‘I’m fine,’ he wheezes, his face bright red, pain etched over every inch of it.
‘You’re not fine!’ I snap, not meaning to sound so harsh, but, give me strength, he’s so fucking stubborn. ‘Why don’t you do as you’re damn well told for once in your damn life, Ryan Willis?’
He recoils, his face the epitome of Who the hell is this woman? ‘What exactly did you tell me to do?’ he asks, pushing the door of the cab shut and unbending his body a little gingerly.
I falter for a beat, thinking. What did – ? Oh yes. ‘I told you to stay at home.’
‘Yes, well, I didn’t want to be away from you. So here I am. Every broken inch of me.’ He grimaces and lays his hand over his wound.
‘Does it hurt?’ I ask, pouting guiltily.
‘Like a motherfucker.’ Releasing his thigh, he takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. ‘But I’ll live.’
And thank God for that. ‘Will you be grumpy for ever, too?’ I ask, letting him lead me to the gates. He’s endearing when he’s grumpy. Almost . . . sexy.
‘Only when we’re apart, baby,’ he says wistfully.
As we sit down together, he pulls me into his side and rests his mouth in my hair. And we wait for my sister, the world going by. I know he senses my growing despondency with each minute that passes and my mum and sister don’t show up, because his hold becomes firmer and firmer, to the point he must be in pain. But he sustains it, not that I’m in any position to stop him. I’m becoming more dejected by the second.
‘They’re not coming,’ I murmur dismally, willing myself to keep it together. I saw my mother’s face last week. It was ravaged, her complexion sallow and her eyes lifeless. I reach up to my heart when it twinges with pain, looking up to the heavens. Is she already there? I flinch, knowing that’s the best place she could be, free from pain, but that tiny, selfish side of me hopes that she has held out for just one more week.
Ryan holds me close as we watch everyone going about their business. Every time I see someone enter the park, my back straightens, hoping it’s them. And my heart splinters a little bit more when, each time, I register it isn’t.
‘Hannah,’ Ryan says eventually, feeling at my cheek, but keeping his chin resting on top of my head where it’s lying against his chest. ‘Baby, we’ve been here for over an hour.’
An hour? Where has that time gone? I nod into him, silently accepting that it is time to leave. To accept I won’t see her. But what now? What am I expected to do, just read every obituary until I find her?
‘Let’s get a coffee,’ Ryan suggests, making the first move to get up. I’m so lost in my haze of grief, I barely hear his sounds of pain now, my focus rigidly set on my devastation. He walks us to a nearby coffeehouse, guiding me the entire way, being my eyes and ears. I’m sure if he could manage, he would have picked me up and carried me here.
I find myself at a table and stare blankly at the chair in front of me, vaguely hearing Ryan in the background talking. He didn’t ask what I wanted to drink. Probably concluded there was no point.
A while later – I don’t know how long – Ryan is back. But he has no coffee. ‘Come,’ he says, motioning for me to stand.
‘I thought we were having coffee.’
‘We’ll have coffee somewhere else.’
He applies a light pressure to the small of my back and pushes me on until I’m on the street and he’s leading me the wrong way. ‘Ryan?’ I question, but he just keeps on walking, checking the road for traffic before he crosses us. ‘Ryan, please.’
He says nothing, his silence infuriating, until I’ve been dragged around a few corners and down a few streets.
Finally, I can’t stand it any longer. ‘Will you please just tell me where the hell we’re going?’
He stops, turns to face me, and points upward. ‘Here.’
I look up. And lose my breath. ‘What?’ I shoot my stare back to him, looking for the confirmation I need that he’s lost his mind.
‘I couldn’t sit by and do nothing.’
‘What did you do?’ I ask, terrified for his answer. I know my family is safe now, but they don’t need to be dragged into my mess. If the police ever ask questions, I don’t want them involved, not on any level. I also don’t want to ignite their pain. Or have to explain everything that I’ve been through. I’m better off dead to them.
‘I called the home,’ he says, his eyes like laser beams on mine. I lean back, wary of what comes next. ‘And asked them to have your sister call me.’