"Did ye or did ye not tell Tommy not to be talkin' to me?"
Confusion flickered across Pat's face. "What?" he stammered. He was caught off guard by the sudden turn of conversation.
"Seven years ago." Her voice seethed with bitterness. "Ye told Tommy not to be talkin' to me."
"That's not what we're—"
"But it is," she cut him off. "Ye've always said that we're family and all we've got and that yer responsible for me. But the moment it suited ye, none of that even mattered. Ye just upped and vanished in the middle of the night. Guess I wasn't family enough for ye to be bothered with sayin' a word to me. For God's sake, since the Titanic. .. since that night, ye've hardly even laid eyes on me, so I suppose I shouldn't have been so taken aback by yer departure."
"That's not—" He tried again.
"Not what?" Kate snapped. "Ye can't deny it, now." She shook her head. "I'm sorry I didn't drown because then maybe ye could've left earlier."
"Katie—"
"But, then again, maybe it's me turn to take me leave in the middle of the night. I wouldn't be wantin' to spoil yer shiny new life or be gettin' in yer path or anythin' of that sort, now would I?" She turned back to the sink, her movements jerky as she reached for another dish.
Pat watched her for a moment, filled with conflicting feelings of hurt and guilt. He had thought he was doing the right thing by leaving but hadn't realized until then how much it must've hurt her. With a sudden surge of frustration, he ripped the dish from her hands. "Katie," he began, his words choked with emotion. "Ye want to be knowin' why I left? I left because I couldn't bear to be lookin' at ye without wantin' to throw meself from a tall buildin'."
Kate let out a strangled laugh. "I'm sorry I've turned so unpleasant to ye. It only makes it all the more reason for me to be takin' me leave then. If ye won't be goin' that is."
"I'm not—" Pat desperately tried to find the right words, but his voice faltered.
"Why are ye even here? We were happy without ye." She gave him a shove. "And now here ye are, ready to spoil everythin'. Why can't ye just be goin' away?"
"Happy? How was she happy at all, I ask ye?" He looked for Sarah and found her on her knees, busily scooping up pieces of broken porcelain.
"Please stop," she pleaded, not looking at either one.
"Six years ye've been gone, just like that," Kate continued.
The baby began to cry in the next room but no one made a move toward it.
"Maybe it should've been longer," Pat said.
"That's what I've been sayin'. The door's right there. Why don't ye be gettin' yerself on a ship and headin' back to yer home? The North Atlantic's a fine place to be this time of year."
"Would you two—" Sarah tried again.
"If ye can't be findin' a spot on a ship, maybe ye can be swimmin' yer way back. Though I can't be imaginin' someone bein' willin' to pull ye from the water a second time. But maybe that'd be for the best."
"Kate!" Sarah dropped the pieces of porcelain and shot to her feet. "Stop before you say something you can't take back," she implored desperately.
"No, let her be speakin'. She's just sayin' everythin' she's been thinkin'."
In the midst of everything, Cal and Fabrizio appeared in the doorway. Fabrizio held the crying baby in his arms. Both wore stunned looks on their faces.
Pat ignored all of them, his gaze still on his sister. "Ye know," he continued, his words laced with a vindictive edge. "It's a real shame Tommy didn't be keepin' his lifebelt—"
Before he could finish his thought, Kate lunged at him. But Cal, quick to react, caught hold of her and pulled her back.
Sarah stood motionless, her shock rendering her immobile. The broken shards of porcelain lay forgotten on the floor.
"What is the matter with both of you?" Cal demanded as his gaze darted between the two of them.
Fabrizio shook his head. "Siete entrambi degli idioti," he berated them, frustration evident in his voice. "You both acting like children."
As the tension lingered, Cal looked around the room. "Speaking of which," he said. "Where's John gone off to? I didn't see him when we walked in."
There were no words for what Sarah had been feeling as she watched them tear into each other. She felt helpless, her pleas for peace falling on deaf ears. In her own home, she had become invisible, overshadowed by the escalating conflict. She was grateful for Cal and Fabrizio's arrival but feared it was too late. Horrible things had already been said and she couldn't see how they could possibly move past them anymore. The weight of it all threatened to suffocate Sarah. All she wanted was to retreat, to bury herself beneath layers of blankets on her bed, and forget the pain that hung heavy in the air. She had half a mind to throw both Pat and Kate out but she cared for both of them and desperately needed them in her life. But she couldn't see a way out.
But then Cal asked about her son.
Sarah looked around as did everyone. She tried to remember the last time she had seen him. Was it the night before? Surely, she must've seen him that morning.
"Sure, Pat stayed the night," Kate said. "I'm reckonin' he's seen him around."
"Ah, for the love of God, Katie," Pat snapped. "Would ye be quiet for once?"
Without a word, Sarah left the kitchen as the two began to bicker again, her footsteps quickening as she reached John's room. With trembling hands she pushed open the door but her heart sank at the sight of his empty bed. Desperation gripped her as she dropped to her knees, looking beneath it but finding nothing. "John?" she called out, her voice carrying the weight of her mounting fear. Silence was the only response.
She came back through the kitchen and swung open the back door. "John?" She called out into the yard but there was no reply except a bird chirping from the apple tree. Panic welled up inside of her. More panic than she would have thought possible. Her son, the only part of her husband she had left, was gone. Her legs threatened to give way beneath her, but just in time, Pat reached out and caught her.
"We'll track him down," he reassured her. "Sure, he couldn't have strayed too far."
"Likely he's perched up in a tree somewhere," Kate added.
