Aghast, I stared at the sad figures. They were clustered on her couch, huddled by the hallway, floundering on the floor. And Fiona was moving from group to group, pouring tea. I watched her for a long moment, listened as she served wise words of consolation and encouragement.
“The best course of action is to channel these feelings into something constructive,” she was saying, smoothing her arm down the shoulder of a young blonde woman. “Be sad. Be angry. But don’t be silent. Find ways to help, seek out opportunities to make a difference. Otherwise all this emotion will yield only helplessness.”
“It’s such a senseless tragedy,” someone said with an achingly hollow voice.
Fiona frowned thoughtfully, having not yet discovered my intrusion. “It was sensible to someone. It was planned and executed with meticulous and cold efficiency. Allowing our emotions to dictate our response is understandable, but unwise. We should be looking for ways to solve the problem of terrorist cells, not give them more hate-fuel for their fire.”
She was the voice of passionate reason in a storm of muddled misunderstanding. An optimist realist.
God Almighty, I loved this woman.
“Fe,” I called, watching her start, her wide eyes swinging to mine.
She blinked, momentarily baffled.
And then she smiled for the barest of seconds.
And then her face crumpled.
“Oh, Greg . . .” The words were unsteady and her chin wobbled. Her usually bright eyes were dim, rimmed with anxiety, worry, and fear.
My stomach dropped and I saw what I’d been blind to just moments prior. Fiona was being brave for these young girls, proving herself to be a source of strength. She’d likely been handing out advice, offering a strong shoulder to cry upon, all day.
I crossed to her, stepping over the legs littering my path, and opened my arms. “Come here.”
She nodded, not allowing a single tear to fall, and placed the teapot on a nearby table as she moved to me. I seized her in my arms, cursing when I felt her tremble.
“What are you doing here?” Her tone was both strained and relieved.
“I’ve come to marry you,” I announced, more loudly than was strictly necessary. The space fell into a perplexed silence, followed by a low hum of startled excitement. I took the opportunity to guide her out of the room and into the hallway.
Once there, I whispered, “The world might be ending. As such I’m here to rescue you and worship your body.”
I felt her huff a laugh just before she buried her face against my chest. I pressed my back against the hallway wall and gathered her against me once more.
“I needed you today.” She sniffled. Her hands gripped fistfuls of my shirt and her voice was muffled.
“I needed you, too.” I tilted my head backward and waited until she lifted her eyes to mine. “Marry me. Tonight. Or early tomorrow at the latest. We’ll honeymoon here, in Iowa. I’ll find the most romantic bomb shelter in the state.”
“Yes!” She smiled up at me, beaming. “Yes, yes, yes! That sounds wonderful.”
“We’ll dine on sardine sandwiches and brain soup.”
She laughed again, though it also resembled a sob. “Yes, okay. Finally.”
“Good.” I kissed her nose, then rubbed mine against it. “But first we must get rid of these hangers-on. Do you want me to pull a fire alarm?”
“No.” She sighed and frowned, as though suddenly remembering the thirty or more young girls in her room. “No. Instead I need you to help me. Help me help them.”
Fiona’s exquisite eyes, abounding with faith and love and hope—all for me—captivated and subdued my selfish instincts. I acquiesced, because she needed me. So we stayed and helped, talking of thoughts and feelings until the wee hours of the morning. Accomplishing with philosophy what could not be readily accomplished through making and doing.
And the next day, accompanied by thirty or so hastily dressed bridesmaids and no groomsmen, we were married at city hall.
CHAPTER 13
S: Looking forward to having a lovely beer with my lady tonight.
R: You mean, you look forward to having a beer with your lovely lady, not the other way around.
S: I mean, I’m looking forward to having a mediocre beer with my beautiful lovely woman because essentially everything else is bang average in comparison to you.
.
-Somerled and Rosie
Email Exchange
Brisbane, Australia
Dating 18 months
Present Day
Fiona
We fit on the cot, but just barely.
When I awoke I was sprawled over his body, my head over his heart, his fingers playing in my still-damp hair and clutching my lower back.
“Go back to sleep.” His voice was alert, like he hadn’t yet rested. “It’s only one.”
I squinted until the dim room came into focus. He’d turned off the overhead lights save one. “You need to sleep, too. Let me take a shift.”
“You would deprive me the joy of watching you sleep?”
I squeezed him and was about to tell him he was sweet.
But then he said, “You know that’s why I married you, right?”
“So you could watch me sleep?”
“Basically. Being married is the only time I can say or do that sort of stuff and not sound like a stalker.”
“You still sound like a stalker.”