Page 43 of Dearly Departed

It’s after midnight when Catherine stalks away and shuts herself in the bathroom for several minutes.

Then she comes out with her chin up and goes to the sink. She gets a cup. Water. A packet out of the first-aid kit

“Drink that,” she orders.

I don’t want to, which I know is irrational. I also know she won’t stand for it. I manage a sip at a time.

Catherine watches me, her arms crossed over her chest. “Being married means doing things for each other.”

“It doesn’t mean letting your wife die for you.”

“We’re going to die anyway. Do you realize that? If we run out of food, or if that asshole finds us first, or if, like, a lion breaks the door down⁠—”

“I don’t think this island is large enough to support a lion.”

“Oh, now you have deep knowledge about wildlife? The point is not the lion! The point is that I am tired of waiting around to see if I live or die. I’ve had enough of that in my life, Jacob.” Catherine’s eyes well. “I’ve had enough of waiting around to see if people I love are going to live or die. I wasn’t brave when I was younger, and I should have—whatever! I can’t go back in time, so I have to be brave now, and you have to let me, because I can’t sit here and do nothing and hope someone comes to save us. I love you too much.”

Jesus. She breaks my heart. “I couldn’t bear it. If I let you—if you left and didn’t come back. I would never forgive myself.”

“You left. And you were never going to come back.”

We stare at each other in the imitation candlelight.

I’m not willing to lose her. I’m simply not willing to lose her.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life, Catherine. It was foolish, and cruel, and if I could take it back, I would. I’d do anything to⁠—”

She stabs a finger at me. “You’d do anything. Anything. That’s what you’re about to say, isn’t it? You’d do anything for me.”

“I would.”

Catherine drops her hands to her sides. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course I mean it, kitten.” That was the promise embedded in all the vows I made to her on our wedding day.

“Then you’ll stay here while I go to the tower.”

“I—”

“That’s part of anything. Unless you just made up fake limits in your head.”

“There are some limits. I won’t let you drink my blood.”

Catherine makes a retching sound.

“Come to bed.”

“I can’t.” She rubs her eyes. “I have to go to the tower. It’ll be better in the dark.”

“Come to bed, sleep for a little while, and we’ll make a real plan.”

Catherine meets my eyes, longing absolutely clear on her face, and a fire lights in my chest, fierce, hot, blazing—though thankfully not feverishly this time.

She turns off the candle and comes to bed. I wrap her in my arms and kiss her temple and memorize the pattern of her heartbeat.

“Anything?” Catherine asks.

I feel the question through her skin more than I hear it. A deluge of rain crashes down on the roof. I wish the rain was a shield. I wish we could stay here, protected by the dark, forever. I wish we could wake up at home in the morning, all of this fading into a dream.