Chapter 32
Luna
“In the darkest of night, a single flicker of inner light can guide you to the dawn.”
—Eloisa Hobby
For the first time since she lost her husband, Luna wished for Herc. If the man excelled at anything, it was emergency medicine.
She paced the emergency department waiting room. The doctor and nurses had asked her to leave the room so they could prep Artie for surgery.
For over two harrowing hours, the search and rescue team had worked to extract her tough daughter from the dark chasm. Finally, they extracted her and airlifted Artie to Everly General Hospital.
The instant Artie fell, her screams echoing from the crevice, Luna had dropped to her knees in utter agony and shouted desperately into the void. “Artie! Baby, can you hear me? It’s Mom! Talk to me!”
Luna’s brain was short-circuiting with a million horrible scenarios. Had she just watched her daughter fall to her death? How could she bear it? She brought her knees to her chest and rocked on her tailbone, chanting a one-word mantra.
Please.
Paul approached her, fear in his eyes, but she waved him away and growled, “Go back to your daughter.”
Drawing a line. Yours and mine.
She was typically more sympathetic, but the situation was too overwhelming for her to avoid being harsh. If her baby was alive down in the deep, dark hole, Artie needed for her to hold it together. If Paul were to wrap comforting arms around her, she would disintegrate.
“Artie! Answer me if you can!” Luna strained to make out the faint reply that drifted up.
“M-Mom! I’m okay.”
Although her daughter sounded weak, it sent waves of relief rippling through Luna. Artie was alive!
“But my leg. It hurts really bad!” Pain and fear quivered Artie’s voice. “I can’t move it. I . . . I think it’s broken.”
“Try not to move. Stay right where you are.”
“There’s nowhere to go.”
“Just hang on, sweetie. Help is coming! The rescue team is on the way. You’re going to be okay!”
Luna kept shouting encouragement, doing her best to comfort Artie throughout the long, excruciating wait. She told her daughter brave stories of rescues she heard about, making light jokes, anything she could think of to keep her daughter’s spirits up.
After a while, Artie fell silent.
“You still there?” Luna asked.
“I’m here, Mom. Just tired. I need to rest.”
It occurred to her then that Artie might have a concussion. She needed to stay awake. “Honey, you can’t go to sleep. Stay awake, okay?”
“I’m trying.”
“You’re being so brave right now, sweetie. Do you remember when you climbed the big oak tree in our backyard when you were little? How proud of yourself you were when you reached the top?”
“Yeah.”
“But then you were scared to come down? I told you to take it slow, branch by branch. Despite being eight years old, you made it down all by yourself.”
“I miss our house.”
“I do too, honey, but it’s just a place to live. Home is in your heart. And we’re each other’s home. Along with Gran. Wherever we are together, it’s home. A house doesn’t matter.”
“What about Paul?”
“Don’t worry about him. You hang on. We’re gonna get you out of there.”
“I want to be brave . . .” Artie trailed off.
“You’ve always been my tough girl. Just think about how we’ll celebrate when you’re safe. Your favorite ice cream, a movie marathon, anything you want!” Luna kept up the one-sided conversation, refusing to let her daughter feel alone down there. Artie called back periodically, her voice growing weaker.
Luna clung fiercely to the sound, letting it anchor her sanity amid the unbearable waiting. Jeanie approached her twice, but she waved off her mother’s offers of water and blankets, her eyes locked on the crevice. Comfort did not exist for her now. Getting Artie out was her only priority.
Then Jeanie softly touched Luna’s shoulder, and she instinctively recoiled. “Please, just go wait with the others, Mother.” She didn’t want to hurt Jeanie’s feelings, but she simply couldn’t tolerate anyone trying to make her feel better.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Paul watching her with empathetic eyes. He raised a hand and gave a sad smile. She knew he was only trying to help, but his presence made her feel crowded, almost claustrophobic, and she turned away from him. He was the one who’d convinced her to let Artie go rock climbing. She wasn’t blaming him. No, she blamed herself for not listening to her gut, for letting down her guard.
For trusting him.
She knew better, and yet she’d listened to him, anyway. Damn her hide for believing in happily ever after. She’d known all along it was a stupid dream and she’d allowed herself to become enchanted by Paul and this whimsical island.
Why had she been so willing to abandon the defense mechanism that had kept her safe for forty years?
