TEN

 

Emily was looking hot and flushed, and Paul was getting worried.

They’d been hiking for over an hour, and they’d left the woodland trail a while ago because Emily said it felt too commercial and not authentic enough to the PEI experience. By that, he assumed it didn’t feel as much like Anne of Green Gables as she wanted.

He hadn’t minded leaving the trail. They had a well-detailed map of the area, including all of the established hiking trails. He also had a top-of-the-line hiking navigator that was ultra-durable and waterproof and came equipped with high-sensitivity GPS, barometric altimeter, electronic compass, and an enormous collection of preloaded maps. He wasn’t worried about their getting lost, and he had been finding the trail a little boring himself, especially since they kept running into other tourists who all seemed to want to chat.

But Emily’s face was red now, and her skin was damp with perspiration. He started to get prickles of concern. The last time she’d gotten a fever, it had come on her without warning and had spiked in just an hour or two.

They were walking through a thickly wooded area that occasionally thinned out into little meadows, ponds, or creeks. They’d plotted a route on Paul’s navigator that would take them from the place they left the trail through the woodlands and then back along the beach until they reached where they’d parked the SUV.

“How are you feeling?” Paul asked, when he’d glanced over at Emily again and saw that she still looked troublingly hot.

She gave him a confused look. “I’m fine. I’m in decent shape, you know. I’m not going to collapse from a few miles of hiking.”

“I didn’t think you were. I was just wondering how you were feeling in general.” Because he couldn’t resist, he reached over and felt her forehead.

She made an annoyed sound in her throat and pulled away. “I’m fine, Paul. I’m not sick. It’s just getting hotter, and I wore too many clothes. It was cold this morning.”

It was midday now, and the temperature had indeed risen significantly from where it had been this morning. Paul had taken off the long-sleeved shirt he’d been wearing over his t-shirt this morning and was now just wearing a pair of casual khakis and the white t-shirt. Emily had taken off her zip-up sweatshirt, but she was still wearing her jeans and a long-sleeved white undershirt with a green t-shirt layered over it.

“Take off one of your layers,” he suggested.  The trees had thinned some, and they reached a clearing where a creek trailed picturesquely through the woods. Beside it were several large rocks. “We need to stop and eat lunch anyway. Do you want to stop here?”

Emily seemed to think this was agreeable. As Paul unpacked their lunch from the backpack he carried, Emily took off her t-shirt. Then, with a sheepish look in his direction, she took off her undershirt and pulled her t-shirt back on.

Paul tried not to look at her in her bra, since he didn’t want to start thinking about sex midway through their hike.

They ate their packed lunch of sandwiches, grapes, chocolate cookies, and bottled water, chatting companionably about the Green Gables sights they had seen that morning and what they were going to do later in the day.

Emily was still hoping to be able to sleep out under the stars tonight, although Paul was worried because the sky at the moment was completely overcast. It had been mostly clear that morning, but now there was nothing but thick clouds overhead. He hoped it wouldn’t rain, so she would be able to sleep outside like she wanted.

He didn't really care if they slept outside or in the tent. He was mostly just hoping for sex tonight.

He’d loved how she’d taken care of him the night before—it had felt amazing in every way and had given him a intense physical and emotional release, one he’d desperately needed yesterday—but he wanted to make sure he could give to her as much as she’d given to him.

When they’d eaten, they picked up their stuff and started to walk again, following the route in Paul’s navigator. He figured they had about another half-hour before they reached the beach again, and then another half-hour before they reached their car.

Emily looked cooler now that she’d shed her extra shirt, and she still appeared bright and energetic. She kept mentioning spots she saw that looked like places in the Anne books, and Paul pretended he found the connections intriguing. He was glad Emily was having a good time. He didn’t mind hiking, but he had very little interest in a series of books for girls about a red-haired orphan who had a clear case of melodramatics.

He wasn't about to complain, though. Being here felt different, distanced, from the life they'd left in Philadelphia. Emily's last bout of fever and the aftermath—during which Paul had been almost crippled with wondering how he could possibly get through Emily's worsening illness and death—had weighed him down emotionally until he could barely breathe. Being with her lightened the burden sometimes, and being this far away, all by themselves, had lightened it a lot more.

It would just be temporary, but he'd needed it.

Twenty minutes later, Emily jerked to a stop, staring at a tree to their left.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“We already passed that tree,” she said, gesturing toward a small white birch. “Look, it has this weird forked branch here. I saw it before.”

Paul checked his navigator. “No. We couldn’t have. We haven’t looped back.” He showed her the small screen, which clearly indicated they were on the correct route.

Emily frowned. “Okay. Maybe it’s just an identical tree.”

They kept walking for a few minutes. Then Emily gasped and tugged on his arm to get him to stop. She crossed over in front of him and made her way through the space between some trees. “Look! That’s where we ate lunch!”

Paul followed her and froze in astonishment when he saw that she was correct. They’d somehow gone in almost a circle and ended up where they'd been a half-hour ago. “What the hell?”

He stared down at the navigator, checking back to see what it displayed as the route they’d just walked. Emily peered over to look with him.

“This thing is definitely confused," he admitted, feeling a swell of frustration tighten in his chest. He’d been focused on following the navigator and so hadn’t been paying much attention to the landmarks. "I wonder what's wrong with it.”

“It’s broken,” Emily said, looking from the screen up to his face. “What a piece of junk.”

“It cost a fortune!” He glowered down at the little device in his hand. "It shouldn't be a piece of junk. I wonder what…" He fiddled with it for a few minutes, hoping to find the trick to restore its routing capabilities.

