One to Chase (One to Hold 7)

A little sniff, her hand moves to her face. She lifts her chin, but I can’t help noticing she’s made no attempt to leave my embrace.

“I called Stuart and Patrick.” Her voice is small. “They’re taking the first planes available, but it’s going to be a while.”

“A direct flight from Princeton is at least two and a half hours.” I smooth one hand up and down her back. “From Wilmington, it’s four.”

She nods rapidly against me. I don’t know what else to say, so I reach back for the days when it was just Elaine and me. I think about when she would be upset, and I would try to fix whatever it was. One time, she’d told me sometimes all she needed was my support.

“You’re amazing,” I whisper against her hair. “You probably saved her life by calling help so fast.”

Her body melts a little more in my arms. Clearly this is what she needs to hear. Thank you, Elaine.

“I was so afraid.” Her words are muffled against my chest. “It happened so fast. All of it was too fast. They were so rough with her. I tried to make them be gentle.”

She shudders again, and I feel the warmth of fresh tears against my now-damp shirt. I couldn’t give a shit. She can cry on me all night if she needs to.

“I’m sure they were just doing their job.” I’m speaking against her soft hair, since her head is in my chest. “Medical treatments are rougher than we realize. It’s probably why they don’t allow us back when they’re working.”

Perhaps I’m right, but I wouldn’t know. I’ll say anything at this point to comfort her. She clutches me tighter, and I return her strength.

“I tried to get here as soon as you called.” I rest my cheek against her head. “I hope you weren’t alone for long.”

Her arms loosen, and she steps back. Not too far, though, just enough to see my face.

“I wasn’t.” She wipes her eyes with her fingers, and I fish in my pocket for a handkerchief. Taking it, she notices the navy MM monogrammed on white cotton before glancing up. “Thanks.”

“My grandmother insisted we be prepared.” She sniffs a small smile before pressing the cloth to her face.

“I’ll have it laundered before I send it back.”

I don’t like the sound of that. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She’s quiet, and I know she’s processing, worrying about her mother. I want to find some way to ease her mind, but until the doctor checks in with us, there’s nothing more I can say.

“Let’s sit.” Taking her arm, we go to the navy vinyl chairs lining the waiting area.

Moments tick by as I watch her slowly coming around. She’s still afraid, and she pulls the fabric of my handkerchief back and forth in her fingers.

A television blasts sharp voices reporting on a kidnapping, then a flash flood in the west. I’m about to stand and turn it off, but Amy leans back with a deep sigh and slides her hand under mine.

The chair arms prevent me from pulling her into my side. Now the television is blasting about some Hollywood starlet showing her ass. It’s all so stupidly inappropriate, I lean forward as if to block her from it.

“Would you like some water? A coffee?” She’s dressed in soft grey pants and a charcoal tee. Her hair is a messy bun, and it looks as if she had only just got out of bed when it happened.

“I’m okay.” Her voice is so soft, I tighten my fingers over hers gently. She rests her head on her hand, and I lift her fingers to my lips.

Minutes tick by like hours. I can’t take her away from here. We have to wait for word from the doctor. She’s called everyone as far as I know, and her brothers are most likely on airplanes. Looking around, I try to find something to distract us.

A dog-eared copy of The Great Gatsby sits on one of the low end tables. Some high school kid must’ve left it here. When I was in high school, I skipped reading it, but as a Pre-law and English double-major, I muddled through Fitzgerald’s seminal work.

“The great American novel,” I say picking it up.

Her eyes scan the royal blue cover. A disembodied face floats above the curl of cigarette smoke and the lights of Cony Island. She takes it and stares at the cover a few moments.

“New York money kids playing their own version of the game,” she says, handing it back.

Turning the slim volume over, I scan the back text. “It was a flop when it came out. Reviewers hated it.”

“Now it’s a classic.”