When the rescue team arrived via chopper, adrenaline coursed through Luna’s veins as they rappelled down to get Artie. She wanted to jump into the crevice with them, to be with her child and comfort her.
But the rescuers told her to get out of their way, and they would handle it. Part of her thrilled to their authority, that someone in charge would take care of things, while another part of her, which found it almost impossible to trust, questioned their every move.
During the extraction process, Luna could do nothing but agonize over her daughter’s terror and pain, feeling utterly helpless.
Finally, the team emerged with Artie strapped onto the litter, and Luna wept. Seeing her daughter’s ashen face and the awkward angle of her leg, she knew Artie’s ordeal was far from over. The rescue team allowed Luna to go on the helicopter with them and she held Artie’s hand the entire way, repeatedly whispering words of love to her.
Now Artie was knocked out, loaded up with morphine, and prepped for emergency surgery to repair the leg that was fractured in three places.
Luna paced the corridor, arms wrapped around herself, chilled to the bone with worry. She wore yesterday’s clothes and she smelled of Trouble Ridge and fear.
Then Paul walked through the pneumatic doors.
At the sight of him, her heart leaped, and her first instinct was to throw herself into his arms, but she held back. She wouldn’t depend on him. Couldn’t allow it.
He came closer, his mouth twitching. He looked as if he wanted to say something but suppressed the urge. Questions hung in his eyes, but he said nothing.
“She’s going to be okay,” Luna said.
He exhaled audibly and the lines of concern etching his handsome face eased. “That’s great news.”
“She’s got a compound fracture of her right leg, but they can repair it. Nothing else appears to be wrong beyond some scrapes and bruises.”
“Thank god.”
“They’re prepping her for surgery right now.”
“Orion wanted to come with me, but I told her to wait until Artie’s feeling better. She did have me swing by the souvenir shop in Crafters’ Corner to pick these up for Artie before we took the ferry over.”
From his pocket, he pulled out a pair of new gripper socks in Artie’s favorite color, black, and handed them to Luna. She examined the package. In white lettering, the grippy material spelled out RIGHT on both socks.
“I don’t get it.” She raised her head and met his gaze.
“So Wicked Martha won’t steal her left sock.”
“This was sweet of her. I’m so glad Orion was there when it happened, and Artie wasn’t all alone.” Of course, Artie would never have been there in the first place without her partner in crime, but Luna wouldn’t say that. She didn’t blame Orion.
“Orion feels terrible.”
“It’s not her fault.”
“That’s what I told her.”
“Where is she now?”
“Her grandparents who live in Everly met us at the landing. She’s spending the night with them, so I can be here with you.”
“No.” Luna shook her head, hugged herself again while holding the socks in her fist, and stepped back from him.
“No?”
“You can’t be here.”
“Is there a rule?” He studied her as if she were a time bomb that he expected would explode at any moment.
“Yes, my rule.” Her knees wobbled, and she lifted her chin to bolster her resolve.
All expression left his face, and Paul inclined his head toward a row of chairs. “Do you want to sit?”
She nodded, even though she wanted him to leave. She hated that she couldn’t just tell him to go.
He escorted her to the seating area. “Coffee?”
She stomach ached, but the caffeine would help her stay alert throughout this ordeal. “Uh-huh.”
He wandered to the coffee station and came back with two paper cups of steaming coffee. He’d made hers just the way she liked it—two sugars, one cream. His thoughtfulness stirred her wretchedness over what she must do.
Paul sat on the edge of his chair and angled his body toward hers. She could tell he wanted to touch her but didn’t.
She was glad. Her courage to speak her mind would be lost if he touched her.
His gaze searched her face, waiting, as if he already knew somehow.
Luna crossed her legs and took a sip of hot coffee, steeling herself. She could not meet his kind eyes.
“I’m glad Artie will be okay. She’s tough.” Paul’s patient voice jarred her. “Like her mom.”
Luna gave a jerky nod, her throat constricting. Every scrap of her focus was needed to resist her pull toward him. She concentrated on the muted TV on the wall tuned to the news. Headlines scrolled about the latest political scandal.
“Thank you for coming to the hospital. You didn’t need to do that.” There was a tremor in her hands. She desperately hoped he wouldn’t notice. She rested the socks in her lap, heard the plastic crinkle.
