“Millicent.” Hollis’s voice is filled with so much pity that it tears apart my sorrow and repairs it with anger.
I push him away. “No! This isn’t the first time she’s done this, you know. She isn’t actually dead. We just need to find her. I found her before, I can find her again—”
“Mill, she’s gone. I’m sorry, but she’s really gone.”
I’m rewrapped in Hollis’s arms, his hand on the back of my head. I know deep inside that he’s right, and my shoulders heave with every sob.
“I’m going to put you into the car, and then I’m going to go back inside. Will you be all right for a minute?”
I don’t understand why Hollis is going back in there, what he hopes to accomplish. We’re too late. And I would have been toolate even if everything had gone according to plan. I never even had a chance, did I?
I give a weak nod as I’m guided into the passenger seat, and Hollis drops my little leather backpack onto my lap. “I’ll leave you two to chat,” he says in a way that sounds like he’s surprised he doesn’t find that statement absurd. He squeezes my knee before closing the door.
It’s good that he left, because I’m becoming aware of how much of a wreck I am, and oh no, it’s mortifying. He had tocarry me outof there. I’m sure The Palms at Southernmost has seen its share of grieving friends and family, but something tells me the residents and staff are going to be talking about the hysterical little redhead for weeks to come.
“Oh, Mrs. Nash. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I made such a scene. I know I have no right to be so upset that she’s gone—I never even met Elsie—but...” I choke back another sob. “I really wanted to. And more than that, I needed to do this for you. I failed. I failed you.”
I know Mrs. Nash wouldn’t have blamed me. Ninety-eight years on Earth means you lose a lot of people you love very much; she outlived a husband, a son, her parents, most of her siblings, countless friends, and—she believed—Elsie. She understood better than most that death doesn’t care about things like flight schedules. But knowing that doesn’t mean I can make myself believe it right now.
Hollis returns to the car sometime later to find me half-asleep, clutching my backpack to my chest.
He leans over to press a kiss to my temple, then brushes my hair behind my ear with his thumb and plants another, feather-light, on the edge of my plum-and-gold bruise. “Let’s go to thehotel,” he says. His over-the-top sweetness feels too much like pity—a reminder of my failure—and it makes me want to start crying all over again.
The hotel—which was extremely accommodating each of the three times I called to change my reservation while we were on the road—isn’t far from The Palms at Southernmost. Before I know it, I’m standing red-faced and swollen-eyed in front of a large, whitewashed check-in desk while Hollis takes care of everything.
How would I have managed this if he weren’t with me? I want to believe I would have done all right alone. I am a competent adult woman who can handle whatever life throws at me. But I’m so glad I don’t have to prove it right now.
In our hotel room, I sit on the edge of the bed in a sort of here-but-not-really state, vaguely aware of the sound of running water in the bathroom. Time stretches and contracts, and I’m unsure how much of it has passed when Hollis appears again, kneeling in front of me.
“Bath’s ready,” he says. “Let’s get you out of your clothes, okay?”
I manage a nod but don’t have the energy for much else. Hollis removes my sandals first, and presses a light kiss to my ankle before taking off my shirt, shorts, bra, and underwear while whispering requests to hold up my arms, lift my hips, stand. His touch is gentle and warm, intimate without demanding anything. That’s how he washes me too; the way he runs the washcloth over my skin is thorough without feeling clinical, caressing without veering into sexual. At some point, his sweetness stops rubbing me the wrong way, no longer seeming forced or pitying but like a secret part of him I’ve unlocked. I feel cared for. Adored.
Reuniting Elsie and Mrs. Nash was supposed to remind methat love can last a lifetime. That forever is a possibility for me too, if I only keep believing. But when Hollis wraps me in one of the fluffy white robes on the back of the bathroom door, leads me to the bed, and cocoons me in his arms, I suddenly understand that forever isn’t the part that I almost lost faith in. It was the millions of right-nows along the way.
21
•••••
After a few hours, I begin to feel like myself again. The world stops cutting in and out like a poorly edited movie and just... is. We’re sitting on the bed, propped up on like a dozen fluffy hotel pillows, my head resting against Hollis’s shoulder. He turns on the TV and pushes the button for the guide.
“What do you want to watch?” he asks.
“Don’t care,” I mumble into his shirt. It comes out croaky and congested, like I’m a toad with severe seasonal allergies.
“Oh, here we go,” he says. “The Blues Brothers. This is the movie you were joking about with Mike, right?”
Wow. Mike and the airport feels like a distant memory, but it was only four days ago. Four days is how long I’ve been traveling with Hollis. Four days is how long Elsie has been dead. How can so much change in less than a standard workweek?
I try to pay attention to Jake and Elwood Blues with their filthy mouths and bad attitudes. Hollis chuckles at a few lines, and the eye that’s closest to me—the blue-gray one—sparkles in responseto the gratuitous car chases. I would usually be thrilled that he’s enjoying it, but it’s a challenge to feel anything right now without it leading back into the deep, dark grief that left me sobbing against Hollis’s chest again after my bath. Instead of risking a repeat performance, I force myself to focus on Hollis’s fingers, the way they brush up and down my arm with just enough pressure for me to feel his touch through the thick terry cloth of my robe.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“For what?”
“Being such a mess.”
He moves so his lips rest against my head. It feels like little kisses along my hairline as his mouth moves with his words. “You’re allowed to be a mess. You’re grieving.”
