And then I thought...what if this?...
For perhaps the first time in his
life, the Pirate was terrified. He was
losing her and nothing, no one, not her family, not the doctors, not even his
love seemed an equal match to the demons in Elizabeth’s head.
She had lost so much weight. Her skin was waxen. Her eyes, dark and
sunken, held no spark, no trace memory of any happiness the two of them had
ever shared. Day after day he entered
her room at the sanitarium, hoping for a miracle. And every time he left bowed with
heartache. She was slipping away a bit
more every day.
In desperation, the Pirate did the
only thing he could think of to do. He stole
her back. He walked her past the prying
eyes of the staff, across the grounds and behind the ridiculous carousel some
well-meaning, thankful father had presented as a token of his
appreciation. When he was sure they were
out of sight, the Pirate led his mute, compliant captive through a carefully
concealed break in the chain-link fence and into a waiting sedan.
He couldn’t say later how he came up
with the church. He only knew she used
to love it- loved the way the stained glass colored the dust motes floating in
the late afternoon sunlight, loved the tender smile on the Virgin’s face as she
stared into the face of her newborn son.
The Pirate only knew this had been her sanctuary once upon a time. So he stationed two of his men in front of
the chapel’s thick wooden doors and led his lady down the center aisle to
settle her beside him on the wide, front pew.
She never questioned him but then, he
didn’t expect her to, not really. She
hadn’t said one word to anyone since her release. Hadn’t even acknowledged their presence. Still,
when he leaned down and pulled his guitar out from beneath the bench, he’d hoped
she might recall it. But she just sat,
staring down at her hands as if she didn’t recognize them either.
“Remember this?” he whispered
softly. “Before they…before you
were…” He broke off, clearing his throat
with a sound that even to him was half-sob, half-cough. He glanced over to see if she’d noticed but
Elizabeth was still staring down at her fingers, slowly pleating the fabric of
her wrinkled, cotton skirt.
“We used to sing this,” he said,
trying again. “I wrote it for you.”
He hugged the guitar closer to his
chest and felt the tissue-thin membrane between despair and hope rip
apart. It was as much for himself as for
her that he began to sing.
3 comments:
Oh YES!!!!
I don't know which impressed me more - the song or the story - whew! Goosie bumps!!!
HEY! When I clicked on the author official link on Macmillan publishers site, it brought me here? Somewhere I've been before enjoying your blog! Are you the author of the Stella books and the Sierra Lavotini books?? OMGosh I LOVE THOSE BOOKS. I have them all! I have been wondering where the author had disappeared to! Are the other "strip" books going to be e-books? I have the hardback versions & paperback, and purchased the e-books available, so I'd be so happy with the strip e-books, too! What a small world.
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