Evidently getting tired of watching him fiddle with it, Emily said briskly, “Just give it up. The more expensive a gadget is, the more dramatically it will fail. We have a map. And I have a GPS app on my phone that might help.”

“I do too.” Paul lowered the little navigator in disgust and swung the backpack off his back so he could pull his smartphone out.

“No reception,” Emily said, frowning down at her phone. “We had reception earlier.”

“Maybe we’re just in a dead spot.” Paul checked his and found the same thing.

“Well, people used to do this all the time without the help of gadgets. I’m sure we can manage to muddle our way out of the woods without technology.”

Paul felt frustrated and annoyed by the failure of his navigator and by the fact that he’d led Emily around in circles unwittingly. He looked up at the sky. “It’s too cloudy to see where the sun is or at least we could tell what direction we were going.”

Paul glared down at the expensive piece of junk he was holding and muttered out valedictions on its head, as well as on the heads of everyone who made it and sold it to him.

Emily chuckled. “Don’t be grumpy. It’s not the end of the world.”

“We’re lost in the middle of the woods with no GPS,” Paul said, arching his eyebrows at her coolly, vaguely annoyed that she wasn't as annoyed as he was.

“We’ll figure it out. You’re just annoyed because you have major control issues.” She slanted him an almost teasing look. “Has anyone ever told you that before?”

He couldn’t quite keep his lip from twitching, despite the exasperating situation. “Not in so many words.”

“Well, someone should have told you that a long time ago. Things get messed up. That’s the nature of the world.”

Paul preferred for that not to be the nature of his world, but in this case there was nothing he could do about it. His navigator was broken, and their cell phones had no reception.

Since they were off the trail, there was no one around. He assumed if they just kept walking in one direction, they would eventually get somewhere they could locate. He didn’t want Emily to have to walk for miles, however, only to discover they had miles left to walk.

He reached into his backpack and pulled out something else.

“What’s that?” Emily asked.

“It’s a panic button,” he explained. “Connected to my security detail.”

“What?” she demanded, her eyes widening in what looked like outrage. “I thought you said we didn’t need to have security on this trip!”

“We don’t. At least, not following us everywhere. But I’d rather be careful—my dad still has connections in prison, you know—so a couple of my bodyguards are staying not far from our campground. If I press this, they’ll come find us.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “It’s not an emergency situation yet. Can we at least try to figure it out on our own before you call in the cavalry?”

Paul exhaled in frustration. He didn’t want to upset her, but there was absolutely no reason for them to be lost when there was something simple he could do about it. “I don’t want you to have to wander around aimlessly. We’re in the middle of the woods with no obvious landmarks and no way to tell direction. What do you suggest we do?”

“Well, give me a minute to think.” She frowned at him, obviously unhappy with his alacrity in calling for help. “I’m not Daniel Boone.”

“I assure you, neither am I.”

“We want to go north. Wherever we are, we’ll hit the coastline that way. Do you think that moss trick really works?” she asked, after thinking for a minute. “Does moss really grow thickest on the north side?”

Paul made a face, trying to be patient and not just hit the panic button whether she wanted him to or not. “I doubt it, but we could look. Do you see any moss?”

They looked around for a minute and found a rock covered with moss. Unfortunately, it was covered completely with moss, and they couldn’t tell one side that looked thicker than the other.

Emily was obviously disappointed by this discovery.

“Oh,” she said, perking up. “Somewhere I heard this trick for telling north. If you have a watch, you hold it out and then you put a stick over it and then there’s something about the shadow…and north is halfway between the stick and…” She trailed off, looking puzzled.

Paul gave a huff of amusement, although it was mingled with frustration. “Between the stick and the shadow?” he asked dubiously.

She scowled at him. “Don't be snide. There is a trick. I just can’t remember it.”

“Well, it wouldn’t matter. There’s so much tree cover here and cloud cover today, there’s not much in the way of shadows to use anyway. If we had shadows, I could just make a sundial.”

“Damn it,” Emily said, shaking her head as if the most obvious idea had just come to her. “We can’t be that far from the beach. I’m just going to climb a tree. I should be able to see the ocean if I get high enough.”

“No,” Paul objected, stiffening at the idea. “You might get hurt.”

“For God’s sake, Paul, I was climbing trees when I was five years old. I’m not going to get hurt.”

“I’ll climb one,” he said, resigning himself to the fact that climbing a tree was the only appropriate way for this wretched hiking expedition to end. “If someone has to do it, I will.”

“Why should you do it?” Emily demanded. She was bristling now as much as he was, and her eyes flashed with indignation. “I’m a lot lighter than you. I’ll be able to get higher up more safely. I’m not an invalid. I can climb a damned tree!”

“This is my fault,” he said, not about to budge on this. “We’re lost because of me. So I’m the one who—”

“That’s crap. Paul, listen to yourself.  I’m the one who suggested we come here, so I can play the blame-game as much as you. But that’s not the point. You don't have to get annoyed because everything is not going perfectly, and you don't have to climb the tree for me. You don’t have to rescue me. You don’t have to fix everything. I’m not expecting you to do that. I’ve never expected you to do that.”

Paul froze, slammed by her words, by what they meant.

She was right. He did want to rescue her. He did want to fix her.

And he couldn’t do so in the way that really mattered.

“Paul,” Emily said, her voice softening. She reached out and put a hand on his chest. “I didn’t marry you because I expected you do everything for me. I married you because I thought you could help me do the things I wanted to do.”

Paul stared at her, breathing heavily and conflicted in ways he didn’t understand. He loved her. She was his. To him, that had always meant wrapping her tightly with his protection. If he was capable of climbing a tree, then he should do it and not her.

