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“Never say that about her.” The fury in Levi’s tone sent shivers down Mina’s spine. “She didn’t give up anything. She won the battle her own way, and I will never judge her for that.”
Brook turned to look at Mina. “What do you think about this?”
“I think it’s pretty wonderful to love a man who loved his wife so much. I’m humbled that a man capable of so much love has chosen me to receive it next. I’m sorry I ever doubted him and us.” She made sure she was looking at Levi and that he knew she was directing her words to him. “I’ll probably slip, and do it again, but I’ll forgive you for future worries if you forgive me for future doubts. And we can work on doing better, together.”
Brook threw up her hands. “I just...”
“You’re just scared, sis, and it’s easier to be angry.” There Levi was again, offering a life raft. Quietly searching for solutions and ways to fix the world, ways to make everyone better. He didn’t put himself out there for everyone, but when he did, he didn’t pull back.
As frustrated as she was with Brook, she admired Levi for sticking with the conversation. A guy with that much stick-to-it-ness was worth the world.
Mina turned her attention to Brook. “I’m not going to die, just because Kimmie died. Levi and I can have children, and I will live long enough to see them have children. Being poz is not a death sentence. And so, you don’t have to worry that your brother will have to go through that pain again. He might, but it probably won’t be because of the virus.”
“I still don’t...” Brook stuttered as she shifted to face her brother. “I love you. I can’t think about the rest right now, but I know that. And I’m going home. To Dennis.” Levi’s sister turned away and nearly ran out the door.
Mina practically ran the other way, throwing herself into Levi’s open arms and sinking into his warm hug. His hand was heavy on her hair as he caressed her head.
“I’m sorry,” he said, her hair muffling his words.
She had to tilt her head, so that she wasn’t speaking into his sweater. “What are you sorry for?”
“For Brook, who can’t seem to stop long enough to look at her own problems, but is insisting on creating ones for other people.”
Her shrug was lost in their embrace. “She lives in Bozeman, so she won’t be close enough for anything she says to hurt me. And I don’t care if she tells people anymore.”
“I know but...” His weight shifted, and she pulled away, too, so that she could meet his eye. “I’m not going to give up on her. Maybe I should, but I won’t.”
Mina buried her head back against his chest. “I won’t ask you to. But we don’t have to talk about that now. All we need right now is each other and to know that we’re okay.”
“And we’re okay?” he asked, sounding nervous, even though she was clutching him like a life raft keeping her afloat in the deepest sea.
“We’re perfect,” she said.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from THROUGH THE MAGNOLIA FILTER by Nan Dixon.
Through the Magnolia Filter
by Nan Dixon
CHAPTER ONE
Use a picture. It’s worth a thousand words.
Arthur Brisbane
LIAM DELANEY WAS an orphan. Again. He laced his hands together and waited for the priest to bury his godfather. A sigh whistled between his lips. At thirty, being alone shouldn’t matter. But it did. Was it wrong to want a home, a family? To belong?
The wind caught the priest’s deep voice and swirled it round the cemetery. Latin. English. The languages blended in the breeze.
Ignoring the words, Liam listened to the priest’s tone for any hint of sorrow at the passing of the man in the coffin. He heard none. No surprise that. He’d lived with the man for eleven long years.
This day couldn’t end soon enough. He was ready to escape Kilkee for the final time. Leave this reminder of his childhood and catch a plane—anywhere. Just so he wasn’t in Clare, Ireland.
As a distraction, he plotted how he would film Seamus FitzGerald’s funeral. With a wide angle, he’d pan from the crumbling dark stone wall through the gray-and-white crosses and sinking headstones. While the priest droned, he’d linger on the yellow warbler perched on a cherub statue and let its sweet, clear song play. The camera would swing to the Celtic cross marking his godparents’ graves. The towering cross lorded over the monuments of the other FitzGeralds buried near.
