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Chapter 55

“What about Shawn?” Mom asked.

* * * *

At the sound of his name, with a single beat of my heart that beat just for him, whether it was or wasn’t beating for real, there he was. There I was. “Shawn.” It wasn’t enough to hear his name. I wanted to speak it. “It’s Shawn, Mystic.”

Mystic arched his back.

“Hear me, Shawn.” I wanted to hold him, no matter what I might be missing downstairs.

“Smarty.”

We were reunited in the room we were to share on our honeymoon night, the biggest one, with the en suite bath that featured a whirlpool tub I’d planned on floating rose petals in. We would have had the house to ourselves, once the others flew back to LA. They hadn’t, of course, because of me.

“Smarty.” He said it again.

“Can you see me?”

It was more like he was talking to himself. Grieving. He was in bed. Likely depressed, possibly too devastated to even go through the motions, maybe he hadn’t gotten out of it since getting word of my accident.