I liked the cool darkness. After the initial emergency room flurry of tests, X-rays, drawn blood, cleanup, hookup, and treatments, it was quiet and still. I could stay like this. Didn’t even have to worry about the cost because my official job termination date wasn’t for several weeks, and my medical coverage was still in place. That gave me a flat trill of grim satisfaction.
Otherwise, I didn’t think, I drifted. At first, I couldn’t open my eyes and they were goopy with ointment. When awake, I listened. Machines bleeped and whirred, people came in and out.
No one spoke of William. The one I needed to hear about. All I could see was him running into that house again.
Mrs. Spangler stroked my forehead and made crooning sounds, leaving a lavender scent trail wherever she went. Heather held my hand for a long time but didn’t say anything. That’s when my new sensitivity revealed itself. I could feel the intensity of her gaze, heavy with loving concern as palpable as her touch.
Mr. Weinperth was wheeled in and left at the side of my bed. Of course, he didn’t touch me, and for a change, he didn’t lecture, either. Not out loud, anyway. But I could feel the words boiling away inside him, trying to escape like steam from a covered pot. Sorrow and regret. For me, for the house, for all his fallen comrades. His regrets were many, the sorrow deep.
Jean was a quiet pond. No worries. She gently rubbed my arm and told me to take my time as if she knew I needed to stay in the dark for now. Knew she would coax me out later.
Gabe stood at my side being strong. Just that and nothing more. What temptation to lean into that strength. He wished he had told me long ago how he felt. I didn’t know if he spoke these thoughts aloud.
I remained alone in the cool darkness.
I cried. For William. For my mother. A little for myself. Grief ambushed me. Each time I felt surprise, keen as a fillet knife laying me bare. I let it. Opened all of myself except my eyes.
There were more chest X-rays to monitor my progress. An intense beam of light forced its way under my lids. The doctor was brusque, efficient, and at a loss as to why I wouldn’t respond.
The priestess came. She and the man stood together, glowing. Gazing at me across eons from the foot of my bed. He had released himself from her curse. I should have been happy for that, but couldn’t summon any glad feeling. Not if it meant I couldn’t have William in my life.
The priestess smiled at her man. They glowed with their otherworldliness, with love for each other, and also, I realized, with love for me. It was a new idea, that self-love. I tried closing my eyes to this, too, but somehow I couldn’t ignore them like I did everyone else. They were kind of annoying. I appreciated their silence, but their beatific gazes scorched me, and the man in particular needed to communicate something important. His dark brown eyes—William’s eyes—bored into my soul.
Time fell apart. I could have been like that for hours or days or years.
A nurse with angelic hands washed me, removed all my unnatural attachments. Ah, they had finally given up. Good. But, no. Damned if they weren’t shifting me into a wheelchair and taking me somewhere. I had no place and no one to go to. Heather might have decided to spring me, but where would she put me between the foster cats and dogs and her husband and two kids? I didn’t want to be around any dogs. I hadn’t wanted my mother this much since I was little.
A quiet elevator ride down. No memory of going up. I swallowed to test my throat. Not painful and the action awakened my stomach. One of those burgers at Heather’s favorite restaurant would go down well.
Along another hallway, a door opened, the bump of a threshold. Sunlight. The nurse set the brake. As she turned and went back through the door on her quiet, comfortable shoes, I could sense her smile and wondered at the joke. Had she left me at the curb with a sign around my neck? Too quiet for the parking lot. A courtyard, then. Sunshine felt good. I tilted my face toward the light.
That’s when I heard it and knew I was dead. A familiar clicking of toenails on a hard surface.
Then William was there, warm and wiggly, his front half heavy on my lap. He licked my face, snuffled my neck. I opened my eyes and hugged him, feeling my heart heal and break open with joy at the same time.
Off to the side, Gabe, William’s leash dangling from his hand. So, I wasn’t dead. Looking at his face, I knew why no one had mentioned William. It had been touch-and-go. But somehow he’d pulled through. In that moment, I knew that Gabe was my whetstone. He would sharpen me. The same love flowed out of him that had emanated from the priestess. It poured into my heart, swelling it, making room for more. Behind Gabe stood Mrs. Spangler and Mr. Weinperth, Heather and Jean, all smiling.
Beyond them, the priestess, woman of my dreams—me—holding hands with her lover. After a few moments, they turned with a wave and disappeared.
Quickly, I grabbed William’s head to steady it and looked into his eyes. He met my gaze with that gleam expecting adventure.
“William,” I whispered. “How…?” How didn’t matter, I decided. Apparently, there are more things in heaven and earth. “I guess we did some adventuring after all.”
He cocked his head. Think what you want…said that look…you’ll thank me later.
“You’re still not allowed to hump my leg or any other part of me, got it?”
He smiled.
THE END
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About Candace Carrabus
Candace Carrabus spent her formative years in the saddle, just imagining. She still rides horses and writes stories—frequently simultaneously—and many of these stories are imbued with the magic and mystery horses have brought to her life. She shares a farm in the midwest with her family, which also includes several four-legged critters.
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Also by Candace Carrabus:
Raver, The Horsecaller: Book One
Lauren's hush-hush family history tells of an ancestor and his horse vanishing in a forbidden corner of their upstate New York farm. On the other side of the mysterious portal lies a dying land bereft of its beloved steeds.
On the Buckle, Dreamhorse Mystery #1
Meet smart (and sometimes foul)-mouthed jumper rider, Viola Parker, whose whipped-cream-in-a-can addiction is all that gets her through the day when her nights are invaded by a dead horse kicking up bad news...
The Good Horse, The Bad Man & The Ugly Woman, A Witting Woman Novella
A lighthearted story of self-empowerment. Maureen is an "everywoman" starting with the rut she's in to the Witting Woman she becomes. Come along for the ride—courtesy of a horse named Lena—as Maureen learns to believe in the unbelievable...herself.
The Man, The Dog, His Owner & Her Lover, a Witting Woman novella Page 12