Page 112 of Here We Go Again
She hits another letter. Then another. A word appears, then a sentence, then a paragraph. In a delirium, Rosemary writes a random scene from her new novel. The old wizard who took the heroes on the quest is dying, and they’re rushing to get him to the nearest inn before it’s too late….
Half-asleep and practically unconscious, Rosemary types and types, feeds in new pages, and fills them up. She doesn’t know how to delete on the typewriter, how to go back, so she only goes forward, deeper and deeper into her own grief, thinly disguised in a fantasy world.
“Rosemary.” A calm voice. A soft hand on her shoulder. “You need sleep.”
She looks at the slew of pages in front of her. She looks at Logan behind her, hair wet, eyes tired.
“I can write a little longer,” she says.
Logan shakes her head. “The typewriter is loud. Please. Come to bed.”
She lets herself be led back to the rickety bed, lets Logan climb into the bed beside her, wrap her up in limbs that are better than any blanket.
With Odie against her stomach and Logan at her back, Rosemary finally falls asleep.
Bar Harbor, MaineChapter Thirty-Three
ROSEMARY
According to her phone, it’s 7:37 when she wakes up, but that tells her very little. She has no idea if it’s morning or evening, and the muted light coming in through the curtains isn’t helping.
There is a quilt over her body. This is a mattress beneath her. She’s alone in this bed, but she remembers falling asleep wrapped up in Logan’s arms. Maybe she dreamed that part.
The rest of the room comes into sleepy-eyed focus. The carpet and the puke-colored walls and the window. The desk with the typewriter and all her pages.
She climbs out of bed, out of the room, down the stairs. Andoh. It’s evening. She’s facing a wall of windows that look out at the Atlantic Ocean during golden hour, and the view is so spectacular, she almost forgets everything else.
“Rosemary,” a hoarse voice says, and she turns away from the golden hues and calm water.
Joe.
He’s in a hospital bed in the middle of a living room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a giant stone fireplace, eclectic art, and outdated technology. He’s raised up just enough that he can see her standing there at the base of the stairs. His brown eyes are open and alert.
“Joe!” She catapults herself toward him, reaches for his papery hand. “You’re awake!”
He grunts and holds her hand back.
“I was shocked when he woke up before you.”
Rosemary turns and sees Logan sitting sideways on a threadbare reclining chair, her legs spilling over one arm. Rosemary didn’t dream it. Those legs were definitely wrapped around her in her sleep.
Their eyes meet, and Logan offers her a brief smile before her gaze drops down to the mug of tea in her hand. Rosemary becomes aware of clanking in the kitchen, and then one of the nurses—Guillermo, she thinks—comes into the living room with another mug of tea.
“Thank you,” Rosemary says when Guillermo wordlessly pushes the warm mug into her hands. “I’m Rosemary, by the way.”
Guillermo shoots Logan a look in her reclining chair. “I know” is his only response as he shifts to tidying the medical supplies beside Joe’s bed.
“Are you the hospice nurse?”
“No, that’s Nurse Addison,” Guillermo clarifies. Then, he gently adds: “I work for Mount Desert Home Hospice, but I provide wraparound palliative care. I’m here to make Joseph and you girls as comfortable as possible through the end.”
The lumberjack lobster fisherman appears out of nowhere again and extends a beefy hand toward Rosemary. “I’m Nurse Addison,” he says in that same gruff, romance hero kind of way. “I’ll come by three times a day to check on our patient.” Then Nurse Addisonwinksat Joe as he reaches for a tablet to record Joe’s vitals.
Joeblushes. Not dead yet, then.
Rosemary squeezes his hand tighter. “And how often do you come by?” she asks Guillermo.
“Always,” he answers. “Any time you need me. I can stay overnight so you girls can sleep if you want. Or I can take the day shift with him. I live ten minutes away, so I can be here whenever youneed me. I’m here to take care of you, so you can take care of him. Being a caretaker is so very hard.”
