Chapter 38
“Oh, look at this!”
Simeon let Abigail pull him toward yet another stall in the market. They’d spent hours at the hospital with Linda last night, before she’d insisted they go back to the house. Abigail had gone upstairs to tuck Mariana in and then never come back down. When Simeon had finally gone up to check on them, he’d found Abigail sprawled on Mariana’s bed, her arm wrapped protectively around the little girl. Simeon’s heart had both rejoiced and broken at the image.
Mariana’s parents had come this morning, and they’d all gone over to the hospital together. Pastor Mateo was doing much better—so well, in fact, that he’d refused to let Simeon and Abigail spend their last full day in Ecuador at the hospital.
When Abigail had protested, the pastor had taken her hand in his. “God put you in the right place at the right time to save my life,” he’d said. “Now he’s giving you the opportunity to spend your last day in our beautiful city with your husband. Please take it.”
As they’d walked out of the hospital hand in hand, Abigail had turned to Simeon. “Do you think God really brought us here so I could save Pastor Mateo’s life?”
“I think,” Simeon had said, “God’s ways are so much higher than our ways, his plans so beyond our searching out, that we can’t begin to fathom them. But yes, I do think he put you in the right place at the right time to save Pastor Mateo’s life. It’s no coincidence that we happened to be here right when he needed you—or that you knew what to do.”
Though he still couldn’t figure out how she’d known. She’d never taken a first aid class, to his knowledge. But the way she’d responded instantly and instinctively—it had to have been procedural memory. But procedural memory of what? From when?
“Are you coming?” Abigail’s voice pulled Simeon out of the questions swimming laps in his head.
She had moved to a table a few steps away, and Simeon joined her just as she reached for a glass dolphin.
“Be careful.” The words came out unintentionally, and Abigail froze, her fingers inches from the figure.
“What did you say?” She gave him an odd look.
“Sorry.” Simeon offered an apologetic smile. That was how he’d gotten in trouble the first time he’d met her too. “I didn’t mean—”
“No.” Abigail seemed to shake herself. “I just got this feeling . . .”
Now it was Simeon’s turn to freeze. “What kind of feeling?”
“Nothing.” Abigail pulled her hand away from the dolphin. “I’ve just been getting these déjà vu feelings sometimes.”
Simeon blinked at her. “You have? Why haven’t you said anything?”
She shrugged. “I figured they didn’t mean anything. I had the same feeling about my book, right?”
“Abigail.” Simeon reached past her to pick up the figurine. “It was a dolphin,” he said slowly. “The first time we met, you were reaching for a dolphin a lot like this one, and I told you not to touch it.”
Instead of reflecting the growing excitement he felt at what this meant, Abigail frowned, crossing her arms in front of her. “So how am I supposed to know what’s a real memory and what’s not?”
Simeon set the dolphin down and slid his hands up and down her arms, waiting for her to meet his eyes. “You ask me.”
Slowly Abigail nodded. “I can do that.”
“Good.” Simeon pulled her into a kiss that earned them a few whistles from the crowds bustling around them.
“Come on.” He swept the dolphin off the table.
“What are you doing?”
“Buying you an anniversary present.” He bit his tongue. He hadn’t meant to tell her what today was. He didn’t want her to feel any sort of pressure based on the date. He tugged her toward the vendors, hoping maybe she hadn’t noticed.
But her feet didn’t move.
“It’s our anniversary?” She looked stricken. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t get you— I didn’t realize.”
“I know you didn’t.” He tugged her gently until she stepped into the curve of his arm. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Why not?”
He kissed her head. “Because this day is perfect just the way it is. Now come on. Let’s buy the dolphin and then get some espumilla.” They’d eaten so much of the meringue dessert served in a waffle cone over the past week and a half—but there was always room for more.
Twenty minutes later, with their dolphin wrapped up and their espumillas in hand, Simeon steered them down a side street.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” The farther they went, the fewer people there were on the streets.
“Are we lost?” Abigail asked after fifteen minutes. But she didn’t sound worried. Instead, she sounded completely content.
“Nope. We’re here.” He pulled her into a small courtyard between buildings. A simple round fountain bubbled in the middle of the space, its splashes creating the perfect musical backdrop.
“Wow. This is beautiful.” Abigail let go of his hand and moved to the fountain, trailing her fingers in the water.
“We found it on accident one night when we were wandering around the town.” Simeon watched her, trying to tell if she was getting that déjà vu feeling again. Of all the places in the city, this was the one he most wanted her to remember. It was where he’d first told her he loved her. But there was no sign of recognition on her face.
Simeon quashed his disappointment. She didn’t have to remember.
They could create a new perfect memory. He strode to her side and caught her in his arms.
“Oh.” She gasped and then his lips were on hers. Her arms slid around his neck, and he kissed her like he might never get another chance to kiss her again.
When the kiss finally ended, they stood forehead to forehead, their breath coming in short gasps.
“What was that for?” Abigail asked with a shaky laugh.
“I love you, Abigail.” The words tumbled out before he could remind himself not to say them. “I know I’m not supposed to say that right now, but I need you to know. I love you with everything in me. And I’m not talking about the old you or past Abigail or however you think about yourself before the accident. I’m talking about you you.”
Abigail made a sound that may have been the word “oh,” or it may have been only a breath.
