She listened to this stranger’s empty condolences, numb with grief. I’m very sorry. It was sudden and quick. I can assure you, he felt little to no pain.
Really? How could Dr. Whoever know that? Did Bertie die with a big grin on his face? Were his last words, “Hey, you know what? This isn’t half bad.”? She clamped her jaws around the retort and reined in her temper with effort. Blasting this poor doctor or nurse or clerk or whoever she was for having to deliver the news to her would help no one.
“Can I see him?” she asked instead.
With a solemn nod, the woman led her past the emergency area and into a private room where the shell of Albert “Bertie” Wallace lay, growing colder and more ashen as time elapsed.
He was gone.
She didn’t have to touch him to know that the dynamo in perpetual motion, the bear of a man who had bolstered her through some of her darkest days, no longer existed in this realm. She bent to place her head against his chest. The heartbeat that used to thrum like a lullaby made no sound. She lifted his hand to kiss it and stifled a shiver at the waxy cold feel of his flesh against her lips.
An anguished cry ripped from her soul. “Oh, Bertie! What will I do without you?”
The woman cleared her throat and dragged a heavy cushioned chair closer to the bedside. “I’ll give you some time.”
She walked away, closing the door behind her as she left.
God knew how long Cameron sat alone inside this barren room, weeping softly and recalling all the moments she’d shared with Bertie, good and bad. Had she told him she loved him the last time they’d spoken? She couldn’t remember.
“I love you,” she said now. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” She repeated the same three words until her throat ached and a white-haired nurse arrived to escort her from the room.
“We’ll take care of him now,” she murmured, patting Cam’s hand.
Cameron struggled to get up out of the chair, her gaze never leaving her fallen hero.
“Go on,” the nurse prompted. “I promise. He’s in good hands. He’s with the angels now.”
A smile quirked Cam’s tight lips. Bertie, the atheist, would probably love to hear this news.
“There now, see. I bet you hadn’t thought of that. Gives you some peace, don’t it?”
More like a fit of the giggles, but she left the room nonetheless, and nearly tripped over Jordan hovering in the hallway.
“Cam?”
She didn’t have to say a word. Good thing, since she couldn’t say it aloud yet. Saying it aloud would confirm the finality in her heart, and she wasn’t ready.
“Aw, Cam, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Blinded by tears, she stumbled toward the nearby waiting area and collapsed into the same hard plastic chair she’d sat in a lifetime ago—Bertie’s lifetime ago. Jordan rolled up beside her, took her icy hand in his warmer one, and squeezed gently. The floodgates on Cam’s emotions broke open, and she wept.
“I was too late. I never even got to say goodbye. He was gone before I got here—before he got here. I didn’t have a chance to tell him how much I loved him, how much he meant to me. He died not knowing he was my hero.”
“He knew, sweetheart. He always knew. Just like you’ve always known how much he loved you. You two had a special bond. That didn’t change when he died.”
She looked up at him, noted the tenderness in his expression—not pity; he knew she couldn’t abide pity. Empathy and his own devastation at the news reflected in his steady gaze. Her lips parted of their own accord, and she leaned toward him, hungry for the connection they once shared. Hungry for life. He understood her need and met her halfway, his breath growing warmer near her cheek.
Into this soft and touching moment, her stomach made itself known with a growl that would shame a grizzly.
He jerked back. “When’s the last time you ate?”
Cheeks flaming, she shook her head. “I don’t remember. Sometime yesterday.”
He gave her hand another squeeze. “Well, you’re going to need lots of protein to keep up your strength for all that’s coming. I assume Larry’s waiting downstairs?” At her nod, he whipped out his phone. “Are all the extensions for the driving service still the same?” Another nod, and he scrolled with a finger.
If she’d had full control of her senses, she would’ve asked why he continued to have the contact information for the foundation’s car service in his phone after all these years, but right now, the only thought in her mind was gratitude that someone else took care of the detritus of banal living while she stayed numb, cocooned in grief.
“Larry, it’s Jordan Fawcett.” Pause. “Same here.” Another pause. “I’m afraid the news isn’t good, but it’s not my place to say. Ms. Delgado and I are on our way down. Take her home, bring her around the back. I’m not sure if the press has the news in their nostrils yet, but just in case, let’s not push her into a melee. I’ll follow you to her place and get her comfortable. If luck’s on our side, she can be safe upstairs before the news gets out. While I’m taking care of her, would you mind driving over to the Grille Room and picking up a takeout order for us? I’ll place the order now, so you’ll have some time before it’ll be ready.” Pause. “Terrific. Thanks.”
The orders punctuated the dense fog in Cam’s head, but she couldn’t form a coherent thought on her own.
While she sat lost in her mourning tomb, he placed a second call to the Grille Room. He never asked for her opinion before he ordered two porterhouse steaks, a side of asparagus spears, two baked potatoes topped with sour cream and chives, and for dessert, a slice of chocolate ganache cake. He did, however,