But he understood what she was saying. Deeply. And suddenly he realized he would feel the same way, if he was abruptly forced into helplessness because of an illness he couldn’t control. He wouldn’t want to give up all of his agency either, even to someone who loved him, who wanted to help him.

Emily was beautiful and radiant and resilient and sweet. But, in many ways that mattered, she wasn’t all that different from him.

For some reason, he'd never quite realized that before.

“Okay,” he forced out, the word harder than it should have been to say. “Okay.”

She blinked at him, her eyes anxious and somehow tender as well. “Okay?”

“Climb the tree. Be careful.”

Her face changed, twisted slightly with emotion, but it was so brief he couldn’t really put a name to it. Then she looked around at the trees surrounding them. "Which one do you think is the tallest?”

Paul spotted a huge birch tree several feet away. It had a thick trunk and several low branches. The leaves, unlike on the pine trees, wouldn’t get in the way of climbing.

Emily saw the tree too and ran over to it. “Perfect.” She reached for one of the branches and started to swing herself up.

Paul grabbed her by the waist and gave her a boost.  Despite the other things on his mind, he couldn’t help but appreciate the way her lush ass appeared in her faded jeans as she crawled up onto the first branch.

She grabbed a higher branch and pulled herself into a standing position, bracing herself on the trunk. She grinned down at him. “I haven’t climbed a tree in ages!”

He tightened his lips, trying not to climb up there after her to make sure she wasn’t going to fall. Restraining the impulse was harder than he liked to admit.

Emily was right in claiming that he had major control issues, but he usually kept those issues under better control.

“Please be careful,” he murmured, with what he thought was impressive mildness.

She peered down at him, and her expression relaxed into something warm and fond. “I will.”

Then he had to stand at the bottom and watch her climb the tree. It was quite a tall tree, although it looked so sturdy that there probably wasn’t any unusual danger in climbing it. But he still didn’t like it. Particularly when she got near the top. The leaf coverage mostly blocked his view, so he just caught uneven glimpses of her jeans and her gold hair.

Then he heard Emily shout down to him, “I see the ocean!”

He let out a sigh of relief and waited for her to climb back down. She stumbled a little as she dropped herself down from the last branch, and he caught her and pulled her into a hug.

She hugged him back, her body practically shuddering with excitement.

“Pretty proud of yourself for finding our direction,” he said. “Aren’t you?”

She laughed out loud. “Yes. Just call me Daniel Boone!”

He laughed too. And he realized there might be some benefits to going against his controlling, possessive instincts—if it made Emily as happy as this.

* * *

The clouds cleared, and the stars came out that night.

By the time they finally returned to their SUV, the clouds were starting to break up. They were both tired when they returned to their campground in the afternoon. So Emily took a nap while Paul lounged in a chair and worked through some email on his smartphone, which fortunately could get reception from there.

Emily hadn’t wanted him to work during the weekend, but he figured it was all right when she was sleeping.

They grilled steaks for dinner and ate them with pasta salad. Then, at Emily’s suggestion, they built a fire and toasted marshmallows for s’mores.

Paul enjoyed the evening more than he’d expected. Despite the fact that camping would never be his favorite activity, it was nice to feel all alone in the world with Emily. They felt far away from everything—including her illness, including the doctors, including her impending death. To his surprise, Paul managed to relax. He was feeling pretty good when they went to the shower facilities to clean up before bed, as they had the night before.

Since the clouds had blown away completely, leaving the dark sky teaming with stars, Paul couldn’t object when Emily demanded that they sleep outside tonight.

They hauled the air mattress out of the tent and made up the bed again between the tent and the SUV. He’d left the lights of the SUV on while they worked, so they would have plenty of light, but then he turned them off, leaving only the fire to illuminate the campsite.

Emily was obviously thrilled by the effect, and she climbed under the sleeping bag happily, looking over to him expectantly when he didn’t move. Like the previous night, she wore flannel pajama pants and a sweatshirt, so at least she wouldn’t get cold, despite the nip in the air.

 “Come look, Paul,” Emily called out when he emerged again from the tent, where he’d changed into pajama pants.

He went to join her and got into the sleeping bag. He rolled onto his back as she had and stared up at the sky.

“Look at them!” she breathed, gazing up at the brilliance of the stars.

Paul had never seen stars so bright. In Philadelphia, he could hardly see them at all, except from the terrace of the apartment—and even then they looked rather dim. But even in the outskirts there didn’t seem to be so many stars as this, and they didn’t twinkle so fiercely.

He smiled and turned his head to look at Emily. She was smiling too, and she met his eyes. They gazed at each other in silence for a moment, and Paul’s chest tightened with feeling.

Then she scooted over and pressed her mouth against his in a kiss.

He responded immediately, pulling her into his arms and rolling her toward him so she was sprawled on top of him. The kiss grew hungry very quickly—probably because Paul’s urgency got the better of him. His lips devoured her as his hands skimmed over her soft curves, settling on her ass and pressing her pelvis down against his. Even through the layers of thick clothing she wore, her body was warm and tempting.

Emily was soon as passionate as he was. She groaned and gasped against his mouth, and she wriggled against his body. Her hands clutched at his ribcage and then started fisting the fabric of his shirt.

It took Paul a minute to realize she was trying to pull his shirt off.

He broke the kiss for long enough to help her, yanking his t-shirt off over his head. She made a husky sound of satisfaction as her hands started to stroke his bare skin.

Paul’s groin was already throbbing, and the way Emily shamelessly squirmed against it was exquisite torture. With a moan, he rolled them over so she was on her back, and then he hurriedly started to remove some of her clothes.