Sarah, unable to speak, could only nod weakly.
"Alright," Cal said, taking charge. "We'll split up. We can check with the neighbors." He gestured to Fabrizio. "And you two can search out back toward the river."
"I'd rather–" Kate began.
"I don't care what you rather," he snapped, cutting her off sharply. "The two of you can grow up and get along for a half an hour to find a missing child. You're both adults, for God's sake."
"And what do I…?" Sarah spoke up.
"Wait here," Cal directed. "Knowing him, he's probably hiding in a closet or something. And you can keep an eye on the noisy one."
Fabrizio gently transferred the still screaming baby into Sarah's arms.
She cast a meaningful glance at each person in the room. She wanted to say something but couldn't find her voice.
"It'll be alright," Pat said. He gave her arm a gentle squeeze.
She nodded and went into the other room. Settling on the sofa, she held Kate's child close to her and tried to slow her breathing. She closed her eyes and willed the day to start over.
Pat and Kate walked in silence, their steps a measured distance apart. His anger still lingered from the hurtful words his sister had thrown his way. But beneath the resentment, a pang of remorse tugged at him for his own thoughtless comment about Tommy. He knew he had crossed a line, but pride kept him from uttering an apology, knowing it would likely be rejected anyway.
His sister kept giving him looks, her unspoken thoughts etched clearly on her face. She was blaming him, he was certain of it.
"This isn't me fault," he grumbled.
"No?" Kate replied. "Well, he's never gone missin' before you arrived, now, did he?"
Pat's lips tightened and he directed his gaze upwards towards the canopy of trees as they walked through them. His foot caught on a protruding rock, causing him to stumble, but he managed to catch himself just in time.
"John!" Kate's voice echoed, breaking the stillness. A nearby squirrel took offense, scolding them with its noisy chatter. "Where is that child?" she muttered.
Pat glanced at his sister. "Does he often wander this far?"
"Not that I recall," Kate replied, her voice filled with anxiety. "He's forbidden from goin' anywhere near the river, ye know."
Pat knew all too well that rules held little sway over a determined child. If John wanted to go that far, nothing would've stopped him. After all, in his own childhood, he broke them constantly.
Sarah meticulously searched the house once more, looking into any place that could hide a six year old. Frustrated and on the verge of panic, she took a deep breath and ventured outside, the baby wrapped tightly in a blanket, her gaze sweeping the surroundings in a desperate search. She looked up into the trees, hoping against hope that she would catch a glimpse of her child's small figure perched among the branches, intentionally hiding from them as a sort of game. But he wasn't there.
She gave up and stepped back inside the house. It didn't feel right to her that she was the one left behind while others searched for her child.
The baby had just fallen asleep in her arms when Cal and Fabrizio returned. She looked up hopefully but they were alone.
"No one's seen him," Cal informed her. "But that doesn't mean anything."
Sarah's throat tightened and she fought back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. Pat's words of reassurance echoed in her mind, but they were drowned out by the resounding voice of self-doubt. A shudder ran through her and she pressed her lips together, holding back a sob. The weight of guilt settled upon her, whispering that a good mother would have known where her children were.
"We go look again," Fabrizio said.
She shook her head. "No, I want to…I can't stay here, waiting." She rose from her seat and gently placed the sleeping baby in Fabrizio's arms.
"Sarah, you should–" Cal's concerned voice began.
"Don't tell me what to do," she shot back. She grabbed her coat and pulled it on. "I think I'll try to catch up to Kate and Pat, if they haven't torn each other apart by now." She sniffled and hastily wiped her nose with her sleeve.
"Do you want me to go with you?" Cal asked.
Sarah shrugged. "If you want." She pushed her way out through the front door, with Cal following.
"I wait here then," Fabrizio called after them as they left.
It started to rain and Kate regretted not bringing her coat with her. She stole a glance at her brother but the weather didn't seem to be bothering him. The distant sound of the river reached her ears moments before she saw it through the trees that lined the steep bank.
"I don't be seein' him," Pat said.
Kate ignored him and walked to the edge. She turned her gaze to the left where a large tree had fallen, stretching an impressive ten feet above the water. It took her a moment to spot the small figure clinging to one of the branches that jutted out at odd angles. Her breath caught in her throat. "What be ye doin'?" She called as she sprinted towards the tree, her shoes sinking into the muddy ground. "Get back over here this instant!"
"I'm stuck," came John's soft voice, barely audible over the rain.
Kate looked out over the river and shook her head. "Ah, fine then." She reached for the muddy roots jutting out from the ground and pulled herself onto the large trunk, carefully maneuvering her feet to avoid entangling her skirt, a silent gratitude rising within her that hems had been steadily growing shorter over the past seven years.
"Katie," Pat shouted at her. "Get down from there."
"Quit yer yellin' at me," Kate replied. "I can handle meself on a tree."
The tree creaked and swayed beneath her weight as she inched forward. Doubts crept into her mind. "Sure and I should've let Pat handle this," she muttered to herself. She paused and squeezed her eyes shut as a gust of wind hit her, threatening to throw her off balance.
"Katie!" Pat's voice carried an edge of desperation. "Get back here now. Ye can't swim, for heaven's sake."
"Ah, thanks for the reminder, Pat," Kate replied as she slowly began her way again. She was nearly close enough to reach John.
"If ye take a tumble into that water, don't be expectin' me to jump in after ye," Pat warned.
"Fine by me," Kate shot back. "I'd sooner take me chances with the river than depend on the likes of ye. John." Her voice softened as she reached out a hand to him. "We'll make our way back together, alright?"
