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‘That’s exactly what I said to Rita.’ Forrest sounds amused. ‘She had an answer for that, too. She said religion doesn’t define whether you have a soul or not.’
I look at him, speechless. Of course it does. The church goes on about it all the time. If you’re good, your soul goes to heaven. If you’re not, it’s damned to hell.
‘Anyway, she said she wasn’t at all religious. But she absolutely knows we have a soul. I was about to get up and leave at that point. But she persuaded me to stay. Then she started talking about you.’
‘Me?’ I frown. ‘Why?’
‘She asked if I’d ever met someone seemingly for the first time, yet felt I recognised them – like they’re familiar to me.’ All the time, he holds my gaze. ‘Someone who’s similar in a lot of ways – who you just get in a way that’s effortless, that kind of thing. And I have. Once. With you. You’re all those things,’ he says quietly. ‘After talking to Rita, I’m starting to wonder if she’s right.’
He’s describing how I feel, too. But a wave of disbelief washes over me. He clearly buys into this – but he’s had time to take it in, while for me, it’s too unfamiliar, too far-fetched. ‘It might just be random,’ I say shakily. ‘Sometimes we just happen to meet people we have a lot in common with.’
‘But this thing with you and me, it’s more than that.’ He’s silent. ‘And there’s you and Lori having the same tattoo – an unusual tattoo. Rita said that maybe it was a sign.’
A sign that I used to be Lori? ‘What about my cancer?’ Suddenly offhand, I get up. ‘Is that a frigging sign, too? That my entire life’s a fuck up – and I don’t deserve to be happy?’ Tears stream down my face as I look at Forrest, suddenly mortified. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Hey.’ Coming over, he puts his arms around me. ‘You have every right to be upset.’ He whispers it into my hair. ‘But youhave every right to be happy, too.’ Kissing the top of my head, he speaks softly. ‘I promise you, one day, I’m going make you see that.’
It turns out Rita isn’t a therapist, Forrest tells me later. She’s a psychic.
‘You mean, she talks to dead people?’ Even in the light of what Forrest’s told me, it’s still a step too far.
‘I guess she does.’ He looks surprised. ‘You know, I never used to believe in signs.’ He traces my tattoo with one of his fingers. ‘But I never used to have a moral conscience, either.’
As his words sink in, I feel my mind start to shift in a way beyond anything I’ve comprehended before, because he’s right about one thing: there’s a connection between us that goes beyond anything I’ve ever dreamed of.
It’s an evening I forget about everything – except us. Forrest’s body against mine, the way he looks at me, the feel of his skin. And it’s how I’ve always believed it would be. Love is a precious, timeless gift.
‘I love you,’ Forrest whispers to me much later on.
‘I love you, too.’ As he leans over me, our eyes are locked as I breathe in the scent of him.
‘I always thought…’ he says quietly. ‘Never mind.’
‘You thought what?’ I want to know everything inside his head.
Lying back on the bed, he gazes at the ceiling. ‘I always thought love at first sight was a cliché – until I met you.’
‘So did I.’ But I know how wrong I was. Pushing myself up on my elbows, I kiss the curve of his neck. ‘It isn’t, is it?’
‘It’s like my whole life, I’ve been waiting for you.’ Pulling me towards him, he kisses me again.
The cold light of day dawns all too soon. Getting up and pulling on his t-shirt, while Forrest sleeps, I go downstairs to make coffee. By the time I come back, he’s awake.
I pass him a mug.
‘Thanks.’ This morning, he looks preoccupied.
Still in his t-shirt, I sit cross-legged on the bed. ‘Last night… It was magical,’ I say quietly.
‘I meant what I said.’ Forrest’s eyes are locked on mine. ‘I love you, Marnie.’ Sitting there, I don’t move. Instead, I soak up the feeling, a feeling I’d only ever dreamed of before, the same magic as last night tightening its hold on us.
For a moment, it’s as though the room fades, Forrest’s voice seeming to come from far away. Blinking, as my focus sharpens again, fear fills me that the tumours are affecting me.
‘Are you OK?’ Putting his cup down, he takes my hands in his.
‘I’m not sure.’ Looking at him, I’m shaken. ‘Just now, it was like your voice was coming from somewhere else. I think the tumours are affecting my hearing.’ Terrified it’s getting worse, I feel my hands start to shake.
‘Marnie, listen.’ His voice is urgent, his grip on my hands tightening. ‘This is what happens to me. It’s like I’m tuning into somewhere else.’