She giggled when her sweatshirt got twisted up around her wrist. And she giggled again when she accidentally kneed him in the gut when he was trying to get off her pajama pants. Paul smiled but didn’t let himself laugh. He was so far gone now that, if he let himself laugh, he was afraid he would let go completely.

When she was finally naked, Paul slipped one hand between her thighs and was thrilled and gratified to feel how hot and wet she already was. She gasped and arched up when he fingered her gently.

The night air was cool on his bare skin, and the dying flicker of the fire cast orange light over Emily’s fair skin and rich curves. Paul stared down, mesmerized at the hot desire in her eyes, the way her lips parted, the way her neck arched in response as he pleasured her with his hand.

Then the sight of her luscious breasts, bared to his sight, tipped with very tight nipples, became too irresistible. He leaned down to take one in his mouth. He suckled her with as much skill as he could muster as he thrust two of his fingers rhythmically inside her.

“Oh God!” she gasped, “Oh Paul!” She huffed out a series of eager, breathless sounds that grew louder and louder as her body started to tighten. He could feel her shaking, feel her digging her fingernails into the back of his neck.

Then he felt her let go, coming in helpless spasms and shudders. He knew she’d come very hard—he could feel her clamping down around his fingers, and the contractions lasted a really long time. She was almost choking on the pleasure.

Wanting to make sure she got all the sensations he could give her, when the contractions finally lessened, he moved his thumb to her clit and massaged it thoroughly.

Emily arched up jerkily with a loud cry as another orgasm ripped through her. Her hips bucked up with the new sensations and kept riding out the waves on his fingers.

When she was through, the throbbing in Paul’s erection had become dangerously intense. He reared up, panting loudly and staring down at her again. Her body had relaxed, and her expression had shifted into a drowsy smile. “Wow,” she gasped. “That was…wow.”

With a muffled groan, he leaned down to kiss her hungrily again, overwhelmed with feeling, with primitive pride, with desire, with need. With need. With need.

“Oh baby,” he groaned, when he finally pulled out of the kiss. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.” She was smiling as she fumbled beneath him until she’d managed to get her hands hooked around the waistband of his pajama pants.

Paul raised himself up some more so they could remove his pants. Then they were both naked under the sleeping bag, with the crisp night air and the light of the stars pulsing all around them.

He lined himself up at her entrance, briefly concerned that he’d have to hurt her again. But she was eager and impatient, and she didn’t let him dawdle. Soon, he was sinking inside her, and she was so, so tight, so wet and hot as her body gripped him hard.

She choked out a sound and arched up, but he thought it was from discomfort rather than pleasure. He held himself perfectly still and tried to focus enough to see her expression.

She’d closed her eyes and turned her head.

“All right?”

“Yeah. Just give me a second. Who would have thought you’d be so ridiculously big?”

He bit back a laugh, since laughter would be a mistake at this stage. His arms shook as he braced himself above her on the air mattress, and he had to force himself not to thrust.

“Okay,” she breathed, after not very long. Her body was beginning to soften now, relax. “I’m good.”

When she smiled up at him, he had to kiss her. It was lovely—a little clumsy but passionate on both sides—but then her inner muscles clenched around him, and it was so incredibly good that he reared up with a hoarse exclamation.

To his surprise, she giggled. “Was that good or bad?”

“Good,” he said, managing to get it together enough to press another kiss against her lips. “But if you make it that good for me too often, it won’t be very good for you.”

She clenched around him again, and he bit his lip over a groan. “Emily,” he warned.

She stroked his neck gently, distracting him with the pleasure the light touch aroused. And then she tightened around him once more.

Unable to hold himself back, he began to rock his hips urgently, releasing a long, throaty sound as the friction intensified both his pleasure and his primal need. She started to move her hips with his. And occasionally he’d feel another hard intimate clench.

The pressure in his balls tightened so quickly there was nothing he could do to hold it back. He tucked his head to the side and tried to make himself stop, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t. He thrust into her in fast, clumsy pumps, trying not to be too forceful, trying not to hurt her.

It didn’t seem to be hurting her. If her eager little gasps were any evidence, she was enjoying it as much as he was. Her hands had slipped under his arms, around his ribcage again. And her fingers were starting to claw at him as her own motion got more urgent and enthusiastic.

His vision blurred over as his body was washed with waves of hot and cold. He knew he was about to come, but he clenched his jaw and tried desperately not to come too soon, not to come before she did.

“Oh Paul,” she gasped, tossing her head back and forth beneath him. Her features were twisted with pleasure and effort. “It’s so good. Gonna come!”

“Yes,” he hissed, his hips completely out of his control now. He was rocking into her fast and hard, overwhelmed by how it felt to be moving inside her like this. “Come, baby. Come."

She dug her fingernails into his back and clawed lines there. The pain only intensified his pleasure. “Yeah. Oh God!” Her eager huffing suddenly transformed into a loud, hoarse cry as her body erupted beneath him, thrashing clumsily as she tried to ride out her orgasm.

“Emily,” Paul bit out. “Oh, fuck.” His pelvis jerked helplessly as the agonizing pressure clenched like a fist, and then it all unleashed, spasming out in hot, deep waves of pleasure.

He came hard, the release ripping through him almost brutally. The pleasure continued as he came inside her, emptying himself, filling her.

He collapsed on top of her the way he had the first time. She gathered him in her arms, panting as helplessly as he was.

After a minute, her hands started to stroke his back. He still couldn’t seem to lift his head.

“Are you all right?” she asked gently, after another long moment.

“Yeah,” he managed to say.

His body had relaxed, his arousal had softened. He felt deliciously sated.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

He kissed her neck a little clumsily but couldn’t seem to focus enough yet to have a real conversation. “Yeah. Give me a minute.” She didn’t understand—she couldn’t understand—how much sex with her took out of him.