He nodded and took her hand.
A sense of foreboding settled heavily over Pat. He paced nervously, his gaze alternating between his sister and the river below her. He forced himself to breathe slowly, convincing himself that his panic was for nothing. Kate always knew what she was doing.
As she reached John's side, a surge of relief flooded through Pat and he stopped his pacing. "Ah, thank the heavens," he whispered to himself as Kate helped the child onto the other side of her. "Now, just be makin' your way back over here," he silently urged.
Time dragged on, each passing second feeling like an eternity as Kate carefully turned herself around on the fallen tree. Pat's heart pounded in his chest as her foot got caught in the hem of her skirt, causing a momentary pause as she struggled to free it. And then he wasn't sure what happened. A gust of wind, the rain seemed to increase, and she lost her balance. Without a sound she plummeted into the river.
Horror gripped Pat as he glanced back and forth between John, who remained perched on the tree, and the spot where Kate had vanished into the water. The world seemed to blur around him, but he had no choice.
"Don't ye be movin'! Stay right where ye are!" he shouted at the child as he threw himself into the river. The shock of the frigid water engulfed him, stealing his breath and numbing his senses. He gasped for air as he resurfaced, his heart racing. Amidst the distant rumble of thunder, he tried to suppress the rising panic that threatened to overwhelm him. It's only a river. It's only a river. He repeated to himself in a desperate, fervent mantra, willing himself to stay calm. With every stroke, a battle against the unforgiving current, he swam to where he last saw his sister.
Sarah's steps slowed as she neared the river, her heart lodged in her throat. With a gasp, her hand flew to cover her mouth as she spotted John perched on the fallen tree and Kate cautiously approaching him. A surge of shock rendered her momentarily frozen as Kate plunged into the water, and she stopped breathing entirely as Pat leaped in after her.
But Cal immediately jumped into action. He sprinted forward, and after a brief moment, Sarah snapped out of her daze and followed him.
He skillfully climbed onto the fallen tree where John carelessly slid along the trunk, callously ignoring Pat's earlier commands. Cal reached the child and took hold of him, carefully pulling him down to the safety of the ground.
Sarah rushed over to him, but instead of embracing John, she grabbed him forcefully. Her voice resonated with fury. "How many times have I told you to stay away from this river?" She shouted over the rain.
"I was just–" John began.
"I don't want to hear it!" she retorted, cutting him off. She glanced out over the river and saw that Pat had reached Kate. "You are going to spend the rest of the week confined to your room, do you hear me?" She looked out again and could no longer see either one of them. Panic surged within her. "Cal!" she called out, her voice trembling with fear, desperate for his help.
He cursed under his breath, his eyes fixed on the river. Without hesitating, he climbed down the embankment.
"Sit down, right here," Sarah commanded, pointing sternly at the muddy ground.
"But it's muddy," John whined.
"You're already a mess, so just sit!" she snapped.
With a resentful grumble, her child reluctantly lowered himself onto the muddy spot.
Sarah brought her trembling hands up to cover her face, squeezing her eyes shut as she offered a silent prayer, her fingers pressing against her temples in a desperate plea for their safety.
At last he reached Kate's struggling form. And at once she grabbed onto him with a strength he wouldn't have thought possible, pulling him beneath the water. Panic gripped Pat as he desperately clawed at her hands, fighting to break free.
"Katie–" He managed to gasp out before she pulled him back under again. The taste of water filled his mouth, his lungs screamed for air, and an overwhelming sense of dread gripped his heart. His hand brushed against Kate's hair and a wave of shock surged through him.
For half a moment he was back in the icy waters of the North Atlantic, caught in the maelstrom of drowning men and women. The deafening cries for help echoed in his ears and his heart raced with a familiar terror. Why are there so many children? They whispered temptations of surrender into his ear, that he couldn't endure this again. It wasn't worth it.
But then a flicker of realization broke through. He wasn't in the North Atlantic. He was in a river, fighting against the current with his sister's life hanging in the balance. Kate needed him. He twisted in the water and struck her in the face. Her grip immediately loosened and he broke the surface, gasping and coughing, desperate for air.
He grabbed a hold of her from behind. "Katie," he gasped. "Pull me under one more time…I'd break yer arms. I won't let ye... let ye drown." Each word was a struggle, fighting against the numbing cold that seeped into his bones.
Swimming against the relentless current proved to be a near-impossible feat. Pat strained with every stroke, his muscles aching and his energy draining rapidly. He struggled to keep Kate's head above the water, feeling the weight of her desperation in the clutch of his arm. Each time her head dipped beneath the surface, she sputtered and coughed, gasping for air. He reached a large rock sticking out of the water and made a desperate grab for it. Exhausted, he pushed Kate onto it.
Pat wanted to stay there on the rock forever but he knew from experience that it wasn't an option. Already he couldn't feel his fingers as they grasped the rough surface and he could see Kate shivering violently beside him. There was blood on her face but he pushed down the guilt he felt at the sight of it.
"Just…n-nearly there," he stammered. He could hardly get the words out.
The riverbank beckoned, teasingly close, yet the water that lay between Kate and safety appeared as an impenetrable, foreboding force; dark and churning and ready to suck her down beneath the surface. One hand clung tightly to Pat's arm while the other desperately grasped the slick rock beneath her fingertips. She shook her head. "N-no…I can't," the words came out as a tremulous whisper, lost in the drumming of rain against the surface of the river.
"Kate!"
