Maybe This Time, page 46
“What’s the difference now?” His thumbs slanted above her eyes. “We found each other. It’s over, honey. Let it be over.”
“Aren’t you curious?” she asked. “Right there . . . Oh, God, you’ve got wonderful hands.”
He smiled. She didn’t see it, but she felt it, and smiled back.
“I saw a cat today,” Kevan whispered. “One like Tabby. He was at the pet shop over on St. Croix. Would you like him?”
Alyssa’s chest constricted. “No,” she whispered in hushed tones. “I don’t want to share you, Kevan. Not yet.”
Kevan let out a deep sigh. “You’ve got me worried, love. That meeting with Greyson this morning was important.”
“I’m sorry. I—I just had to walk for a while.”
“Did you think about seeing Dr. Chandler?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I know you don’t like Dr. Samuels, Kevan. But I’m really comfortable with him.”
“He’s not helping you, babe. There’s got to be more he could be doing. What about the headache clinics I’ve read about? Has he recommended one?”
“He’s treating me. Stress is stress. Relaxation exercises, rest, quiet, calm time—”
“Pain killers,” Kevan said, a trace of bitterness in his voice.
“I don’t take them, darling. You know how I feel about drugs.”
He buried his face at the curve of her neck. “I’m scared, Alyssa. I don’t want to be without you.”
Oh God, had he guessed the truth? She reared back and looked down at him. “Kevan?”
“I’ve got this feeling that something’s wrong. Please,” his voice cracked. “See Dr. Chandler for me.”
Alyssa swallowed the tears clogging her throat. “All right, darling. I will.”
He smiled and kissed the tip of her chin. “Thank you.”
When he started to move away, Alyssa held him to her, hot tears burning her eyes. “I’m sorry about this morning.”
“I handled it.”
“Kevan,” she whispered. “Love me.”
“Always,” he said, his breath warming her cheek.
His lips settled on hers, and Kevan made slow, sweet love to her, showing her all he felt in his heart and proving his words true.
Thirty-six
“YOU BETRAYED ME.” Alyssa accused her body, reflected in the bathroom mirror. “You recognized him on sight. You made me love him, and now you’re dying. You’re making me leave him.” She covered her mouth with her hand. Oh God, how can you do this to me now?
“Don’t, child.”
Alyssa spun around and saw the Elder. He looked weaker than before, as though he himself stood at death’s door. “Your grace, what’s wrong?” She stepped toward him.
“No.” He raised his hand to stay her. “You must not touch me. Not yet.”
“Why?” She stepped back, and the truth hit her. Feeling stunned, she confronted him. “You’re dying, too.”
“It is of no consequence.”
“It is of consequence,” she argued. “You must be here for Kevan. He will need you . . . after . . .” Her voice trailed. She couldn’t make herself say the words.
“You’re tormenting yourself, child. And you’re tormenting Kevan. He fears you love your visionary man and not him. Why have you not told him how serious your illness—”
“He’ll know soon enough.” She lifted her chin. Her voice quivered. “The blackouts have started.”
The Elder nodded. “It is time.”
Finality suffused her. “You’ve come for me, then?”
“Yes.” Sympathy softened his expression.
“Please, your grace. Don’t make me leave him like this. Let me—” Her voice broke and she swallowed hard. “Let me tell him goodbye. I—I can’t just . . . just leave him without saying goodbye. He needs time to say things, time to prepare himself. He—He—Oh, God—he can’t just find my body here on the floor!”
The Elder looked torn.
“Your grace,” Alyssa sniffed. “I’m begging you. Please! Kevan would feel responsible. He’d never know peace. Please, don’t make me do that to him.” Tears spilled down her cheeks and her body shuddered deep sobs. “Please, don’t make me hurt him like that.”
“Very well, child. The Council shall grant you three days in which to prepare him. But, know that you will aid him little in his grief. It cannot be otherwise.”
Alyssa squeezed her eyes closed, blotting out the images of Kevan finding her lifeless body on the bathroom floor. “Thank you, your grace.”
The Elder stepped toward her. “You shall not suffer, child.”
“I shall,” she whispered. “How can I not suffer, when I know that Kevan will?”
