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Yvette shakes her head and smiles warmly. “It was a note written from a grandmother’s love. My love poured through the ink in that pen and onto the parchment. So yes, it was a spell. I knew you were special when I first laid eyes on you, Mary. I believe you’re what my grandson needs. Could I be wrong? Of course. Nothing is ever set in stone. But if he’s asking for you, my dear, you must go to him.”
I nod then, squeeze her hand back, and follow the nurse to the ICU recovery room.
Chapter Forty-Five
Ronan
A warm hand grasps my own.
I recognize the feel of her soft flesh.
Mary. My Mary.
I turn my head. It’s a struggle. But she’s there. Beautiful Mary.
I widen my eyes as much as I can. I don’t feel a lot of pain. They’ve probably got me dosed up with drugs.
But I remember.
Remember seeing Mary in the window of the coffee house. Opening the door, the little boy running, and then the gunshot.
Another shot.
Then suspension of time, of pain, and Mémé’s face.
That’s all I remember until a few moments ago.
“Mary,” I say softly.
“Yes, Ronan. I’m here.”
“The little boy?”
“Who?”
“The little boy from the coffee house, who ran toward me. Is he all right?”
Mary bursts into tears then. Seriously starts sobbing. “Ronan, yes, he’s fine. Thank God. What a wonderful man you are. Everything you’ve been through and the first thing you ask about is that innocent little boy.”
I saw myself in the little boy. He didn’t look anything like me as a kid, but his demeanor reminded me. After the shot was fired, he ran back. Back toward his mother. Back to the woman who was his safety net.
How many times did I go running toward my mother when she came home from one of her many trips with my father? She always grabbed me, hugged me, peppered my face with kisses. Told me how much she missed me.
Only to leave again, too soon.
My true safety net was Mémé. It still is, but I have another now. Another in this lovely young woman before me—if she’ll have me.
I have to leave New York. But somehow I’ll convince her to go with me. Or if she won’t, I’ll find a way to make it work.
“Don’t try to talk, Ronan,” Mary says. “You need your rest.”
“Seems I’m a lucky man.”
“Did the doctors talk to you? Tell you what they found?”
“They tried to. My mind was still kind of a mush. But something about a tumor?”
“Yes. A small tumor in your pancreas. Most likely cancer, and caught very early, Ronan. You’re going to be okay. Pancreatic cancer is almost never caught this early. It’s almost always a death sentence, but not for you.”
