86. Viola
Viola
Jacob laced his fingers with mine. “I can see why you’d worry, but why did you think I was… gone?” We sat side by side on the couch as he spoke. I leaned into his shoulder. Father and George had claimed the chairs flanking the fire. George was rumpled and unusually quiet.
“They found a body, under the wreckage, right where witnesses had seen you.” Father tapped his fingers on his chair. “Matched your description but, well, it was…”
Jacob shook his head. “There was another young man—the only other person who dared to help. And he…” His jaw pushed forward, the muscles clenching and releasing. “I’d hoped he jumped clear.”
I’d grieved for a stranger, but it could’ve been Jacob.
Jacob’s fingers tightened around mine to the point of pain, but I didn’t pull away. “It was terrible. Those poor people.” His voice became rough and uneven. “I should have done more. I wish…”
“Jacob,” Father said in his most resolute and commanding voice. “We found at least eleven people, including children, who are alive today because of you. You saved the ones who could be saved. We are all proud of you.”
Jacob tilted his face downward, and the tears that had been building finally slid free.
I rubbed his muscular forearm with my free hand as he struggled to regain control, a gentle caress of comfort I had learned from him.
Back and forth, again and again, until his muscles softened.
I would be haunted by the time I’d believed he was dead, and he would be haunted by the horror of the crash.
“I did come close to dying,” he said. “Pneumonia. A Good Samaritan, Mrs. Harrison, took me in and refused to give up on me. I was delirious with fever, or I would have sent word.”
Father said, “I’ll have the doctor come by in the morning to give you a thorough evaluation.
But now we all need some rest. Tomorrow is a big day.
” He rose and stopped next to Jacob. He placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled down with warmth and, I thought, respect.
When Jacob met his eyes, Father said, “Good to have you back with us. Good night.”
We trudged up the stairs, hand in hand, and paused in front of the table at the landing. George wished us a good night and left us alone in the hall.
Jacob turned to face me. He lifted my hand to his lips and said, “When I jumped free and lay on the ground, my only wish was to see you again so I could tell you something I should have said long ago. I’m sorry I made you wait.
I was afraid—of being vulnerable, of scaring you, of being rejected, of what it would mean for the future.
But none of that matters now, not after what I’ve been through. What we have been through. No regrets.”
He cupped my face. I strained to hear his low voice over the frantic shush-shushing of my heart in my ears. “Viola, I love you.”
Before I made a sound, his mouth met mine with a kiss that forged us together. There was no going back. He pulled away, and I wobbled, breathless and overwhelmed.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he covered my lips with his finger, grinning down at me. “Good night, Viola, my love.”
I stared after his retreating form as he ambled down the hall with one arm pressed to his right side. He paused with his hand on the door and glanced back at me. The gleam of his teeth caught the light as he smiled in the dim hall until he covered his mouth with a hand and blew me a kiss.
I reached up to pluck it from the air, my cheeks tight and eyes squinted to narrow slits with what was likely the goofiest grin ever seen on this side of the Mississippi. I could not get it off my face and did not want to.
Jacob was alive.
And so was I.