“Painless love would be joyless love,” the Elder said. “For the two are inseparable.” His left eye blazed like fire, his right one remained flat and colorless. Lifeless.
“But you’ll take care of him. You’ll protect Kevan, as you have me.”
“As best I am able. The leaves rustle in the wind, yet they do not fall. Autumn is upon us. Too soon all will perish under winter’s bitter ice.”
“Have faith in your humble servant, your grace. I have not forgotten. Nor have I forsaken.”
The Elder nodded once and lifted his hand. Alyssa felt a whimper threaten her throat and prayed for courage. His hand came toward her, its blue veins raised. He flexed his wrist, and she saw his palm. A silver sword like the one in Kevan’s signet ring marked his skin. “You’re Kevan’s angel!” she gasped. “Elder, you’re Kevan’s angel!”
The Elder smiled and cupped her cheek.
Crying, Alyssa smiled back.
FRANTIC, KEVAN stormed into the apartment. Her Volvo was downstairs. She really was here. “Alyssa!”
Room to room, he searched. The kitchen, living room, bedroom—all empty. He turned, stumbled over her vanity stool, and saw a glimpse of peach fabric. The gown she’d worn to bed last night. His blood drained to his feet. “Alyssa?”
Kneeling beside her on the bathroom floor, he bent over her, his heart hammering hard enough to ring his ears. She had a pulse.
Scrambling for the bedroom phone, he dialed 911, gave the dispatcher the data, then rushed back to his wife. “Alyssa, look at me, honey. Talk to me. Please, do something. Anything!”
But Alyssa lay still. Deathly still.
Just as he’d envisioned her.
Thirty-seven
“SHE HAS A brain tumor, Kevan,” Dr. Samuels told him.
Feeling as if he’d been kicked in the gut, Kevan slumped against the wall outside Alyssa’s hospital room door. He looked up at the grim doctor. “What can you do?”
Dr. Samuels’s bushy brows knitted. He avoided Kevan’s eyes and spoke softly. “We’re trying to keep her comfortable.”
Pain sliced through Kevan’s heart. “She’s dying?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Kevan roared. “You’re sorry? You said the headaches were stress. You said rest, relaxation exercises, taking it easy—”
“She refused to let me tell you. I couldn’t breach her confidence.”
“She knew?” Kevan went numb.
“I told her months ago.”
“Months?” His head whirled. “How many months?”
The doctor ignored his question. “She wanted to spare you as long as possible, Kevan. She didn’t want your last months together to be sad ones.”
“Last months? I’ve only had her three months. Damn her,” Kevan swore. Pain, rage, and fear warred inside him. “Damn her for—”
Dr. Samuels grabbed his arm. “For carrying the burden of knowing she was dying alone? For wanting to protect you, to shorten your grief?”
Kevan drew in a breath, held it until he thought his lungs would explode, wishing that they would. “On the island. She told me then she would protect me. I—I never dreamed . . .”
“Being angry with her is a normal reaction,” Dr. Samuels said in a compassionate voice. “But save it, Kevan. Alyssa has so little time left. Just days, maybe. I can’t be sure. Her tumor has grown rapidly—unusually fast.”
“Oh God.” Kevan hunched against the wall. Numb, leaden, a fist-sized knot of tears damming his throat.
The doctor put his glasses back on and patted Kevan’s arm. “I’m sorry. She’s a special woman.”
Kevan looked up at the doctor. Tears he couldn’t stop trickled down his cheeks. His voice sounded like the grated whisper of a very old, very tired man. “Is she suffering?”
“No, she isn’t.”
“Will she?”
“My experience says yes. But we’ll do all we can to make it easier on her, I promise you. Morphine helps.”
“Alyssa hates drugs.”
“I’ll be honest, Kevan. By the time the patient is in Alyssa’s current state, we’re usually administering the maximum dosage we can without risking a drug-induced coma. Your wife is an incredibly strong woman.”
Kevan swallowed hard. “Yes, she is.”
“Stay here as long as you like,” Dr. Samuels said. “I’ll check on Alyssa.”
“Doctor?”
At the door, he looked back. “Yes?”