At the sound of Cal's urgent voice, she turned her head to the side to see him looking at her, concern etched on his face. He had climbed down the embankment and stood knee deep in the frigid water. One hand clung tenaciously to the root of an overhanging tree, while the other reached out to her.
Without a word, Pat pried her fingers from the rock. Kate let out a startled yelp as she fell back into the river, swallowing a mouthful of water. Desperately, she lunged forward, propelled by her brother's forceful shove, and reached out. Rain blurred her vision as she fought to keep her head above the water.
Then, Cal tightly grasped her hand and pulled her against the current to safety. He didn't say anything as he shoved her up the muddy embankment where Sarah kneeled waiting, ready to pull her up the rest of the way.
Kate crumbled to the ground, her body overcome with exhaustion and a lingering disbelief that she had survived. The cold rain battered against her face, blending with the tears that streamed down her cheeks.
Sarah swiftly enveloped her in a tight hug, wrapping her coat around her. "Are you alright?" She gently pushed Kate's hair away from her face. "You're bleeding."
"I'm what?" Kate brought a hand to her face then looked at it. "Oh." She wiped her face with the sleeve of Sarah's coat and Sarah made an involuntary noise. "Pat hit me in me face."
"He hit you?"
Kate pulled the coat closer around her. "I'm so cold. Is John…" Her voice trailed off. She could hardly bring herself to ask.
"He's fine," Sarah replied. "In a great deal of trouble but he's fine."
Kate looked toward the river to see Cal helping Pat up the embankment. Sarah joined them and Kate quickly looked away.
"Kate," Pat's voice, exhausted and strained, reached her. "Are–"
She stopped him. "I don't need ye yellin' at me right now." With shaky legs, she pushed herself up from the wet ground. "I'm goin' back."
Sarah shook her head in protest. "Kate, it's a half mile and you can hardly move. You can't go by yourself."
Cal stepped forward. "I'll take her," he offered.
"Take John with you," Sarah insisted. "We'll catch up to you."
The child opened his mouth to protest but immediately shut it at the sight of his mother's face.
Cal picked up Kate and she rested her head on his shoulder. "Come on, little man," he called over his shoulder as he started walking, leaving Sarah and Pat behind.
The rain continued to beat down as Sarah knelt in the mud beside Pat. "Pat, you can't lay there," she said, helping him into a sitting position. She could feel him shivering violently. She took his icy hands in hers, hoping to bring some warmth, but her own hands were nearly as cold.
"Is Katie…"
"Kate's fine," Sarah reassured him, her own voice trembling slightly. "She's shaken up and cold but she's alright." She brushed aside a wet strand of hair from her face, her fingertips leaving streaks of mud. "Did you really hit her?"
"What?" Confusion came over his face and he looked back at the river.
Sarah couldn't let him retreat into himself. She grasped his chin, gently turning his face toward her. "Pat, look at me," she implored.
He shook his head. "I don't recall bein' this cold," he muttered, his words laced with a touch of detachment. "She kept draggin' me under. I didn't know what else to be doin'."
"Well, you're not going to warm up out here," Sarah said. She supported him, her arm encircling his waist, as she helped him rise to his feet.
Pat looked around. "Where's Katie?"
"She's walking back," she replied softly. "We'll catch up."
Leaning into him, Sarah kept her arm securely wrapped around him as they made their way back to the warmth of her house.
Kate kept a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Despite changing into dry clothes and washing off the mud, the cold still clung to her. The group remained eerily silent after the incident in the river, as if they collectively agreed to pretend that nothing had happened. Cal's attempts to teach John a card game were met with failure, while Fabrizio held the sleeping baby in his arms, refusing to surrender him back to anyone else. Sarah and Pat sat next to each other in front of the crackling fire, its warm glow casting dancing shadows on their faces, as they spoke in hushed voices.
She couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that laid over her even though she couldn't pinpoint what she had done wrong. Everything had been fine until her brother's unexpected arrival and she still believed he should shoulder most of the blame. But as she watched them sitting together, she knew it didn't matter. If she wanted things to return to normal—how desperately she longed for that—she had to take responsibility.
Summoning her courage, Kate rose from her seat and approached Sarah cautiously. "Sarah?"
Sarah looked up and offered a comforting smile.
"Could we speak outside?"
"In the rain?"
"On the porch," Kate explained. "I just want to have a chat with ye alone for a moment."
Pat and Sarah exchanged a look then Sarah rose to her feet. "Of course," she agreed, following Kate towards the porch.
The moment the door closed behind them, Kate couldn't hold back the words. "I'm truly sorry for everythin'," she began, her voice trembling with emotion. "I didn't want..." Her sentence dissolved into tears as she broke down.
Sarah pulled her into a tight hug. "Oh, Kate. There's nothing to apologize for," she said.
"I can't help but feel like I've ruined everythin'," Kate confessed, her voice muffled against Sarah's shoulder.
Sarah pulled back slightly, looking into Kate's eyes. "How?"
"Well, I went ahead and invited folks, even though ye didn't want it," she said. "Then, I went and hit ye. Shattered one of yer dishes, too. And then I tumbled off that tree, leavin' us all susceptible to a dreadful bout of pneumonia. Ah, and I clean forgot to bake ye a cake for yer birthday."
Sarah guided Kate to the porch swing, motioning for her to sit.
"You're one of my dearest friends," Sarah said after a moment. "I don't have any sisters but sometimes I like to think you're mine. Nothing can change that. I might have to reconsider it if you burn my home down but you haven't done that yet so I think you're in the clear."