It leveled him. Physically and emotionally.

After a minute, he managed to pull out of her. He rolled over onto his back, exhausted and replete. He turned his head to smile at her.

She smiled back and scooted over so she was cuddled up at his side. Instead of wrapping an arm around his middle like she normally did, she lay on her back so she could look at the sky too.

“We’re pretty good together,” she said. “At least, I think so.”

“No doubt about it.” Then, because he felt like she needed to know it, even if it made him more vulnerable than he was comfortable with, he added, “Best sex I’ve ever had.”

When she brightened with pleasure and surprise, he was glad he’d told her the truth.

But then her mouth quirked. “Me too.”

He chuckled and squeezed her with one arm.

“Have you ever seen stars like this?” she asked, gazing up at the sky.

“Never,” he admitted.

“Thanks for taking me here.” She turned her head for just long enough to press a kiss on his shoulder.

Paul released a long breath, trying to force from his mind the bleak reality he knew was waiting for him when he returned to Philadelphia. He felt too good—Emily felt too good beside him—for him to process all of that now.

All he said was, “Thanks for taking me.”

***

They got home from PEI at around ten o’clock on Sunday evening.

Paul was usually pleased to return to the apartment—since it was as close to home now as anywhere else—but tonight he felt a deep heaviness sink onto him as soon as they walked in the door.

The art and furnishings were familiar and in their usual pristine order, since Ruth had come by earlier in the day to clean, stock the refrigerator, and put fresh flowers in the vases. Camping had been surprisingly enjoyable and intimate, despite the few inevitable annoyances, but it hadn’t felt real. Returning to Philadelphia was like returning to the real world.

And Paul had trouble thinking of anything but the fact that time was running out for Emily. She had a virus no one knew how to fight, a virus that was killing her more and more every day.

There was nothing he could do to stop it.

As soon as they’d gotten home, he’d gone to the study and called the private investigation firm. He’d been told—not for the first time—that they would have some progress to report by Wednesday, as promised. Then he’d called Dr. Franklin, who had told Paul what he always told him. He was looking, but so far there was nothing to try except the very unlikely long-shots.

Those calls were the only direct action Paul could take about finding a cure for Emily. So he sat behind his desk for almost a half-hour, staring blindly at his computer screen and trying to suppress his stewing angst and frustration.

His father might have the answer, but he’d vowed never to ask his father for anything again. That vow was as close to the core of his being as anything was.

But he couldn’t lose Emily. He just couldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

There had to be something he could do to save her.

Even if he couldn’t keep her in his home, in his bed, in his life forever, at least she would be alive. At least she could be happy.

And now there was something else, nudging at the back of his mind. He couldn’t let himself think too far about this new possibility—since the faint hope hurt him so much—but he couldn’t help but occasionally wonder whether, if Emily lived, she might be persuaded to stay with him as his wife after all.

She obviously cared about him. Maybe…maybe…

It hurt too much to even hope.

And he had to save her first.

When he finally shook himself out of the brooding stupor, he tried to clear out some of the email that had collected while he was gone. Well before midnight, he just gave up.

He was too tired to think clearly, and he wanted to see Emily.

He found her in her bedroom. She’d just taken a bath, and she told him she was really tired too so she’d be coming to bed shortly.

So Paul went to take a shower to wash off the lingering remnants of camping. Emily was in bed when he emerged from the bathroom.

She didn’t seem very talkative tonight. In fact, she seemed unusually quiet. She was probably as tired as he was, though, and maybe she was feeling some of that same letdown on returning to the real world.

So Paul turned off the lights without saying much. He knew sex was off the table when she just cuddled up at his side, wrapping her arm around his middle and sighing a few times before mumbling goodnight. He’d taken care of himself in the shower—thinking she might be too tired for sex—so he wasn’t particularly pained by her decision.

She fell asleep almost immediately, but it took a long time for Paul to turn his mind off enough to sleep. He kept trying to find new options, come up with workable scenarios that would lead to a treatment for Emily.

Obviously, late night brooding led to nothing constructive. So, when he finally fell asleep, his arm still holding Emily tightly against him, his slumbers were shallow and restless.

Which was why he woke up immediately at almost three o’clock in the morning when Emily rolled away from his side.

He looked over at her in the dark room. She was huddled up in a ball, facing away from him. He reached over to feel her forehead and was relieved to discover she wasn’t unusually warm.

He tried to go back to sleep. He tried for countless minutes. But, so late at night, awake by himself in the dark, he couldn’t help but imagine with dread, with an agonizing pressure in his heart, how he would feel if Emily died.

He wasn’t sure how he would survive it. Just imagining it almost leveled him.

He tried to exert mental control and reorder his thoughts, focusing on the next item on Emily’s list—she wanted to climb to the top of a volcano.  There were any number of options for this, and he tried to figure out what she might enjoy most and what could be done with the least difficulties.

He’d almost succeeded in concentrating on this much more innocuous problem when he was suddenly aware that Emily was shaking on the other side of their bed.

He turned his head to look at her again. Saw her shoulders were definitely shaking. Then he heard a harsh intake of breath that she was obviously trying to hide.

He reached over and put a hand on her shoulder to pull her over toward him. “Baby, what is it?”

“Nothing.” She was obviously lying. Her whole body was shuddering now, and she was trying to pull away from his grip, pull into a protective ball. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“You didn’t wake me up. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” she tried again. She was still struggling to get away from him, but he wouldn’t release her. He managed to turn her over so she was facing him.

Even in the dark room, he could see her face twisting helplessly with an emotion she was trying to suppress.