“Of course.” He leaned forward, and she caught a whiff of his outdoorsy, windblown scent.
A heavy silence fell between them. A woman crying in the corner dabbed her eyes. The man beside her spoke into his phone. They both looked exhausted. The couple had Luna’s sympathy.
Paul said nothing more. Sensing the tempest behind her stillness?
At last she forced herself to speak what was on her mind. “I can’t do this. I thought we . . . no, I was wrong. This was a mistake.”
There. She said it. Luna felt no relief, just weary regret at causing him pain yet again. But she had made up her mind as she rocked on that precipice, waiting for the rescue team to bring her daughter out of the crevice.
She would break things off with Paul.
Paul let out an audible exhale. He set his coffee cup on the table. She clutched her own cup, terrified he would try to take her hand. If he touched her, she was toast.
When he finally spoke, his voice held no accusation, only patient concern. “What is a mistake?”
“You. Me. Us. It was too much, too soon.”
“Moonbeam—”
“No, don’t call me that.” She felt emotion clog her throat.
“Okay.” His eyes were shiny. “But I think this is just fear talking.”
“It might be, but my fear is warranted.”
“You’ve been through so much, Luna. You’ve been emotionally alone much of your life, but you don’t have to do this by yourself. There are people who love you and want to help. I—”
“No,” she said, heading him off at the pass, shutting him down before he told her he loved her.
“You’ve been so brave and strong, carrying the world on your shoulders for so long, and if you let me, I’d like to help shoulder your burdens.”
She shook her head. Meeting his eyes at last, she willed him to understand. To make this easier for them both, and just let her go.
“It was foolish to think we could recapture the past. I’m not the girl you knew back then. Too much has changed.” She forced steadiness into her voice.
“Luna . . .”
“We followed a lovely fantasy these past weeks, and we found the closure we needed, but it’s time I put my child first again.”
Paul leaned forward, compassion emanating from his eyes. “You can do that. I’ll support you however you need.”
“Good. I need you to back off.”
“For how long?”
“Why, forever.”
He looked shocked to the depths of his being. “You don’t mean that.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. She would not cry. “I’ve been foolish. Rash. You convinced me to drop my guard, to believe that there was hope. That I could finally find peace. I wanted that so much I went against everything I knew to be true. That the world is a dangerous place.”
“That belief is all the more reason why you need people you can trust.” He stared at her as if she was speaking total nonsense. “Shutting me out will only deepen your wounds. Healing takes openness, Luna. And courage. When you withdraw, it keeps you shut down. If it’s because I didn’t tell you about working security on the island, I had my reasons for staying silent. Reasons I can’t yet share. You have to trust me that I have your best interests at heart.”
Something in his words pierced her armor, threatening to breach the walls she had rebuilt. This was always his gift—seeing past the barricades to her core. She nearly wavered but sitting here in the emergency waiting area reminded her of the price she’d paid for letting pipe dreams distract her.
Luna looked away, retreating into her doggedness. “My mind is set, Paul. I can only say that I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you, and I hope you’ll honor my wishes.”
The finality of her last words sounded cruel in this stark environment, already filled with so much hurt and pain.
He put his hand on her wrist. “Luna, give this some time. You’re suffering and not thinking straight.”
Every instinct screamed for her to turn into his warmth and let the pretense fall away. But if she let the boulder she carried roll loose, who then would she be? She pulled away, avoiding his pained expression.
“What do I tell Orion?”
“Thank her for being Artie’s friend.”
“No, what do I tell her about us?”
“Tell her life got in our way.”
A side door leading into the hallway between the emergency department and the surgical suites opened, and the doctor, dressed in scrubs, surgical cap, and booties, appeared. “Mrs. Boudreaux?”
Saved by the surgeon.
“Yes.” She moved toward the doctor.
“We’ve got your daughter in preop holding if you want to see her one last time before she goes under. She’s pretty groggy from the morphine, but she can still hear you.”
“Yes, yes.” Gripping the socks in her hand, she hoisted her purse higher on her shoulder. “Take me to her.”
Her steps felt impossibly heavy crossing the tiled floor. Reaching the door, she dared to look back, and immediately regretted it.
Paul stood alone in the middle of the waiting room, hands in his pockets, shoulders curved in defeat.