"The day's not yet done," Kate replied. "That might just be me next course of action."
They both laughed then fell into silence as they listened to the rain patter against the wooden beams overhead. Watching it from the sheltered porch was much more enjoyable than being caught out in it.
"Do you think it's possible to fall in love twice?" Sarah suddenly asked.
Kate regarded her friend, studying her features for any hint of hidden meaning. "Sure and certain it is," she replied. "I've gone and done it meself." Memories of Tommy flickered in her mind, their brief time together leaving her questioning the nature of their connection. Had it been love? The question lingered, unanswered, but the fact that he had never faded from her heart spoke volumes. "And if yer referrin' to Pat—"
"I'm not," Sarah cut her off abruptly, a flush of color rising to her cheeks.
Kate narrowed her eyes, not convinced for a second by Sarah's denial. It was clear to anyone with eyes that there was a connection between Sarah and her brother, whether they admitted it to themselves or not. "Ye're entitled to move on," she said, gently. "Yer life doesn't need to stop because John's did."
A flicker of uncertainty crossed Sarah's face. "It feels disloyal."
"Perhaps ye should have a wee chat with him about it."
"John?" Sarah's voice was surprised. "I thought you disapproved of séances."
"I do disapprove of séances. They're unnatural," Kate replied. "I meant havin' a proper conversation with him, in a way that doesn't defy the laws of nature and the Almighty." She readjusted the blanket around her shoulders. "I talk to Tommy all the time, ye know."
"You do not. Do you? What about?"
Kate shrugged. "About everythin'. I pour me heart out to him, be it a rough day or a grand one. When I'm feelin' that lonesomeness creeping in..." Her voice trailed off, her thoughts drifting to her empty home, where it was just her and her baby. "I'll have plenty to share with him 'bout today, that's certain."
"Does he answer back?"
Kate smiled. "Only when I dream of him." She let out a wistful sigh and stood. "We should be makin' our way back inside. The men are left alone with the little ones and I've never known a more harrowin' notion."
She took a step toward the door when Sarah's voice stopped her. "Why can't the two of you work things out? I know you missed him."
A heavy silence settled between them. "It's complicated," she finally admitted.
"But it's not."
Kate took a moment to gather her thoughts. "Imagine if the one person ye trusted more than anyone else in the world," she began softly, her voice carrying the weight of old wounds. "The very soul ye knew would always be there for ye, no matter what happened. Just one day up and disappeared and didn't think ye were worth even the shortest note sayin' where they went. That one person never felt the same way about ye as ye did about them."
"I know that's not true. Not even in the slightest." Sarah stood to join her. "Kate, I saw him jump into that river after you. He didn't hesitate. That's not someone who doesn't care."
"He also hit me in the face," Kate replied. Without waiting for a response, she pulled open the door and stepped inside, leaving the rain-soaked porch behind her.
Sarah remained on the porch after Kate had disappeared into the house. The idea of speaking to John seemed impossible. He was gone. Dead. No longer existed. There wasn't even a body. She might as well speak to the house or the ground.
But rather than facing the tension that still filled the house, Sarah decided to walk around the property, enduring the relentless rain that showed no sign of stopping. Among the sprawling landscape, beneath the shelter of a cottonwood tree, stood a stone bearing John's name. A stone bench sat next to it, one that she had never sat on. Mostly her child used it as a stepping stool to pull himself into the tree.
But this time, Sarah sat down on the bench, feeling foolish, and stared at the stone. How does one speak to a ghost? She looked up to see Cal approaching with an umbrella in hand, making his way across the wet grass.
He sat beside her and sheltered her from the rain. "I think you must be running out of dry clothes by now," he remarked with a touch of gentle humor.
"This is absurd," she said. "He's not even here, is he?"
"I suppose not," he replied.
"He's not anywhere since he was left to rot on the…" Her voice failed and a shudder ran through her at the thought. "I've never been able to finish that thought," she admitted. "It's unimaginable."
"He was buried at sea," Cal replied but not unkindly. "Same as a thousand others."
"A month later," Sarah said, sharply. "I rather not speak about it. It's too difficult." She took solace in the fact that without a body, she could keep John's memorial stone in her own yard, away from his family. Ordinarily, guilt would eat at her, but she couldn't forget how they had treated her after his death–denying the legitimacy of their marriage, his will, attempting to claim his possessions, leaving her vulnerable and cast aside.
"You shouldn't have left Kate and Pat alone," she said suddenly.
"Fabri will keep them in line."
Sarah sighed. "I don't know what to do with them. They're both saying the same things but neither one is listening to the other."
He shrugged. "Lock them in a room together? Either they work things out or they kill each other. Either way, problem solved."
A faint smile flickered across her lips. However, her thoughts soon returned to John. "Do you think John would've…" She struggled to find the right words. "I keep thinking of how disappointed he must be with me. My life feels like a disaster."
"Sarah, I haven't seen my own children in three months. Your life is hardly the disaster."
"My son nearly drowned."
"John is fine," he said with a nonchalant shrug. "Every child seems to have an innate talent for seeking danger. I mean I jumped out a window when I was a child and broke my arm."
"You jumped out of a window?"
"I thought I could fly."
"How old were you?"
"That doesn't matter."
"How old?"
"Eight."
"You were eight and you thought you could fly?"
"It was quite windy and I thought that would've made a difference," he explained. "But we're not talking about that."
"I'd like to talk more about that."
"What I was trying to say earlier," he said, trying to get back on topic. "It was that you're too hard on yourself."
