You can’t pace on an airplane for very long before you start making people nervous, so I sat in my pod and I didn’t watch the movie but I did watch the movie that was playing on the inside of my eyelids. Simon, the first time I saw him. Half naked, covered only in a sheet, standing on the other side of his front door, annoyed that I’d been banging on his door, but not so annoyed that he didn’t check out my legs peeking out from beneath that pink nightie. Simon, the first time I kissed him. Standing on Jillian’s terrace under the moonlight with the waves crashing and the crickets cricketing and my hands full of his stupid awesome-smelling sweater and my lips full of his. Simon, the first time he made love to me. In the most beautiful bed in the most beautiful bedroom in the most beautiful house in Spain, where he held himself above me, shaking with need as he moved inside of me. Simon, the first time he fucked me. Surrounded by raisins and covered in flour as I rode him hard, and we welcomed back my long-lost but not forgotten orgasm.
Simon, the day he asked me to buy our house with him. Sitting with me on his lap in the corner of our now bedroom, walls covered in hideous wallpaper as he poured his heart out all over the terrible carpet, asking me to make a home with him. Simon, dancing with me to a big band at the opening of my first hotel I’d designed. Simon, devouring my zucchini bread. Simon, searching for hours in the rain for Clive. Simon, sleeping in the corner of our bed snoring louder than anything legal.
Simon, standing in the shower asking me to be his wife. Simon was my world. And I was traveling around this one to get to him. In time.
chapter six
I landed in Hanoi with a phone full of messages from Mimi, Sophia, Ryan, and Neil, but I listened only to the ones that came in from Benjamin. Simon had woken up, albeit briefly. He was still heavily sedated, and was getting ready to go in for another MRI to determine whether he’d need surgery. Depending on how quickly I could get to the hospital, I might be there for the results. I managed to get through customs without screaming, stuffed my overnight bag into a broken-down taxi, and barked out orders to take me to Hanoi French Hospital, where Simon was being treated.
This entire time, I hadn’t cried a tear. Not when I called my parents to tell them where I was going. Not when I packed a bag in such hurry that I ended up with ten pairs of pants, and only two pairs of actual panties. Not when Jillian dropped me off at the airport, and not when I barricaded myself in the first-class lounge ladies’ room, the first place I could be alone and where I’d already given myself permission to fall apart. But no tears.
And now as I rode pell-mell across the crowded streets of Hanoi, heading toward this hospital, still no tears. But the panic was beginning to build. I’d been running on sheer adrenaline until this point, but since my phone died and I hadn’t been able to get any new information, I was ready to come out of my skin.
We pulled into the hospital and I gave the driver at least five times as much as he needed because I hadn’t yet converted anything over from U.S. currency, but I didn’t care. I raced inside, looking for a directory of any kind. Neurology. Benjamin had said he’d be in neurology. But he also said intensive care . . . so where did I go? Where was he? I spun in place, looking for anyone who might be able to help me.
“Miss?” a soft voice asked, and I turned to see someone sitting at an information desk. “May I help you?”
She had a southern accent, for pity’s sake. I don’t know what I was expecting, racing into a Vietnamese hospital, but a tiny blonde who sounded like Delta Burke wasn’t it.
“I’m looking for a patient, Simon Parker. I’m his fiancée, and he was in an accident. I was told he was here? But I don’t know where, or which floor, or—”
“Simon Parker, yes, he’s here. He’s up on the fourth floor. Would you like me to take you up there?”
I burst into tears, giant, shaking, sobbing tears. I couldn’t help it, my body simply let go all at once and everything poured out of my eyeballs. “Yes. Please,” I managed as she handed me several tissues, and then finally the entire box.
“Simon Parker, he’s the photographer, right?”
“Yes!” I warbled, letting her lead me toward the elevator. “How did you know?”
“We only have so many American patients here at a time. The staff sort of knows who’s who pretty quick. Took a fall, right?”
“Yes! But I haven’t spoken to anyone since I landed. How is he? Do you know?” I asked, wiping my face as the elevator door opened on the fourth floor.
“I think you better talk to his doctor. Let me get you to his room, okay?” she said, ushering me toward the nurses’ station. Once there, she spoke quickly to the nurses, who pointed us toward a room. Not even bothering to thank her, I raced for the door, seeing his name on the chart just outside.