Their eyes met across the short distance.
A hundred unspoken words exchanged in silence, but her choice was made. She would do what was needed—straighten her spine, dry her tears, and carry on for her child. Even if it meant locking up her heart forever.
She tore her gaze from his and followed the surgeon.
* * *
Ten minutes later, Luna moved to the surgical waiting area. Artie had been so groggy, she didn’t even rouse when Luna kissed her forehead and told her she loved her.
The attendants rolled Artie away and Luna was left alone.
There was no one else in the surgical waiting area either. Just rows of empty chairs and stale coffee smells lingering in the air. Luna sank onto one of the seats, feeling the heavy weight of exhaustion now that the adrenaline drained away.
She shifted, trying to get comfortable, but comfort eluded her. The chair’s rigid edges dug into her back. The four walls felt like a cell. In the past, she would’ve welcomed this aloneness, sought it even. When the world hurt too much, she retreated deep within herself for safety.
But something inside her had shifted these past weeks with Paul. She had let down her guard, allowed true joy back into her heart. And though it terrified her, part of her mourned the loss of that refuge she’d found with him.
Still, she was reluctant to venture out to the rest of the hospital in search of food. Here, at least, she could break down in private. Plus, what if something happened in surgery and they needed her immediately?
Luna wrapped her arms tightly around herself, as if holding her body together physically would keep her from emotional collapse. Her knees bounced and hands trembled. Interlacing her fingers, she clutched her hands to her heart. The ticking clock on the wall pounded in her ears like an ominous heartbeat.
She thought of Paul again, the man encroaching into her mind when she should be one hundred percent focused on Artie.
“You did the right thing,” she told herself, even as doubts needled in. She wished she had someone to talk to, someone who would just listen without judgment, but she’d pushed everyone away.
The empty waiting room seemed to echo with everything she tried not to feel—fear, grief, regret. She needed noise to drown out the thoughts shouting in her head. Luna escaped to the restroom and splashed cool water on her face. The person staring back from the mirror looked hollow, haunted.
She went back to the waiting room and sank into a chair, clasping the socks Orion had bought for Artie to her chest, and finally she let the tears fall. She didn’t care who saw. Sobs racked her body as she hunched inward. She thought about young Luna, shy and sensitive, finding solace in books and her artwork. She could see now that retreating from the world had never been the answer. Even animals stayed with their pack for safety. Withdrawal only led to more isolation and grief.
Footsteps approached, but Luna didn’t look up, too lost in sadness. A gentle hand rested on her shoulder.
“Oh, sweetheart . . .”
Luna’s breath caught. She looked up into her mother’s compassionate face. Jeanie sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, saying nothing more.
The dam broke. Luna collapsed into her embrace. “Mom . . . I . . .”
“Shhh, just let it out,” Jeanie soothed and patted her back.
When her tears subsided, Luna realized they were not alone. Dot, Clare, Vivian, and Eloisa stood nearby, concern radiating from their kind faces.
“We didn’t want to disturb you,” Dot said. “We just wanted to offer our sympathies.”
“And to let you know we care,” said Vivian.
“And to bring you snacks and a change of clothes,” Clare added.
“Thank you all so much.” Luna gave them a quivering smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Of course we did, dear,” said Eloisa. “We stick together through thick and thin. That’s the Hobby Island way.”
“You’re part of our community now,” Clare said. “And you always will be.”
Their enduring compassion opened Luna’s heart and eased some long-forgotten ache she hadn’t realized was still there—the need to belong. She’d never had a community before and thought she hadn’t needed it, but now she saw the value in belonging and understood what she’d missed by insisting on going it alone.
The women sat beside her and soon they took out quilting projects, their needles gliding in soothing, rhythmic stitches. They talked, smiled, and doled out the food they’d brought, offering Luna the best kind of support—comradery.
And there, in the comfort of her loving friends, Luna felt her body relax in connection with these women.
While dreadful things did happen, living in a state of constant alert wasn’t the answer. Hypervigilance had stolen her joy and robbed her of closeness with others. She could either stay guarded and alone or open herself to people and trust that everything would be all right.
The startling realization told her how wrong she’d been to turn Paul away. Once Artie was better, she’d reach out to him and hope that he could understand her turmoil and forgive her. But for now, Artie was her sole priority.