"I wonder sometimes what would've happened if he had lived," she admitted. "Everything is so much harder than I thought it would be. If I would've let him down—"
"Sarah," he interrupted, his voice firm. "You could've set the house on fire with him locked inside it and he still would've loved you."
"But—" She started.
"I know I told you this before but every conversation we had revolved around you."
"Then why didn't he jump with you?"
"I think perhaps he was afraid," Cal said. "It wasn't easy to willingly jump off a ship, unable to see any boats or even the water below you. Trusting that you pick the right direction to swim to."
"But you did."
"And if I had to do it again, I don't think I could," he said. "I've had nightmares about that moment. Sometimes I'm swimming forever, all alone, never reaching a boat, until my strength gives out. Other times, I jump and just keep falling and never reach the water."
"My nightmares involve John calling out to me but I can't find him no matter how much I look," Sarah confessed.
"Maybe we should sue the White Star Line for emotional trauma."
"Is that a thing?"
He shrugged. "Should be. Here." He handed her the umbrella. "I'm going back inside but you should stay here as long as you need." There was a moment of hesitation before he spoke again. "Kate did want me to tell you that if you feel pneumonia coming on, you're to come inside at once."
Sarah managed a grateful smile. "I'll be in, in a little bit," she assured him. "And later I'd like to learn more about eight year old you. It sounds like you were very special."
"Not going to happen," he called back as he walked away.
Once he was gone, Sarah turned her attention back to the stone, the water running down its smooth surface.
"I must be out of my mind," she murmured to herself. "How am I supposed to speak to you when you're not here? Kate says she speaks to Tommy but she's…she has more faith than I do, I suppose. God, I feel foolish."
Tears welled up in Sarah's eyes as she confronted her pain."Why didn't you swim to a lifeboat?" She asked the stone. "You could've made it. We could have found each other and lived our lives together as we were meant to. But you didn't even try. I should be angry with you. Furious. You gave up. I know Fabri says you didn't, but if you had held on for just one more hour, everything would have been fine. Couldn't you have held on for one more hour?"
Sarah's voice wavered as she continued. "This isn't fair. You left me alone in a country I've never been before…and, by the way, your family has been dreadful to me... to raise our child on my own. I mean, I have Kate and she's been wonderful. I wish you could've met her. But not a single day has gone by without me being terrified out of my mind all because you couldn't make it one more hour."
She shook her head. "Maybe I'm being unfair. I wish I had been with you in the end. I could have held you and said all the things I never got the chance to say. I wish I had fought harder on the ship and refused to leave your side. Then we would have had whatever time was left, however short it may have been. But then again, that would have been unfair to Pat. I gave him your coat, so in a way, you saved his life. I think you would have liked him as well. He's so different from you—more impulsive and unsure of himself—but he means well. And he makes me laugh."
A rumble of thunder broke across the sky and Sarah looked up. The rain seemed to increase. "You probably wouldn't like it if I was struck by lightning." She paused. "I don't know if you've heard any of this. I don't know if there's any part of you still around." She looked down at her lap and took a slow breath. "I'm not feeling any better, not one bit. I hope I'm not disappointing you." Another rumble of thunder and she hastily stood up. She cast one last glance at the stone, her gaze filled with longing, before she sprinted across the yard.
Pat went out to the porch after Cal had left, leaving him alone with Kate and Fabri. He could sense his sister's penetrating gaze on him, and after a few moments, it became unbearable.
The rain hadn't let up but the porch remained dry. Pat settled on the floorboards, leaning his back against the solid wall of the house, pulling his knees up to his chest. Cal cast a glance in his direction upon reentering the house but remained silent. A few minutes later, Sarah approached, holding an umbrella but still wet all the way through.
"It's warmer inside," she pointed out.
"I rather be out here meself," he replied. He took in her wet clothes, her dripping hair. "I don't think your umbrella isn't doin' much good, is it?"
"It was already too late when Cal handed it to me," she said as she took a seat next to him. "I wish I could've warned you of how cold that water is this time of year."
Pat shrugged. "Wouldn't have made a difference. Katie would've fallen in regardless."
"Kate is just—"
"Ye needn't defend her. I understand she has good intentions and she's doin' her utmost."
Sarah smiled. "Both of you are much nicer to each other behind your backs."
"I'd speak kind words to her face if she'd allow, but I doubt she ever will. I've ruined any possibility of her pardon long ago."
"Would you like me to push her in the river?" She teased. "You could save her life again. That might do it."
Pat shook his head. "I can't go through that once more. I had barely put an end to the nightmares, and I'm certain they'll come haunt me again." The terrifying moments, the screams, the bone-chilling cold—those memories hadn't completely faded. They lurked in the back of his mind, ready to resurface unexpectedly, filling his dreams. But now they were in the forefront of his mind. If he closed his eyes, he could see the stern of the ship towering over him. If he covered his ears, the cries for help echoed relentlessly, haunting him once more.
Sarah took his hand gently and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.
Even in this moment, the gesture reminded him of their time on the Carpathia , the waking nightmare they had both endured. But just like then, her presence brought comfort and steadiness, enough to push back the darkest fears and keep him from feeling utterly alone.
Sarah suddenly leaned over and pressed a tender kiss upon his cheek, her lips lingering for a moment. "I'm not going to forget John," she said.
"I wouldn't wish ye to." He doubted he could ever live up to him.