He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly, almost desperately. She was small and shaking helplessly. She felt broken, and he just couldn’t fix her.

He let her cry, fighting against the ache in his throat, but eventually he couldn’t stand it anymore. “Emily, please. You have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“I try…” She eased away from him and peered at his face with dazed eyes and a wet face. After a couple of choked sobs, she started again. “I try not to feel sorry for myself.”

He made a guttural sound of objection. “Of course you don’t feel sorry for yourself. I’ve never seen anyone braver than you.”

“But…but…camping was so good. I loved it. I loved being with you. And…”

Paul understood. He felt it too. It was horrible, just horrible, to come back, knowing what was waiting for them. “I know. Me too.”

She sniffed and shook some more, burying her face against his bare chest. Then she pulled back enough to say in a weak voice, “I try to be brave and face reality without flinching, but I just don’t want to die.”

Suddenly, he realized how he might be able to help her. If not permanently, then at least for right now. “Maybe you don’t have to.” He was startled by the strained emotion in his voice, but there was no way he could hold it back. “Emily, you don’t have to just give up.”

She stiffened. “What? Paul, I don’t understand…”

“You told me you didn’t want to try out treatments, but maybe we can really look for one. We don’t know what’s out there. Maybe there’s something that can save you. We can try.”

She just stared at him in silence for a long time. Then finally, “But there is no treatment.”

“Maybe there can be. I have investigators looking into my dad’s research facility. I really think he has some sort of biological weapons there, and that might be the source of the virus. They might be able to find something. We might not be without hope.”

Again, she just stared mutely, her eyes wide in the dark.

“Emily, we don’t have to give into this. Maybe there’s some way we can fight it.”

“But…”

He didn’t quite know why she looked so baffled and overwhelmed, but at least she wasn’t angry. “We can try,” he concluded softly, thickly.

“You’ve been having them search for…to find a cure for me?”

Afraid she was going resent his doing it behind her back, he replied hurriedly, “Just to see…I assumed you’d want a cure if they found one. But obviously using it would be your choice. I just wanted to see. I thought it was worth a chance. Don’t you think so?”

“You were looking for a cure for me?” She actually sounded surprised.

Paul strangled on his indignation. “Of course, I was looking for a cure! Do you think I want you to die?”

“No.” She rubbed her face, wiping off the remaining tears. “I just thought…I didn’t think…”

He took her face between both of his hands. “I want you to live. I’ll do anything I can to make that happen.”

She swallowed visibly. Then whispered, “Thank you.”

A clench in Paul’s chest released slightly. He swallowed too. “So…so you’ll be willing to try a treatment if we come up with a possibility.”

She nodded. “As long as I don’t end up spending the last weeks of my life sick in bed because of experimental treatments, I’ll try.”

He groaned in relief and pulled her against him. “We’ll go talk to them on Wednesday and see what they’ve found. They're supposed to have a progress report by then.”

“Okay.” She shifted in his arms until she’d adjusted into a more comfortable position. She was holding him as tightly as he was her. “I never thought there could be a cure. I just assumed…”

“We don’t know,” Paul said, “We just don’t know. So we might as well try.”

He felt better now, like there was more hope now that Emily had agreed to hope with him.

She repeated, “We might as well try.”

* * *

“It’s not like we’re going to unlock a cabinet in your dad’s lab and find some serum in a test tube labeled ‘Cure for Mystery Virus’.”

Paul tightened his fist on his armrest and tried to keep his expression impassive.

By all recommendations, Jack Martin headed up one of the best private investigation firms in the city. He’d been professional in all of his dealings, and the report on all his team had done in the last week was certainly impressive.

But Paul didn’t like Martin at all. His hair was a mess, he needed to shave, and his perpetually laidback attitude about everything drove Paul crazy.

This was dead serious to Paul, so Martin should be taking it seriously too.

“I never suggested you’d find a magic serum,” Paul replied, an edge to his voice.

Martin appeared completely oblivious to the edge. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but this is what we’ve got.” His brown eyes turned from Paul to Emily, who was seated beside him. Martin’s expression softened imperceptibly. “Look, this whole thing is awful, and I wish I could pull a miracle out of a hat for you. But all we know is what we know. We’ve gotten into the facility and can confirm your father was definitely involved in research into biological weapons. I’ve found a couple of experts to help us figure out the data we’ve retrieved. It’s not easy, though. There’s a ton of it, and it’s high-level science stuff. Even my smart folks can’t make heads or tails of it.”

Paul had known this investigation would be complicated, but he didn’t like the sound of this at all. Interpreting scientific research results took a lot of time, particularly when you didn’t have all the background.

“After we do that, we still have to figure out if the source of this virus was your father’s lab. Then we have to figure out how to treat it.” Martin leaned back in his chair. “We’re all hands on deck in this, but I don’t want you to have unrealistic expectations about what we’re going to uncover and how long it’s going to take.”

Paul nodded, knowing the other man was right and trying not to resent him for it. He glanced over at Emily. She’d been quiet during this conversation, but she didn’t look disappointed. She mostly looked resigned.

She’d never been as hopeful about this appointment as Paul had.

She reached over and took his hand, as if she sensed he needed her support.

“I have a suggestion,” Martin added. When they both looked at him inquiringly, he continued, “There is one person who knows what the research facility has been doing and whether there’s anything like a cure for the virus there.”

Paul stiffened, and Emily’s hand tightened around his.

“You could ask your dad.”

Paul cleared his throat. “He wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“Maybe not. But he’s already been convicted. He has no play here. Unless you think he’s such a monster that he’d let your wife die just for fun, I don’t know why he’d hold onto the information at this point.”

