Only One You

The materials shed smelled of wet timber and old lime.

Damian found a section of roof that wasn't leaking and brought Clara beneath it. She wouldn't let go of his sleeve while he checked the room.

"I'm not leaving," he said.

"I didn't say you were."

Her teeth chattered through the words.

He opened the emergency bag he'd taken from the search equipment and wrapped the dry thermal blanket around her. The thin material made a startling amount of noise in the small space.

She stared at his hands.

He turned them away before she could see properly.

"Take the wet coat off."

She did, slowly. He gave her his spare shirt from the waterproof pouch and looked away while she changed beneath the blanket.

They had been married for years. The sudden care with which he gave her privacy almost made her cry again.

"You can turn around."

He crouched beside her.

"Better?"

"A little."

He held out a water bottle. She drank in small swallows and gave it back.

His phone had taken water during the crossing. The screen lit once, then went black.

"They know where we're headed," he said. "Vince is bringing the rescue team by the long trail."

She nodded.

He sat with his back against a wooden post and opened his arms.

For a moment she remained where she was.

Then he said, "You can be angry while you're warm. Come here."

She moved into his lap.

***

At first they listened to the rain.

His breathing slowed beneath her ear. Her shivering began to ease.

She looked down and saw the torn skin across his fingers.

"Your hands."

"They're all right."

She took one carefully.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Tell me something isn't hurt when I can see it."

He was quiet.

She looked at his bare feet beneath the muddy trousers. He'd lost his shoes in the crossing. One foot was wrapped with a strip torn from his sleeve.

"How did you get here?"

"The short way."

"Damian."

He looked toward the door.

"Across the stream. Up the bank."

She remembered the height of the ravine.

Her fingers closed gently around his wrist.

He gave her a tired, crooked smile.

"I used to be better at it."

She bent her head over his hand.

"I shouted at you."

"You were frightened."

"I always seem to find something to shout at you about."

"I'm talented that way."

A laugh escaped her and broke into tears halfway out.

"I'm sorry."

He stopped smiling.

She said it again, more clearly.

"I'm sorry I made you feel there was no place for you. In my work. In what I wanted next."

He looked at her as though he wasn't certain what to do with the words.

"There wasn't much room," he said at last.

"There is. I just didn't know how to show you."

He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand, forgetting his own injuries until he winced.

She caught the movement.

"And you have to stop deciding I don't care whenever I don't know what to say."

"I know."

"Do you?"

He drew a breath.

"I'm trying to."

That answer she believed.

***

When the worst of the rain eased, he helped her stand.

She was weak and chilled, but she could walk a few steps. They made it as far as the path before her legs began to shake again.

He lifted her against his chest.

"You can't carry me all that way."

"The team will meet us."

"Your feet—"

"One disaster at a time."

He used a branch to test the muddy ground before each step. She kept the blanket around them both as best she could.

There were stretches where neither spoke.

Then, against his neck, she asked, "Why me?"

"What?"

"Why do you keep doing this for me?"

He looked down.

"You're my wife."

"If somebody else had been your wife, would you have loved her this much?"

"There isn't somebody else."

"That isn't an answer."

He stopped on a patch of level ground.

Rain fell softly through the leaves.

"You were there when I thought nobody was coming. You got out of your car. You were scared of me, and you still put your hands over the blood."

She looked at him.

"Other people could have stopped."

"They didn't. You did."

His voice grew rougher.

"And then I knew you. The way you pretend you don't need help and keep every old receipt because you think somebody might tell you you owe them. How you cry over buildings and argue with me while you're half asleep. How you want a door you can lock and still leave room for those two idiots to come home."

Her eyes filled.

"There aren't five million women like that," he said. "There's you."

She put her hand against his cheek.

He turned his face into it for a second, then started walking again.

"If Ashford doesn't look after you," he said, "you call me."

She lifted her head.

"What?"

"After this. After the papers. I won't make it difficult. But if he—"

"Why do you keep putting me with him?"

His jaw tightened.

"You went with him on our wedding day."

"Because I was frightened his family would destroy you."

He stopped again.

She held his eyes.

"I told you I was disappointed because you frightened me. Because you said something violent and somebody nearly died trying to please you. I wasn't choosing him."

"You were in his arms."

"He leaned toward me. I was getting out. I had already told him no."

"And the apartment?"

She stared at him.

"You saw that too?"

He didn't answer.

"He hugged me. I moved away. I went there for documents and my tape measure. I returned the keys. I tried to tell you when you came home. You kissed me so I couldn't finish."

He closed his eyes briefly.

"Clara."

"I haven't betrayed you. Not once. If you believe nothing else I say tonight, believe that."

He nodded, one small movement that seemed to take everything he had.

"I believe you."

She was quiet for several steps.

Then she said, "Then explain Shelby."

He nearly missed his footing.

"What about her?"

"My nightdress. Your jacket. She said you tore her clothes."

His expression was so genuinely blank that she almost laughed.

"When?"

"The flood. I went to the office."

He stared at the path.

"She cleans the rooms. Owen put her on housekeeping after she asked for work. That's why she had access. I haven't slept there since you left."

"She said—"

"She lied."

The words came without hesitation.

"I haven't touched your cousin. I've never wanted her."

Clara looked at the dark forest around them.

Relief arrived slowly, painfully, leaving anger behind it.

"Why didn't you ask me?" he said.

She looked back at him.

"Why didn't you?"

He took that without defending himself.

After a while she said, "We can't keep doing this."

"No."

"And you don't get to call a car crash a mistake and forget it."

"I haven't forgotten."

"I need more than that."

He looked straight at her.

"Then I'll do more. No threats through drivers. No people making decisions with my name. No guessing what I mean when somebody could get hurt. I should have stopped before I spoke."

Her hand loosened against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For that day. For frightening you in the hotel. For making you think loving me meant always being afraid."

She bowed her head against him.

For a long time he simply carried her.

***

Near dawn, a shout came from the trail ahead.

Vince's flashlight moved between the trees.

Damian answered, then looked down at Clara.

"You're still going?"

"To study? Yes."

He nodded, looking away.

She touched his jaw and brought his face back.

"Did you know husbands can come too?"

He didn't move.

"As husbands," she added. "Not as people paying for the luggage."

Something opened in his face.

"No divorce?"

"Not if we can do better than we have."

"We can."

"You'll have to talk to me."

"You too."

She nodded.

Then she put both arms around his neck and held on as the lights came closer.