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One by one, the crowd dispersed. Johann got cold and went inside for a straight shot of bourbon; Lara and Edith and the queen went back to get warm; Maeve went back to see Elliot; and Andrew just disappeared without a word.
Selena lay on the wet, icy blanket, snuggled close to Ian. They were both freezing cold, but neither one of them wanted to leave. The word tomorrow kept sneaking back, winding itself through words unspoken, thoughts unvoiced. With each passing moment it felt heavier, closer.
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She stared up at the sky, listening to the squawking chatter of the shore birds and the whispering cant of the breeze. The sea was a steady thrumming that washed across the rocks. "It was a wonderful day," she said. "Thank you."
"He says he's taking you home tomorrow," Ian said. Home. For the first time, Selena heard that single word as something cold and hard and just a little frightening. So different from the way it should be. Home. It should be light and love and warmth. She glanced at Ian, saw her pain reflected in his eyes and knew that she should say something to console him. But there was nothing.
"I can't think of a way to stop him," Ian said at last into the growing silence. "The fever's gone, the infection is nearly gone. Any doctor could finish the job." Selena closed her eyes. Despair washed through her, colder than the winter air. A sudden, desperate longing came with it.
She couldn't stop pretending, not yet. No matter how hard it was, she couldn't let go of the fairy tale. Reality would come soon enough, and it would hurt. Oh, God, how it would hurt .. .
All they had was make-believe, the fairy tale was more real than the truth that they had nothing. Words, dreams, touches-they were what Selena would take away from here, and she refused to stop dreaming simply because it hurt.
She nestled closer to him, trying to feel him against every inch of her body. For one bright, razor-sharp instant, she fell into the fantasy, saw the life they could have led, the love they could have shared, and though it hurt-sweet Lord, it hurt-it also soothed and warmed her. "Madelaine," she whispered.
He stroked her hair. "Madelaine, what?"
"That's what I would have wanted to name our daughter."
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He stilled. "She would have looked like you," he said softly. "I would have made her life a living hell."
Selena sat up, twisted to look down at him. Her wet hair snaked across his chest. She didn't understand what he meant, but the understanding wasn't the important part. What mattered was the moment, the memory they were making. She remembered what it had felt like at the Shaker village, how she'd wished she'd let him spin the dreams for her. Now she would let him talk forever, because she knew that his words were gifts that could be opened again and again when she got lonely. It was the words that would stay with her forever.
"What do you mean?"
Ian crossed his arms behind his head and stared up at her. "You don't know about courting. But if some man tried to steal a kiss from our daughter . . ."
"You would probably lock her in her room."
He brushed a strand of hair from her mouth and tried to smile. The wobbly failure made her want to cry. "Only for the dangerous years. Ten through twenty."
At his quietly spoken words, the fairy tale fell apart, left Selena with nothing to cling to, nothing to believe in. The words weren't enough, the memories too weak ...
She would never see him smile again, never feel the gentleness of his touch or sleep in the safety of his arms.
"Oh, Ian ... it hurts so much."
His forced smile faded as he gazed at her through pain-darkened eyes. "I know, baby."
A soft, gentle snow began to fall, pattering on Selena's hair, catching on her nose and eyelashes.
"Selena." He said her name so quietly mat for a moment, she thought it was the wind. "I haven't asked you this before.. .."
She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing what he would ask. It was the question that hung between them always, resting like granite on her heart. Could you stay?
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"Do not ask it, Ian," she said. "There is no point."
He stared up at her for a long time, saying nothing, then a soft, curving smile shaped his lips. "I'm proud of you, goddess. Now, let's talk about something else, for God's sake. We haven't much time. Tell me about your life-the real one, the one you're going back to. Every time I touch Elliot, I get these images of you in strange clothing, walking in lines with other women. I want to know what you do every minute of the day so I can imagine you-"
"No," she said too quickly. "I do not wish to spend our time speaking of a past that does not matter."
"If we don't talk about the past, what do we talk about? There is no future."