“He is a monster.” Paul wasn’t certain about very much in life—not anymore—but he was certain of that.

“Paul,” Emily murmured, “I’m still not sure he would have given me this virus on purpose. Maybe its source was the research facility, but he didn’t contaminate me and my aunt intentionally.”

Martin nodded. “If that’s the case, he might have even more reason to tell you what we need to know.”

“I know that makes sense to you, but you don’t know him.” Paul turned to look at Emily. “You don’t know him either. Not like I do. I can’t go and ask him something like this. It would be exactly what he wants. He wants to get me back under this thumb. I’d be playing right into his hand.”

Emily’s face looked pained, but he could tell she was pained for him. It made him uncomfortable and was comforting at the same time.

 “You have to believe me on this. If he did this to you, he’s never going to admit it. And if he didn’t do it, he has no information to share. If I thought there was a possibility of it working, I’d ask him in a heartbeat. But I can’t ask him for something when I know he won’t give it to me. It’s exactly what he wants.”

Emily squeezed his hand again. “Yeah. I understand. We’ll find another way.” She glanced over at Martin for confirmation.

He nodded. “Yep. We’ll find another way. We’re on it.”

Paul wondered what it would be like to be so easily confident.

He used to think he was like that himself.

Not so many months ago, really, but it might as well have been a lifetime.

* * *

After they left the office, they went out to lunch at a quiet French bistro. The food was good, but their conversation was scattered, as both of them tried not to dwell on the faint hope of Martin’s team coming up with something from the data they’d retrieved.

Emily asked how he’d found Martin’s name to begin with. Then she asked what volcano he thought she should climb.

Paul didn’t even want to think about the remaining items on her list. It seemed to imply she was going to die, and he refused to let himself believe that possibility. It wasn’t fair to not keep his word and help her get through her list, though, so he suggested they go to Hawaii, which wouldn’t be a hard trip and which had many impressive volcanoes that weren’t too difficult to climb.

Emily seemed pleased with this idea, and then she fell into a meditative silence.

When they got up to leave, she said she needed to use the restroom, so Paul waited outside the ladies room until she came out.

He straightened up in concern when she emerged. She looked paler than she had earlier, and her eyes looked a little pained. Her hair was damp around the hairline, as if she’d thrown water on her face.

“Paul,” she began, walking over to him slowly.

“Are you okay?”

“Do I have a fever?” When she reached him, she raised her hands to grip his shirt, like she felt unsteady on her feet.

He reached over to feel her forehead, and his heart sank as he sensed how hot her skin was. “I think you do.”

“Damn. Not so soon.”

“Let me get you home,” he said, supporting her with one arm and guiding her down the hall and out of the restaurant. Her body was swelteringly hot against him, and he tried to brace himself for at least two agonizing days of watching her suffer.

The restaurant host turned to give him a friendly farewell as they approached, but his face transformed with worry when his eyes took in Emily’s drooping figure.

“Is everything all right, Mr. Marino?” he asked in concern.

“Can you call my car, as quickly as possible?” Paul asked, relieved that he hadn’t driven himself, so they wouldn’t have to wait for a valet to get the car from a garage.

The host wasted no time in doing this. In the minute or two it took for the driver to pull the car to the curb in front of the restaurant, Emily seemed to completely wilt. He’d never seen one of her fevers come on her so quickly. She leaned her weight fully against his chest, clutching at him desperately, getting hotter and hotter as the moments passed.

Then her knees just buckled, and she would have collapsed to the floor had his arms not been around her. Instinctively, Paul adjusted his hold on her body and swung her up in his arms.

“Paul, no,” she mumbled weakly, hiding her face in his shoulder. “I can walk.”

“No, I don’t think you can.” He ached—all over—as he cradled her against him and carried her out to the sidewalk, where the car was pulling up.

She was small but not a waif, and she felt real and substantial in arms—hot and weak and shaking and sick and his.

He refused his anxious driver’s attempt to take Emily from his arms and instead carefully maneuvered her into the backseat himself. She fell to her side, unable to sit up, and curled herself up into a ball.

Paul swallowed hard, fighting growing panic at seeing how quickly she’d declined in this bout of fever. He gave curt instructions to his driver and accepted with thanks the cold, wet washcloth and bottles of cold water the restaurant host had hurriedly gotten for them. Then Paul got into the car quickly, climbing over Emily so he could sit on the opposite side of the seat beside her.

As the driver took them home, he wiped her feverish face and helped her lift her head from his lap to take an occasional sip of water. He also called Amy, who said she’d be over to the apartment in less than an hour.

They were almost home when Emily whispered brokenly, as she writhed with what looked like pain, “Paul, I’m scared. How did it get so bad so fast?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” He wiped her face once more, although the washcloth was no longer very cool. Then he exhaled in relief when the driver pulled into their private parking deck. “We’re home now. You’ll feel better when we can get your medicine.”

He desperately hoped she’d feel better. He would never tell her so, but he was scared too. The worse her fevers became, the fewer days she would have before the virus consumed her completely.

She had to stay alive for long enough for them to find a cure.

He carried her up to the apartment and then into her bedroom, where he gently laid her down in bed. She was completely out of it now, mumbling disconnected thoughts, almost delirious although not violently so. He managed to get her to swallow her pills without choking her.

Paul was so tense and anxious he could barely breathe as he carefully took her clothes off and put on instead a tank top and boxer shorts, like she always wore when she had fevers. It wasn’t easy, since she kept tossing restlessly, in obvious physical discomfort.

