Panicked and terrified, I scramble toward them and fall to my knees right by Mel’s head. I first check her pulse, which is steady, then her breathing, which is also steady. Her skin is chilled, but she’s not in physical danger. I move to Royal next and crawl up to her head. She, too, has a steady pulse and is breathing normally. Hennessey arrives in time to check on Claire and Monica. Jack and Capriotti emerge from the water a minute later, and the chopper disappears in the direction of the air strip.
Capriotti is barely out of the water by the time the fire truck and ambulance arrive. I crouch down back by Mel and place her head in my lap. I make sure her neck and back aren’t injured before doing so. All signs point to some kind of chemically-induced nap they’re all in. None of them have any injuries, with the exception of the words written on their bodies. I could throw up right now if it wouldn’t fuck with the crime scene. Right above Mel’s heart, written with what looks to be a Sharpie, is ENVY. Royal’s dress blues have been ripped open, exposing her bra with GLUTTONY written above her heart. From a preliminary inspection, we don’t find anything written on Monica or Claire. After the roses were sent to the firehouse and the bomb scare we figured out what acedia means. It’s a historical sin—not really one of the seven deadly sins—but rooted in the same ideal. Its sin is apathy. I haven’t shared that with Mel, because I don’t know each sin is supposed to mean for us.
The EMTs—eight in total—arrive in two-person teams from four different ambulances. Shit, when Montauk finally got their act together, they really showed up. They trudge through the sand and inspect each woman thoroughly before moving them. I give them the little bit of information I have regarding their physical conditions. I follow the stretcher Mel’s on and demand to ride with her. The fire crew has contained the fire and almost has it put out now. My steps falter as I read the words spray-painted on the untouched side of the house.
WHAT’S MINE IS YOURS.
My hand is sweaty, so sweaty that I keep having to dry it off on the scrubs the nurse gave me to wear. Mom and Dad will be here soon, but for now, I don’t have any dry clothes. When I wipe my hand dry, I’m careful to replace it with the other one. I don’t want my girl to wake up and not have my touch.
Chris walks in the room with his eyes on his daughter. He comes to stand beside me and clasps a hand on my shoulder. He stands here for a long moment before clearing his throat quietly.
“Did you mean what you said, Jameson? About marrying my Mellie?”
“More than anything.”
“Then I think we need to talk,” he says and walks around Mel’s hospital bed to the empty chair on the other side. He doesn’t take his eyes off of her slumbering frame as he speaks. “I need to apologize to you, son. Did you know I grew up in Hell’s Kitchen? I was raised by my single mother and grandmother. Both abandoned by their husbands before their kids were old enough to know what it means to have a dad. So, sometimes I make the wrong move.”
I listen to him, not totally sure where this is going. I have a hunch, but I’m hoping I’m wrong.
“I spent all of Mellie and Claire’s childhood working to give them better than what I had. I like to share the fruits of my labor, but I should have known that would make you uncomfortable. I understand pride and the value of working for what you have.”
“It doesn’t even matter now,” I mutter and give Mel’s hand a light squeeze. She’s here and she’s alive, so it doesn’t matter.
“Not today it doesn’t, but it will tomorrow. It will matter at the wedding—if she’s smart and agrees to marry the man who jumps out of helicopters for her—and it will matter if you have kids.”
I smirk. His jaw locks and he shakes his head.
“Be kind, son. I’m not quite ready to be a grandpa just yet,” he says. He takes his eyes off his daughter and redirects them to me. “Let’s start small. There’s a few availabilities in our building—small apartments without a view but not too expensive—that I think could work. Mellie’s already mentioned moving out and I don’t want her running around the city with that sick bastard on the loose.”
“Neither do I,” I say.
“So don’t argue when I say that the apartment is my gift to the two of you—for one year’s time. Roy’s in agreement, if that means anything.”
I think it over for a long time while he waits for an answer. I want Mel safe and I want her with me. So I nod my head and don’t argue. I’ll take this gift because it keeps my girl safe. I won’t let my pride get in the way of that. Chris nods and leaves the room once his cellphone starts ringing and I’m left alone with Lulu once again.