“The tubes and the IV,” Kevan said. “Get rid of them.”
“Kevan—”
“She’s dying, doctor. They won’t save her. The one through her nose to her stomach—it hurts her throat. I can feel it. And the IV has her arm red and swollen. Just—Just get rid of them, or I will.”
“All right, Kevan.”
DEATH was calling.
For three days, Kevan had stayed at Alyssa’s side. Had watched her strength dwindle, her pain mushroom. He sensed death lurking, smelled it, tasted its bitterness on his tongue.
“Kevan?”
She called him in a ragged whisper that shred his heart. She looked so fragile, so damned weak and fragile. “I’m here, love.”
“Come.” She patted the bed with her hand.
“Darling, I can’t,” he whispered. “I could hurt you.”
In the dim, pre-dawn light, he saw her lick her lips. “I’m dying, Kevan. This will be our last dawn.”
His heart shattered. “Not yet. Please, darling, not yet. I—I need you.”
“Come,” she insisted. “I’ve a need to hold you.”
Tears glistening on her silver-tipped lashes broke the straggling bits of his control. He stretched out beside her and gently cradled her in his arms.
“I want you to listen to me, Kevan. There isn’t much time left.”
“Oh, God, Alyssa.” He pressed his cheek to her crown.
“Shh, you must be strong now. I know you’ve loved me. I have since I saw you at the marina in Biloxi. I recognized you from before.”
“Before?”
“The images I’d seen. We lived them, Kevan. We had children. Whole lifetimes together. Listen, darling. It’s important. You must live, Kevan. Be happy. You’ve been the best thing that ever happened to me. You didn’t run. I told you the truth, and you didn’t run. If I die believing you’re miserable, I’ll never rest. I won’t, Kevan.”
“Alyssa. Darling, please.” Oh, God, she was slipping away from him. Slipping away—and he couldn’t hold on to her. He couldn’t make her not die. Why couldn’t he make her not die?
Her voice grew thready. “I don’t want to leave you. I love you, Kevan. But it hurts so much to stay. So much . . .” Her gaze found his. “Tell me I can go. Tell me you’ll be all right.”
“Alyssa. Alyssa. Oh, God, Alyssa. Don’t die. Damn it, don’t leave me.”
“Kiss me, Kevan. It’ll be so long till I feel you again. Kiss me goodbye and tell me you love me.”
Swallowing back sobs, Kevan pressed his lips to her cool ones. So still. Oh, so still. “I love you, darling. All my world. Forever.” He swallowed the pain constricting his throat. “Go, my love. Stop . . . stop hurting.”
She opened her eyes and smiled, wearing the first serene look he’d seen on her face in months. “I love you.” She touched his cheek ever so gently and whispered. “Prophet.”
“Alyssa! Alyssa, no!” Kevan cried. “No, not yet. Please, just a little more time. Just one more minute. Oh, God, Alyssa. Not yet. Please!”
Kevan held her, rocking back and forth on the bed, knowing his wife was dead, praying he was wrong, wishing he were dead, too. He nestled his face into the curve of her neck and whispered. “I’m frightened, Alyssa. Oh, God, I don’t know what to do. You weren’t supposed to die. Women live longer than men. We were supposed to have children. Damn it, we were supposed to grow old together!” He sobbed. “Oh God, Alyssa. I can’t stand this. Nothing can hurt this bad. Nothing can hurt this bad . . .”
Thirty-eight
THE FUNERAL was over.
Kevan stood alone beside Alyssa’s grave, the sun beating down on his back. The mourners had gone, but their flowers lay bunched and sprawled, littering the ground at his feet. She’d been well-loved.
He dragged in a breath, forcing his lungs to expand whether they chose to or not. Live. Be happy, she’d said. But she hadn’t told him how. How to go on. Without her, nothing seemed important, connected, or relevant. Nothing seemed alive. She hadn’t wanted to leave him. God, how that hurt—and helped. He, too, had been well-loved.
The dirt now formed a mound over her casket. Feeling hollow and empty, Kevan stepped closer and knelt, putting his hand on the warm ground. “I love you, Alyssa. As God is my witness, I’ll keep my promise. I will love you forever.”
