He shakes his head once and repeats, “No.”
“Oh. Okay.” I try to hide my relief. I wouldn’t want Nate to be burdened by my confession. And he would be. I know him.
“So…confession?”
I shrug. “Maybe it really is good for the soul.”
“It sure looks like it. You seem…lighter.”
I snort. “Did I lose weight in there, too? I should’ve tried it sooner.”
“You know what I mean.”
I search my husband’s earnest green eyes and nod. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I feel lighter, too. Like maybe it’ll all be okay.”
Nate reaches for my fingers and brings them to his mouth. He holds them there for several long seconds, his lips pressed to my knuckles as he stares over them and into my eyes. I can’t be sure what I see in his eyes, but I know what I feel in his gesture—relief. Maybe Nate needed someone to tell him that it’s going to be okay, too.
I step closer to him, stretching up to cup his strong jaw in the palm of my other hand. “It will you know.”
“It will what?”
“It’ll all be okay.”
He nods and continues watching me as though he’s trying his hardest to believe me. Or maybe to find belief in me.
I inhale deeply and stand tall and certain before him, hoping that just this once I can be strong for him. He has no one to help him carry the load of my illness. Maybe this time I can be the comfort he needs.
“None of us are going to live forever, so we should live while we’re alive, right? That’s why we need to make the very most of this trip. Do it up big. Blaze of glory and all that.”
My smile is intended to be carefree and full of life and fun, but it isn’t enough to ease Nate’s breaking heart. That much I can see.
“Blaze of glory,” he whispers, kissing my knuckles again quickly before releasing them to pull me into his arms.
With his lips pressed to my temple, Nate holds me close. For a long time, he sways gently back and forth, taking as well as receiving comfort. I wonder if he’s trying not to cry, but I’m not going to look and find out. Instead, I give him his privacy and don’t move until he’s ready.
When he finally withdraws from me, his eyes are dry and his smile is back in place. “So, where is this blaze of glory taking us next. Dinner?”
“Sounds good to me.”
Nate slings his arm around my neck, keeping me close at his side as we walk away. I spare a quick glance over his shoulder to see if I catch a glimpse of the stranger priest, but the cordoned off area is once again empty.
********
It’s well after midnight, Rome time, when I wake. The room is quiet, and Nate is snoring softly at my side. My first thought is of the life growing within me.
Of course, my drowsiness quickly fades.
I lie in bed for just over an hour, imagining what the future may or may not hold, before I become restless. Rather than risk waking Nate with my tossing and turning, I gently sit up and pull my legs from beneath the covers, sliding silently from the mattress until my feet hit the floor.
Grabbing my robe from the chair as I pass, I push my arms into the sleeves and wander through to the adjoining room. It’s dark but for the silvery light filtering through the cracks in the draperies. I’m momentarily distracted by the geometric designs it makes on the floor.
Rome is a magical place. Even the moonlight seems more beautiful here.
I walk to the window and open the curtains. The majestic view of the Trinità dei Monti washes over me like a warm tide, as though the mere sight of it carries with it all the divinity of the church itself. Once more, I feel a sense of providence. This place, this time, these circumstances—they are all coming together precisely as they are supposed to. It’s like a celestial orchestration that’s playing out to a tune composed of moments and events and decisions.
And right now, it sounds wonderfully harmonious.
For me, someone accustomed to being in control of her life, it’s a peculiar relief to relinquish command and let the remainder of my existence unfold as it is meant to. The only detail I need to worry about is surviving until my child can be born. The rest I can live with.
For however long I have left.
I reach down and place my hand over my stomach. It’s amazing to me that something so impactful hasn’t yet become discernible to the human eye or the human sense of touch. The tiny seed sprouting within me is so incredibly powerful that it has changed everything. And yet, it’s still just a tiny seed.
So small yet so capable, capable of the greatest joy or the cruelest devastation.
Impulsively, I walk to my purse and remove my phone. I tiptoe across the floor and close the bedroom door, ensuring that I still hear Nate’s snore before I walk away.