He wiped her face with another cool cloth, praying for the pills to take effect soon so she would feel better. When he saw her loose hair sticking to her face, he went into the bathroom and grabbed two elastic hairbands. Then he returned and gathered her messy hair into two ponytails as neatly as he could, being sure not to pull any stray hairs in a way that would hurt her.

There wasn’t anything else he could do but sit by her bed and keep wiping her face. She was mumbling under her breath still, and he could occasionally recognize a word. She said, “Paul,” more than once. And he thought he picked out the words “volcano” and "stars." But nothing she said made any real sense.

After several minutes, she started to shiver, so he put the washcloth up immediately and pulled the bedcovers up over her body. It took a minute, but eventually her shivering stopped.

Finally, the medication started to work, and the pained tension in her body relaxed just a little. She seemed to fall asleep for real. It wasn’t a peaceful sleep—it never was when she had a fever—but at least she wasn’t tossing around with her face twisting in pain.

Paul was able to breathe again, but he didn’t move from his chair. Ruth came in with a fresh bottle of water for Emily and a cup of hot tea for him he hadn’t requested. He drank it automatically, even though it was sweeter than he would prefer.

Amy should be here soon, but Paul wasn't planning to leave.

His eyes never left Emily’s pale face. She looked incredibly young in the two ponytails, vulnerable and so small. But her left hand was fisted in her bedcovers, and he could see his rings glinting on her finger there.

She was his wife, and she was strongest, bravest person he’d ever known. But she was also his to take care of, and there was very little he could do to help her.

There was one more thing, though.

One thing he’d vowed never to do. One thing with almost no chance of working.

The only thing left for him now.

He used to think he was strong—that there were certain things in his life on which he would never waver—but he wasn’t strong enough.

He loved her. Far more than he’d ever loved himself.

He would rip himself apart, from the inside out, if it would give her another day to live.

***

Paul felt like he might be sick.

It wasn’t fear, and it wasn’t anger or resentment as he’d always understood it. It was closer to the bleak acceptance of being stripped of all defenses and willingly led to slaughter.

He was sitting in the visiting room of a federal detention center, waiting for his father to be escorted out to talk to him. Emily’s fever had finally broken the day before—lasting just over forty-eight hours this time—but she was still weak and exhausted.

He hadn’t told her he was coming here today because he didn’t want her to worry about him.

Besides, Paul knew this was an act of final desperation that would almost certainly prove to be futile.

Then he saw his father—craggy face, gray hair, utterly self-contained expression—as he approached the table and sat down across from his son.

He didn’t greet Paul, but that was to be expected. Empty words gave too much away. That was a lesson his father had taught him very young.

When Paul didn’t speak, his father finally arched his eyebrows in amused arrogance. “This is your meeting. We can spend it in silence if you’d like.”

Lying in bed awake all last night, Paul had plotted out a carefully nuanced strategy for this conversation, but now he couldn’t remember any of it. He blurted out, “Emily is dying.”

“That’s not news to me. I was at the trial too.”

Paul hated the smug unconcern on his father’s face, although he knew it was put on for show as much as anything else. “I think the virus has the source in your research facility. I know you were working on biological weapons there. We have concrete proof.”

“If you have evidence, then why do you need me?”

“You know why. She’s eighteen. She’s innocent. And she’s dying. You’re already going to be in prison for life. You might as well just tell us what we need to know.”

Vincent Marino’s eyebrows rose even higher. “You think I had something to do with her illness?”

“I know you did.”

“Then what do you want from me? If I’m that man—the man you think I am—then what could you possibly want from me now?”

What Paul wanted from his father he would never get. He’d resigned himself to that truth years ago. Everyone had heard him say it out loud in the courtroom, so there was no mystery about it. No puzzle for his father to solve.

Instead, this was just a battle to him. A duel. A game of strategy.

Paul was too emotionally invested in this particular issue to ever come out ahead of his father in strategy, so he didn’t even try. “I want you to give us the information and research you have on the virus so we can find a cure.”

“If I did what you think, I’m surprised you’re even asking me such a thing.”

“I have nothing left to lose. I admit it. But your hand is played. You have nothing to win.”

“There’s always something to win. I know I taught you that…if nothing else.”

“I love her,” Paul admitted, the words ripped out of him without warning.

“I know that. It was more than obvious from watching you with her in the courtroom.”

Paul swallowed hard. “She’s going to die.”

“We all have our trials. What matters is what we do with them.”

This conversation had played out exactly as Paul had known it would. He wasn’t even angry.  The faint hope had been doomed from the start. “So you won’t help?”

“I can’t help. I’m not the monster you think I am. I didn’t do this.”  The words were almost convincing.

“I don’t believe you.”

His father shrugged. “You’re still young, and you still live your life looking for dragons to slay. It doesn’t always work like that. Sometimes the world is just brutal. For no particular reason. Without anybody to blame.”

Paul stared blindly and couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

It felt like his father had just signed Emily’s death warrant.

When Paul was thirteen and his parents were headed for divorce, he’d been both devastated and furious one night at seeing his mother cry.

His father had told him to toughen up.

Not long ago, Paul had believed himself to be tough.

He stood up. So abruptly his chair tipped backwards and hit the floor with a loud clatter.

His father smiled faintly. “I guess this is goodbye then. Give my best to your pretty wife.”

Despite everything else, those last words managed to hurt Paul.

He turned to leave. He wasn’t going to say anything more. He wouldn’t give his father the satisfaction of seeing him made even more vulnerable.

Paul only made it a couple of steps before he stopped and glanced back. “Why does it always have to be a war between us?”

Something changed on his father’s face. Not any sort of softening, but he looked older than he should have. And so, so tired.

Then Vincent Marino asked a final question, one that needed no answer. “When is life anything else?”