Written in the Scars(85)
“So, Cordelia, right?” Cord asks.
“No, assholes. I’m not naming my kid after you two,” Jiggs laughs. “After we get out of here, I might not want to ever see you again.”
“I feel you there,” I sigh, making them both chuckle.
“And as cold as I am,” Jiggs says, “I might go along with her plan to move to Florida.”
His voice softly carries through the cavern as he begins to cry. “Fuck it, you guys. I just want out of here. I’ll move wherever the fuck she wants. I just want her.”
The silence we’ve come to know intimately takes over once again as his crying tapers off. Our breathing rattles through the room, the drips of the water piercing the stillness. It’s like a scary movie, and we’re waiting on the predator to jump out.
“You know,” Jiggs gulps, “if we don’t get out of here . . .”
His voice breaks again and I reach for him but can’t find him in the dark. My chest tightens as I scoot my ass along the jagged rocks until I’m beside him.
“Listen to me,” I say, “we’re gonna get out of here.”
“Maybe,” he says, his voice raw, “maybe not. But, you know, at least Lindsay will have—”
“Look,” Cord interrupts, his voice booming over Jiggs’. “Shut up about this ‘maybe not’ bullshit. Okay? They’ll come for us. You know they will.”
“Yeah . . .” Jiggs says, sniffling. “This isn’t fair, man. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Elin says we all have a purpose in life,” Cord says, his voice even.
“What?” I ask, irritation heavy in my tone. “To come to the pits of hell and die? I object.”
“Maybe—” Cord is cut off by a faint sound that isn’t our voices, isn’t our breathing, and isn’t water.
It’s the sound of a drill.
ELIN
“Have you eaten anything?” Dr. Walker looks at me, then Lindsay, and back to me again.
I shake my head no.
“You both need to eat. For you and the babies.”
Looking away to the paint-chipped walls of the conference room, tears blur my vision. My heart is broken. My soul ripped to pieces. My mind unwilling, unable, to consider my life in any way other than with a happy ending with my husband.
My brain spins out of control. If I don’t keep it focused on a memory, a plan, an idea, it starts wondering where he is, if he’s hurt, in pain, cold.
If he’s dead.
Bile creeps up my throat, singeing the already burnt tissue from multiple trips to the bathroom before now. There’s nothing left in my stomach. There can’t be. Just the by-products of the agony I’m in.
I miss his smile, the way his laugh washes over me and makes me feel like everything is going to be okay. I need that. I need that now.
“Please be okay,” I whisper. “We need you. You promised me you’d come home. You promised me you wouldn’t lie.”
“Can I get you ladies some fruit?” Dr. Walker asks.
“I can’t eat anything,” Lindsay says behind me. Her voice is devoid of emotion. Like me, she’s completely spent in every way.
She stands, grabbing the armrest of the chair and steadying herself. “I just keep thinking I fought with him for the last few weeks about moving. I just pushed and pushed and . . .” She bends at the waist, her head in her hands. “He left for work mad at me.”
I spring to my feet and hug her, tears flowing down my cheeks. “He’s never mad at you. He loves you so much.”
“They should have some news for you soon.” Dr. Walker chooses his next words carefully. “I know you’re scared right now, ladies, and that’s understandable. But can I be honest with you?”
My head turns slowly until I’m facing him. I’m unable to smile, to nod, to tell him he can say whatever he wants because I’m numb.
“Your husband and brother are both strong men. I’ve known Ty since he was a boy and would come into my office and ask for the requisite sucker and sticker before his appointment, not after. And Jiggs . . .” He chuckles and looks away for a moment. “I’ve known your brother since he came to me his freshman year for a physical for football. He made a not-so-gentle comment about me asking him to look away and cough.”
The corner of my lip twitches. “I can only imagine.”
“I’m sure you can,” he says. “You know, in my area of expertise, we believe in the science of things. In cold, hard facts. But I’ve always believed, even in med school, that there was more to it than that. That people can feel other people’s thoughts and wishes. And after all that schooling and thirty years of practice, I still do.”