Again he heard her final “I love you” and felt her hand on his face. Again he heard the last mystifying word she’d whispered: Prophet.
“I don’t know what you meant, darling. I don’t understand. Was I supposed to understand?”
A long shadow crossed her grave. “Hello.”
Kevan looked back. Brilliant sunshine melted the features of a large man’s face. Kevan stood. The man’s iron-gray beard wiggled, and the yellow tabby cat resting against his barrel chest purred with each of the man’s strokes to its back.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” he said.
“Then why are you?” Kevan asked, sensing something familiar about the man.
“You look like you need a friend.”
“A friend?” Kevan laughed, but there was no humor in it. “No. My friend is dead and buried.”
The old man’s leathery skin crinkled at the corners of his eyes. His empathy was blatant. “Losing someone you love is difficult.”
Kevan didn’t answer.
“Your wife?” the man prodded.
“Yes.” An odd sensation crept over Kevan. The man seemed more than familiar. The cat purred, claiming Kevan’s attention. “My wife had a cat once, a tabby.”
“I know.”
Kevan lifted startled eyes. “You knew my wife?”
“Aye, I did. ‘Twas many years ago, but I knew her.”
An amulet catching the sunlight winked at Kevan from the gap in the old man’s shirt. The crystal hung suspended from a strip of leather wound around the man’s neck. Kevan’s heart thundered. Alyssa had asked him if he’d worn such an amulet. “You’re Duncan Foster.”
“Aye, I am.”
“Are you Alyssa’s Elder?”
The old man gave him a negative nod. “Nay, I’m not the Elder, but his emissary.”
“Before she died, Alyssa said some things that I didn’t understand.”
“Mayhap I can help. What did she say?”
“That we’d lived other lives together.”
“Aye, ‘tis true, that.”
Kevan swallowed his surprise. “She also said—Prophet.”
Duncan smiled. “Ah, yes. And what did you reply?”
Not expecting that reaction, Kevan frowned. “I didn’t. Do you know what she meant? What—who is Prophet?”
Duncan’s eyes clouded, his smile faded, and his hand stroking the cat stilled. “You do not know.”
“Should I?”
“I’d hoped—never mind. I must go now.”
“Wait, Duncan,” Kevan called out to the old man’s retreating back. “Wait!”
But Duncan Foster didn’t wait. He vanished into a silvery mist.
ALONE IN his office, Kevan turned off his computer and stared at its blank screen. “Prophet,” he said aloud, feeling the syllables roll off his tongue. “What were you telling me, Alyssa? What?”
He dragged his hand through his hair. She knew him. She had visions, glimpses of the future that had frightened others away from her. She’d protected him, said the images she’d seen of him were from lives they’d shared before. Logically, he thought it improbable, not impossible, but in his heart, he believed her.
He believed her about the Elder, too. After seeing Duncan Foster disappear into the silver fog—just as she’d said the Elder disappeared—how could he not believe her?
A pain seared his chest. The ticking of his office clock grew to a steady thump inside his head. Weary, he cleared his mind, concentrated on the sound, hoping to forget for just one second that this morning he’d buried the only woman he would ever love.
The ticking sound faded.
Images filled his mind.
A cemetery, Alyssa’s cemetery, grew focused, clear. He saw himself as an apparition, standing beside Alyssa’s rain-swept grave. A crystal amulet hung from his neck, a silver sword from his side. He bent down, touched the cold mound of wet dirt covering her casket. She rose from beneath the ground and followed him.
A second, sharper pain seared his chest. He put his fist over his heart. A silver vapor grew from a thin, swirling band to a thick, still cloud opposite his desk. From its midst appeared an old man, who looked a scant step from death. Bent and crippled, the white haired man hobbled forward.
“Elder?” Kevan’s mind flooded with memories. Panic set in. “Angel. Where is she?”
The Elder’s raspy voice was a wisp of sound. “Your quest is ended, Prophet.”
“Oh God, we failed.”
“If you failed, you have not failed. You sought your destiny—and won.”
“Won? How have I won? Alyssa is gone. She died! I—I’ll never have her with me again.”
