Unseen Messages(161)

I dropped the string I shook so hard, wrapping the blackness around his forearm.

How tight should I pull?

How tight could he stand it before the limb starved of blood?

Is this going to work?

Tying a hasty knot, I ran my hands up his arm, hating the tingling heat beneath my fingertips. The ever-present fear hung itself around my throat as I shook him again. I craved the beauty of electric light to douse him in brightness and confront just how sick he was.

But we didn’t have that luxury; I’d even forgotten how brilliant such a device was. All I had access to was a burning fire or the silvery moon and both were outside.

We have to go.

“G, please...help me get you up.”

He flinched with annoyance. “Woman, just let me rest.”

“No. I need to look at you.”

“You can look at me here.”

“I can’t see in the dark.”

He groaned, clearly debating whether to yell at me or obey. Luckily, the gentleman in him was still in control and he struggled upright, letting me guide him to the fire pit.

Immediately, he slipped from standing to lying, stretching out by the comforting flames. “Just let me rest a little, okay, Stel?”

He hadn’t mentioned the tourniquet. He hadn’t opened his eyes fully.

His personal awareness was nil, focusing entirely on whatever he battled.

I couldn’t calm my clanging heart, no matter how much I told myself not to be stupid. Not to picture the worst. Not to imagine every awful conclusion that I’d been terrified of for years.

Resting on my knees, I stroked his burning forehead, drinking my tears. “Okay, G. Rest. I’ll watch over you.”

And watch over him, I did.

I didn’t move.

I didn’t sleep.

I hardly ate or drank.

I ignored my children.

I shut out the world.

I prayed for a miracle.

For three excruciatingly long days.

I watched over him, just as I said I would.

I fed him.

I bathed him.

I cried for him.

I pleaded with him.

But he didn’t get better.

He got worse.

And worse.

And...

worse.

.............................

“Stelly, you can’t keep doing this. You need to rest.”

I wafted Pippa away and her intolerable begging for me to eat. My stomach had stopped growling for food, my raging thirst had given up, and my heart had broken and bled out long ago.

Even Coconut couldn’t reach me in my grief.

Galloway wasn’t getting better.

His red finger had switched to a swollen arm. The tourniquet hadn’t worked, allowing devilish scarlet tendrils to chase up his skin and paint his flesh with infection and worry. Pus seeped from his fingernail where the splinter had poisoned him and he no longer needed the fire.

He was the fire.

His temperature raged until he mumbled in tongues, garbled nonsense, saw hallucinations. He spoke to Conner some hours, to his mother in others. He conversed with the dead as if they were living...as if he’d already joined them.

I’d tried everything.

I’d steeped his hand in hot, hot water. I’d crushed and applied the leaves Pippa had found helped with inflammation. I mashed coconut flesh and fish into a paste and washed it down his throat with rainwater.

I did everything I could, used everything at my disposal to break his fever and bring him back to me.

But nothing worked.

Finally, on the morning of the fourth day...mere hours from when he’d hurt himself, Galloway opened his eyes and wrenched my tortured heart from my xylophone-stark ribcage.

“I’m dying, Stel.”

I convulsed with the need to cry. I was desperate to cry. To find some avenue from the over-cooked pressure inside me.

But I couldn’t.

I billowed and swelled until I was tight and achy with tears. But I couldn’t let go. If I did, who would be there to catch me? Who would be there to drag Galloway back to life?

Wild, tangled hair slid over my shoulders as I shook my head. “No. No, you’re not. You’ll be fine.” I stroked his forehead, wiped the sweat from his cheekbones, and avoided looking at his blistering red arm. “You’re fine, see. You’re talking. That’s an improvement. You’re talking to me, G. You’re on the mend. See...you’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. I can’t tell you how much you’ll be fine.”

Stop saying fine.

I couldn’t.

“Please, G. Believe it. You’ll be fine. So, so fine.”

His smile crumpled my soul into dust. “Estelle, baby...stop.”

Baby.

He’d never called me baby. Never given me a nickname other than Stel or Stelly. Now, he called me baby. Right before he decided to leave me?

He’s not leaving me.

I won’t let him.

Anger replaced my tears. “Don’t baby me, G. You’re going to get better. You hear me. You’re not allowed to leave me.”

Pippa appeared from the house, holding Coconut with tears streaking down their faces.

They’d heard us.

They knew yet another soul would be gone soon. And then, it would just be us.

Three females.

Alone.

All masculine energy and bravery...gone.