A Virgin River Christmas (Virgin River #4)(58)

Without warning, the new woman vanished. Suddenly she knew—it was a year ago today. Funny, she hadn’t thought of that even once while she was reading through all those letters—not even the one with the date of Bobby’s passing in it. December 17, a week before Christmas.

It had been a very odd experience. Once she’d known Bobby was gone, she stayed right where she was, holding him. She didn’t cry; she didn’t call for a nurse or aide. And while she held him she communicated with her heart, telling him to be happy where he was. It was at least an hour before anyone came into the room—a sixty-year-old nurse’s aide, bringing around linens for the morning shift. “You’re here late,” the woman said.

And Marcie was stroking Bobby’s cheek, running her fingers through his hair, holding him close. She didn’t respond. She knew once she let go of him this time, she wouldn’t be able to hold him again. Something about the way she was touching him must have tipped off the aide because she came over to the bed and put her fingers to Bobby’s neck. “Mrs. Sullivan,” she said gently.

“I know. I’m having a little trouble letting go…” Marcie murmured.

“I understand. I’ll call someone for you. That usually helps. Someone will come and—”

“Could you put that off for just a little while? Could you give me just a little more time with him?”

“I’ll finish my rounds with the linens and then I’ll have the charge nurse make a call. Would you like it to be to his parents? Or maybe to your sister?”

“Call his parents,” she said. “They should be the first to know. Then would you please call Erin?”

“Sure.” Then she smiled sweetly and gave Marcie’s brow a loving stroke. Surely she’d seen every bizarre reaction to death in this place. “Take your time here. Take all the time you need.”

And when the aide left the room, Marcie had picked up the book she’d been reading to Bobby and continued to read. She read aloud to him for almost another hour—his body had grown cool to the touch. He was so completely lifeless, it rather amazed her. She would have thought there wouldn’t be much change in him, in his body, since he was so still even when he was alive, but the change in him was remarkable. She had never sensed tension in him until he passed, and then a complete relaxation settled over his facial features and he looked positively beautiful. Ethereal. Complete peace took over. And then he became so quiet. Cool. Hard. Still. Gone.

Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan came into the room and rushed to her. They found her with Bobby in her arms, the book open on her lap. “Marcie? What are you doing?”

“I wasn’t ready to leave him,” she said softly, her voice clear, her eyes dry.

“She’s in shock,” Mrs. Sullivan said to her husband. “We should call the—”

“I’m not in shock,” Marcie said. Then she laughed lightly. “Good Lord, I’ve been expecting this for three years. But now it’s here, I know I won’t touch him again and I’m having a little trouble giving him up….”

The book was pulled out of her hands, she was drawn off the bed, to her feet, away from him. His parents kissed him goodbye and the sheet was pulled over him. Marcie went to him and pulled the sheet back. There was no reason to hide him—he looked as if he was asleep. She smoothed back his soft, dark hair.

“Marcie, the mortuary was called. They’ll be here soon.”

“I’m in no hurry,” she said. It wasn’t as though there were decisions to make—all the arrangements had been made a couple of years before. They’d take him away, he’d be cremated and there would be a memorial for him. But until they took him, wasn’t he still hers?

“He belongs to a higher authority now.” It was her sister’s voice. “You can let go of him without the slightest worry. He’s in good hands.”

“Did I say that out loud?” Marcie asked. “Did I?”

“Say what, sweetheart?”

“That until the funeral people came for him, he was still mine?”

“No, baby. You didn’t say anything. I could tell, that’s all.”

“I just want to be close to him until they come….”

“We can stay here, just like this, as long as you like. To hell with funeral people. They can wait.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, sitting again on the bed. She touched him, kissed his cheek and brow, whispered to him. Her in-laws thought she was losing it, but Erin held them off. Marcie heard Erin in the hall outside the room. “Cut her some slack. It’s a lot to give up. She’ll be fine.”

And when they came to take Bobby away, Marcie gave him one last kiss and let him go. Then she embraced her in-laws, told them she was sorry for their loss, and went home.

She felt tears on her cheeks, but she didn’t feel pain. Just that loneliness that sometimes plagued her. That sense of no longer being attached to Bobby, a feeling of having no purpose.





It was another hour before Ian came home. And when he walked in, she knew what had taken him so long. His hair and beard were dramatically sheared, clipped short and neatly trimmed. He had grocery sacks in his arms. He tried not to, but it was obvious, he was smiling. “Ian!”

“It’s me. You expecting someone else?”