“This okay?” I turn toward her.
“Yeah.” Marcella sits on the edge of the bed and buries her face in her hands.
Her shoulders start to shake. I kneel in front of her.
“Hey,” I repeat gently. “You okay?”
Stupid question.
She chokes out, “I’ve never watched someone die. She didn’t deserve it.”
“I know and you fought hard for her.” I stand and then sit next to her.
Marcella sobs. “Forty million dollars means nothing if it won’t bring her back.”
“It does mean something.” I smooth the hair back from her face. “Maybe it keeps this from happening again. I know it’s changed me forever.”
She stares at me for a long moment. “You really believe that?”
“I have to.” I bite my lip as a tear escapes.
She reaches for me and we cling to each other in sorrow.
Her guttural cries wreck me though I can’t stop either. Marcella’s embrace is the only thing keeping me sane. Her head fits perfectly in the crook of my neck and I close my eyes, breathing her in. She smells like vanilla and heartbreak.
We stay cuddled together until we cry ourselves out.
When she finally pulls back, her face is blotchy, mascara smudged. Utterly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
I can’t bring myself to regret we’re together like this, even if grief is what cracked us open. I reach for her hand and squeeze. “She would have changed the world.”
“She already did,” Marcella murmurs. “She changed ours.”
We stay quiet for a bit.
She turns toward me, her eyes unreadable. “I keep thinking about the look in her mother’s eyes when the monitors flatlined. Like something in her own soul had been unplugged.”
“Brutal.” I nod slowly, remembering the moment vividly. The priest finishing the blessing. Miranda’s mother, unable to move. Her father rubbing his hands over his face like he could physically push the pain away. “I wanted to do something. Say something. There aren’t any words to make it better.”
Marcella exhales. “It’s the worst thing I’ve ever been through. I’m also glad we were there. We needed to be.”
She looks up at me and I see the weight she’s been carrying—the long hours, the pressure of this case, her own loss. Something about her vulnerability hits me so hard I feel like the air’s been knocked out of my lungs.
“How’s your dad?” I stop myself. “Sorry. I know now isn’t the time…”
“He’s better,” she says softly. “Getting checked again next week. You coming to Tacoma with me meant a lot.”
“I was glad to.” I wonder if she’s missed me as much as I’ve missed her. We haven’t really spoken other than to coordinate today.
Her eyes search mine. “You didn’t have to.”
“You didn’t have to let me.” I meet her gaze, questioning. Hoping.
The moment shifts.
Marcella tilts her head slightly and my eyes follow the curve of her cheek. The way her mouth trembles before she tries to steel herself again. Always so composed. So in control.
Except now.
