Page 59 of We Can Forever

“You don’t need to be sorry.”

“I am, though.” She twists her lips.

I stroke my thumb across the top of her hand. “It’s okay to take breaks from people. I can tell that she just doesn’t understand the effect she’s having.”

“I should tell her.” She blinks at the ceiling.

“Another time.” I wrap it up at the sound of Katie’s approaching footsteps. “Right now, you need to take it easy.”

She lifts her head, smiles at me. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” I say just as Katie walks into the room. “For trusting me enough to come here.”

Her gaze softens, and there’s so much more in her expression waiting to come out, but Katie is climbing onto the bed with a stack of DVDs.

“Which one?” Katie spreads the movies out across the bed.

“That one.” Hannah points, and Katie gets to work popping in the DVD.

“You should probably eat some dinner.” I resist the urge to brush hair off Hannah’s forehead, not wanting to hurt her by touching her the wrong way. “How about potato soup? I’ll order delivery from the deli.”

This time, her smile lights up the room. “That would be delicious. Thank you.”

I leave the room to place the order while she and Katie start the movie. It’s not until I’ve arranged the delivery and I’m in the middle of doing the dishes that are in the sink that I realize just how nerve-racking this whole evening has been.

Not only was I concerned about Maya, but setting foot in the hospital was a whole other experience. The last time I was there, it was when my dad died.

And then there’s Hannah flaring, which is enough to make me sick with worry. And then, on top of that is Carol’s response to Hannah’s flare.

But at least everyone is okay now, and there was one bright spot to being in the hospital—seeing Hannah teaching everyone in the waiting room how to knit.

She has a way with people, which she might not even be aware of. While her anxiety comes to the surface during most interactions, she’s clearly in her element when teaching. She knows how to make a community, how to bring the light to even the darkest, scariest place—like a hospital waiting room.

And all by being herself.

Or maybe…

I pause, hands in the soapy water.

Maybe that’s just how she makes me feel, like the world isn’t as heavy as I once thought it was, like there’s something wonderful to be found in each and every day.

The doorbell rings with our delivery, my time for reflection over. Drying off my hands, I head to the door.

But it’s not our dinner. It’s Carol.

She stands tall, her chin tipped up. “Hi, Michael.”

“Hey…Carol.” I consider inviting her in—that would be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it?—but if Hannah hears her voice, she’ll become even more stressed. “Hannah is resting.”

She nods, but her shoulders tighten even more until they nearly reach her ears. My heart nearly cracks in two, because it’s like I see her for the first time. Or, rather, feel her. Feel what she’s going through.

“Would you like to have a chat?” I gesture at the chairs on the front porch.

She’s stiff as she lowers herself to sit, hands shaking. “This was a bad idea.”

“Actually…” I sit in the metal chair next to her, one with peeling paint that I picked up at the secondhand shop. “She’s happy over here. She’s getting some quiet.”

“No. I apologize. I don’t mean coming to your house. I mean… Coming to Pine Island. Opening this shop.” She sniffs. “It’s more than someone in her condition can manage.”

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