Even though the day was growing late, Kate remained determined to bake a cake for Sarah's birthday, even if she knew nobody would be eager to eat it. The exception being John—the child would eat anything. With the butter and shortening already combined, she was about to pour in the applesauce she had made two days earlier when Pat walked in.
"Ye've always made the most wonderful cakes," he said.
At once Kate's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What are ye doin'?" she asked sharply, emptying the container of applesauce into the bowl.
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room as she stirred the mixture and set the bowl aside. She turned to face her brother, her arms folded across her chest.
"We need to find a way to move beyond what happened between us," he said, at last.
She returned her attention to the cake, the dry ingredients already measured. In an act of frustration and defiance, she dumped the entire bowl into the batter, causing a cloud of flour and cinnamon to fill the air and she sneezed.
"I'm sorry for not bein' able to get back to ye on the Titanic ," Pat said. "And I'm sorry for Tommy. Both of ye deserved far better."
"Chop these for me," she said, in a softer voice. She placed a box of raisins on a cutting board in front of him. "That wasn't yer fault. Tommy never had much of a fair shot."
Pat picked up a knife and began halving the raisins. "I'm also sorry for abandonin' ye in Ohio."
"And what about me letters ye never took the time to respond to?"
Pat took a moment to answer, his focus fixed on the raisins. "I…I couldn't bring meself to face ye after what I had done."
"So ye reckoned ye'd simply act as if I didn't exist."
"Ye can label me a coward if ye wish," he said. "It's the most terrible thing I've ever done."
Kate tossed down her spoon and turned to him. "Ye should know, I would've found it in me heart to forgive ye. If only ye had taken the time to reply to a single letter."
Pat set the knife down, a pained expression crossing his face. "I wanted to come back almost at once," he confessed.
"They why didn't ye?"
He hesitated. "The Lusitania."
Kate felt a prickle of fear at the name. It had been all over the news once. "Eighteen minutes," she said, her voice filled with disbelief. "Could ye fathom it? I don't reckon I had even stepped out of me room in eighteen minutes." She shook her head sadly. "Those poor souls." It seemed impossible to her that anyone could have survived such a thing. She looked over at her brother. "Honestly, I can't fathom how ye managed to board a ship twice after it occurred. I don't know if I could. The very thought fills me with dread."
"It's rather simple if ye forsake eatin', sleepin', and avoid goin' below deck for the entire duration. How's this?" He stepped back from his task.
"It'll do," Kate said. She dumped the chopped raisins into a small bowl and scooped some flour over them.
"I've been meanin' to ask," Pat began as he watched her work. "Why did ye tell our parents I was dead."
Kate clapped a hand to her mouth, her face flushing with guilt. She had entirely forgotten about the telegraph that had been so hard to write, the one that she had hoped wouldn't get sent. "I thought ye were dead," she admitted.
"They held a memorial service."
"Was it a decent one?"
Pat shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I didn't witness it. But they weren't pleased with spendin' the money."
"I can well imagine."
"I apologized for not havin' the decency to die," he continued. "Yet, they still insisted I repay them."
Kate laughed suddenly.
Pat shot her a look.
She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but that's rather amusing. And I am still angry with ye so I feel like ye probably deserved it." The baby in the next room gave a sudden cry then immediately stopped. Kate smiled. "Fabri's good with him. I'm surprised that he hasn't settled down yet and started makin' some of his own."
Another silence enveloped them, providing Kate with an opportunity to fold the flour-coated raisins into the cake batter.
"What do ye call him?" Pat asked, hesitantly.
"Thomas," she replied softly.
"That's a fine name." Pat smiled knowingly. "Did ye have a…I mean is there…"
Kate stiffened. "Aye, I had a husband if that's what ye're insinuatin'. What sort of woman do ye think I am?" She fell silent as the memory hit her. "Daniel passed away last November."
"God, I'm so sorry," Pat's voice was sincere.
Kate shrugged and forced back her own emotions. "He managed to survive fightin' in the war only for a fever to claim him in the end." Life had dealt her one unfair blow after another. "I only wish he had the chance to lay eyes upon his son before…before it happened."
"Katie," Pat began. "I know I've already apologized, but I truly mean it. I feel as though I've missed everythin'. I didn't even know ye were wedded."
"It wasn't a lengthy marriage," she replied. "I'm reckonin' I'm destined to be alone."
"I know that's far from true."
A lump formed in Kate's throat, threatening to betray her composure. She blinked back tears, determined not to break down in front of her brother. Redirecting her focus, she turned her attention to the cake, pouring the batter into the pan with meticulous care, scraping down the sides, and smoothing it out.
"Yer child's a fine lookin' fellow," Pat said. "Well, not exactly fine, more like a turnip, if I'm bein' honest."
Kate couldn't help her smile. "That's exactly what I've been sayin', but everyone throws a tantrum whenever I mention it."
"Ah, I wouldn't fret over it," Pat replied. "He should outgrow it in due time. I recall ye lookin' like a turnip when ye were a wee one, but ye turned out fine."
"I did not." She playfully tossed a raisin at him. "And ye wouldn't even remember that. Yer only two years older than me."
Pat caught the raisin and tossed it back. "Well, that's precisely how much ye resembled one. How else was I supposed to recall?"
Kate picked up the pan and slid it into the oven. She turned to look at her brother. "Ye haven't offered an apology for hittin' me yet."
"I'm not about to apologize for that," he replied firmly. "Ye attempted to drown me. I didn't have much of a choice."
"Ye could've chosen not to hit me."
"And then we'd both end up drownin'. Sounds like a grand plan," Pat retorted, his tone laced with sarcasm. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind the next time ye fancy takin' a dip in the river."