“I’m not asking you to say it back to me,” Simeon whispered. “I just need you to know. Nothing has changed, except that I love you even more now than the first time we came here.”
Abigail nodded, and Simeon pulled her tight to him for a hug.
“Come on.” He kissed her temple. “Let’s go check on Pastor Mateo.”
Why hadn’t she told him she loved him?
Abigail lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, jumping as a sudden flash of lightning illuminated the room, accompanied by a sharp crack of thunder that echoed off the mountains.
She pulled the blankets tighter to herself, her stomach swirling.
She did love him. She knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. But after he’d made that beautiful proclamation of his love—not to mention kissed her in a way that left no uncertainty—she still hadn’t been able to say it back to him.
She’d had plenty of opportunities.
At the fountain.
On the way to check on Pastor Mateo.
As they’d packed.
And yet she’d remained silent.
She heard the bathroom door open, and her heart quickened. She could tell him now.
The bedroom door opened quietly, and Simeon tiptoed in. She waited until the creaking of the air mattress stopped.
“Simeon?” she whispered.
“I thought you were asleep,” he whispered back.
“No.” A series of flashes lit the room as thunder shook the house. Abigail let out a small, involuntary scream.
Across the room, Simeon chuckled.
“Are you laughing at me?” Abigail tried to sound indignant, but it was hard when she felt so foolish.
“No.” Simeon’s chuckles still rumbled. “Maybe. But only because a month after we got married, I was woken from a dead sleep in the middle of the night by a body landing on top of me. That was how I learned you were afraid of storms.”
“You’re making that up,” Abigail accused, though she was laughing at the image he painted.
“I promise you I’m not.” Simeon’s laugh grew. “I thought we were under attack or the ceiling was falling or something.”
Thunder shook the house again, and a torrent of rain unleashed against the window.
Abigail tucked herself under the blanket. “So I’ve always been afraid of storms?”
“Yeah. You have. I learned to hold you whenever it stormed at night—both to comfort you and to ensure my own safety.” Simeon’s laughter had petered out, and he sounded wistful.
“Will you—” Abigail swallowed roughly, her heart thundering louder than the storm. “Will you hold me now?”
A sharp exhale came from Simeon’s direction, followed by a series of creaks from the air mattress. His footsteps crossed the floor, and then he was peeling back the blankets.
Abigail rolled away to make room for him, holding her breath as the mattress rocked with the solidness of his form. And then his arms came around her, pulling her back tight to his chest, and she let out a breath.
Thunder rattled the windows. But she had never felt safer.
“Simeon?”
“Hmm.” He nuzzled his face into her hair.
“Did we ever talk about having kids?” The question had been rolling around her head all week during VBS.
The room flashed with bright blue light, and a loud roll of thunder echoed around the space. Simeon tightened his arms around her but didn’t say anything.
“Simeon?” she finally asked.
“Yeah,” he answered, his voice so low that the rain pelting the window nearly drowned it out. “We talked about it.”
“Oh.” Abigail waited, but when he didn’t add anything else, she asked, “What did we decide?”
She told herself that the answer didn’t matter. Just because she’d started to think she may want to be a mom someday didn’t mean she’d be good at it anyway.
Simeon let out a long breath that lifted her hair off her neck. He loosened his hold on her enough to find her hand and take it in his. “We decided to try.” His voice was hoarse. “Two years ago.”
“Two years ago?” Abigail was no mathematician, but surely they should have a baby by now, if that was the case. Unless . . .
“Are we unable to . . .”
His sigh was weighted, and it made her heart ache for him. What had he been through that she didn’t remember?
“It took a few months,” he said at last, “but you got pregnant.”
“I did?” She let go of his hand to roll over and face him. None of this was making sense.
“We lost the baby, sweetie.” In the dark, Simeon’s eyes shone with sorrow. “At about two months.”
“Oh.” Abigail swallowed hard against the sudden ache in her own throat. “And we never . . .”
“We did,” Simeon whispered. “Two more times. We lost them both too.”
Abigail pressed a hand to her stomach, nausea overtaking her. “Did I do something wrong? Did I—”
Simeon pulled her tight to him, crushing her arm between their ribs. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said into her hair. “Not a single thing. It just happened. I need you to know that, okay?”
She nodded against his chest, but tears cascaded from her face onto his shirt.
He held her tighter as the tears erupted into a sob.
“It’s okay.” He slid his hand up and down her back. “It’s okay.” But she felt him shudder too and she wrapped her arms around his back, holding him tight.
She couldn’t understand it—where these tears were coming from. How could she grieve for babies she didn’t even remember conceiving, let alone losing?
And yet, something deep within her ached for what could have been.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she whispered into Simeon’s chest.
She wasn’t sure he heard her at first, but then he slid a hand over her cheek, wiping away the tears. “It was so hard to go through the first time. I thought I could protect you from reliving it.”
“And just carry that burden yourself forever?”
He shrugged. “For you, yes, I would carry any burden.”
“Well.” Abigail reached up to touch his cheek. “Maybe we should share the burden.”
“Maybe we should.” He brought his lips to hers in a feather-light kiss.
“Simeon?” She ran a hand over his stubble-roughened cheeks. “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“I love you.”
Simeon let out a choked breath. And then his lips were on hers again.
When he pulled away, he tucked her against his chest and stroked her hair. She listened to his heart beating over the sounds of the storm and let herself fall asleep in his arms.