He tenderly wiped my cheek with his thumb, and brought our noses together. Whispering softly, he said, “That’s all that’s important. Go to sleep.”
Though it seemed too simplistic, he was right. Concentrating solely on us, I curled into his warmth and laid my head on his chest. With the sound of his steady heartbeat against my ear, I drifted to sleep. When I awoke the next morning, I remembered not having been able to answer him the first time and my overwhelming sense of guilt and loneliness. I expected a reprimand, more questions about what had happened, or a lecture on how all my thoughts were his. He didn’t mention it.
The next time the dragon’s hiss woke me, instead of rolling away, I cuddled close and remembered his questions. As his even breaths flowed across the top of my head, I reminded myself of who I was and who he was. Before long I drifted back to sleep. In time the dragons faded away.
Although I knew I should talk to Jacob about my nightmares and guilt over the accident, my courage to do so waned with each passing day. After all, if I’d followed Father Gabriel’s teachings, I would’ve told Jacob immediately. I knew the penalty for disobeying; I’d experienced it more than once.
It wasn’t until I had multiple consecutive nights of uninterrupted sleep, while we were alone in our apartment, that Jacob asked me again about what had happened. He led me to the sofa and calmly demanded answers.
“Sara, I’ve been waiting for you to tell me this on your own. Obviously you haven’t. I’m not sure why, but I want answers. Tell me why you were crying during the night.”
I took a deep breath, wanting to be truthful, but equally fearful of his reaction. “It started as nightmares. I think.” I tried to explain. “That’s what woke me, but then I believe it was my guilt.” My chest heaved. “I still can’t believe I risked everything here, you and our friends, by taking your truck. I don’t understand why I’d do that. I don’t think I would, but obviously I did.” A tear fell from the corner of my eye.
He lifted my chin. The way he stared stripped me bare. His soft brown eyes sought not only me, but my honesty. I didn’t look away, nor did I want to. Captive in his grasp, I needed him to see my sincerity. Holding my breath, I waited for his gaze to narrow and his voice to lose emotion.
“What does Father Gabriel say about correction?” His eyes still searched, while his tone remained full of emotion.
I exhaled. “I know. I do. I know we were banished and now we’re back. I know it should be gone.” Unable to move my chin, I lowered my eyes and slid my lip between my teeth. I’d confessed and now all I could do was await the punishment I deserved for doubting Father Gabriel’s teaching.
“Sara, it’s not that it should be. It is.”
I nodded, and my body trembled. “I do believe it, but I just don’t know . . .”
He lifted my balled hands and opened my fists, finger by finger, until he could kiss my palms. Then, with his thumb, he gently freed my lip. “Why are you so tense?”
“Because I know Father Gabriel’s word, but I must not be living it. If I were, I wouldn’t have those thoughts, a-and I don’t know what you’re going to do.”
“What do you think I should do?”
My heart sank as the dinner we’d just eaten churned in my stomach. I hated when he asked me. Those simple questions turned the responsibility back to me. I didn’t want it. It was his. Again I tried to lower my chin, but to no avail. I sighed and added to my transgressions. “I’ve also kept something from you. I didn’t tell you that this was going on for a few weeks.”
His grip on my chin tensed.
“I didn’t want you to worry,” I added hastily.
“Have you felt this way lately? Have you awakened in the middle of the night upset without telling me?”
I shook my head. “Not since the night you asked me who we were. Well, only once, and when I did, I did what you said: I reminded myself of us and stayed close to you. Since then, nothing.”
Jacob exhaled. “Sara Adams, what does that tell you?”
“That I should be punished for not telling you sooner?”
His hands slipped to my arms, moving up and down with a ghostly soft touch. “It does say that you should have told me sooner, but no, this isn’t about correction. It’s about learning. Thoughts come and go; it’s dwelling on them that’s detrimental. The way you let them go is to release them to me. If I punished you for your thoughts, why would you share them with me?”
I hadn’t thought of it that way.
“The accident,” he went on, “is over, and now that you’ve shared your sense of guilt, it’s over. I want all of you”—he caressed my cheek—“even if it’s a part that hurts and makes you cry. Give it to me. Once it’s mine I won’t let it hurt you anymore, and no more apologizing for what’s in the past. Remember, it’s as if it never happened.”