"Oh, would ye kindly shut up." Kate wiped her hands on her apron. "What I should really do is hit ye then we'd be even."
"Katie, if ye have the mind to strike me, yer more than welcome to do so. I know full well that I've earned it."
Kate looked at him and considered his words. Then she shook her head. "I won't be layin' a hand on ye, but I won't be takin' a likin' to ye just yet either. Ye were away for far too long." She peeked into the oven at the baking cake. "Now, would ye mind keepin' an eye on this? Remove it when it's ready. I need to rescue me child from Fabri before he decides to make off with him."
"How will I know when it's ready?"
"For God's sake, Pat. Ye've laid eyes on a cake before, haven't ye? Just take it out once it resembles a proper one," Kate said with a hint of exasperation. "And if it turns to ash, I'll make sure Sarah knows it was yer doin'." With those words, she left the kitchen, leaving her brother standing there, looking somewhat bewildered.
The sun sank below the horizon, casting the room in a gentle twilight, but no one wanted to leave or go to bed yet. Sarah had been dozing intermittently in a chair, her eyelids heavy with weariness, but no one had disturbed her. She wasn't sure if they even noticed her moments of sleep. After jolting awake one last time, she looked around the room.
Cal and Fabri occupied a space near the Victrola, their hushed conversation intermingling with the soulful voice of Marion Harris. Nearby, Kate sat next to John, a book open on her lap as she read to him. And across the room, sat Pat who held Kate's sleeping child, looking uncomfortable but trying his best.
Sarah's thoughts wandered, gratitude welling up within her for each and every person in the room. She wouldn't have known any of them if it wasn't for the Titanic . She briefly wondered if the loss of her husband was outweighed by the friendships she had gained, but quickly dismissed the thought. It was unfair to compare, and in that moment, she cherished the present, free from the shadows of the past. She had told John—his ghost in any case—that she was alone but she wasn't. She had never truly been alone.
Sarah's gaze met Pat's, and a warm smile illuminated her face. She subtly nodded towards the door, silently inviting him to join her outside. He glanced down at the sleeping child in his arms, a hint of hesitation in his eyes.
"Hand him over here," Kate spoke up, having observed the unspoken exchange. She passed the book to John, her voice gentle."Ye read to me for a while."
Pat carefully transferred the child to Kate's waiting arms. He then followed Sarah out to the porch.
The rain had lessened to a light drizzle but the wind remained and the night had only grown colder. In the distance, a chorus of tree frogs serenaded them. Sarah wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to keep warm.
"I'm startin' to tire of goin' outside," Pat remarked as soon as the door shut behind them. "It's not becomin' any warmer."
"I know," she admitted softly. "But there's too many people in my house and I wanted to speak with you alone."
Pat moved to the other side of her in an attempt to shield her from the wind. "If it's about the cake, Katie never gave me the word on when to pull it out of the–"
She laughed. "It's not about the cake," she replied, taking a step closer to him.
"Sarah," he began.
"You need to promise me something," she interrupted. Her voice turned serious. "Promise me you won't leave in the middle of the night." Now that he was there, she couldn't bear the thought of him leaving but the fear was all she could think about.
"I'm not," he replied firmly, his eyes meeting hers.
"Whatever it is you've been running from, you need to face it here. I'll face it with you but from now on, you stay put."
He nodded.
"And you have to resolve things with Kate," Sarah pressed on, a trace of desperation in her words. "I can't handle the two of you constantly going at each other's throats. What's going to happen is that one of you is going to kill the other. And let's be honest, you don't stand a chance against Kate." She took a deep breath.
"We've already had a talk," he replied. "But we've been at odds since the day Katie came into this world, so don't be expectin' any miracles."
"Patrick," she said, a silent plea in her voice.
"I'll do me utmost to mend things, I promise."
"Alright," she conceded, although uncertainty still lingered in her eyes. She fidgeted with the ring on her finger.
"Is there anythin' else?" He asked.
Sarah hesitated. She looked up to where John's wind chimes once hung and felt a tug of regret. "Could you fix my wind chimes?" She asked.
Pat nodded. "Where've they gone?"
She mimicked the action of tearing them down and throwing them into the grass. "Over there, somewhere," she replied, gesturing vaguely towards the darkness.
It took him a moment to find them. She watched as he carefully untangled the strings and returned the chimes to their hook. He ran a hand through them, setting off their tinkling. "Told you it was fix–"
His words were interrupted as Sarah, fueled by a moment of boldness, closed the gap between them and kissed him. "Thank you," she whispered softly as they parted. Her hand remained on his arm, her touch gentle, while a fluttering sensation stirred in her stomach.
"Sarah," Patrick began, a hint of surprise in his voice. He reached up, his fingers gently touching the bruise on her cheek. "I know I've only just returned and I've no right to be hopin' for–"
Once again, she silenced him with another kiss. His hand found its way into her hair, holding her close.
They broke apart and Sarah brushed aside a strand of hair that had fallen across her face. "Stop talking. Come on," she urged, taking his hand tightly. "I'm cold."
"It'll be warmer tomorrow," he reassured her.
Sarah laughed. "You don't know that."
"Ah, but I do," he replied with a confident smile, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her closer. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "For sure, things only get better."
"If we're lucky."
Pat opened the door, spilling warm light and the soft murmur of voices into the night, and gestured for Sarah to enter first. They stepped inside together, leaving behind the cold night, if only for a fleeting moment, as the door closed behind them.
