Kimmy was holding his left hand. Julianne was holding his right. Lucy sat at the foot of the bed, playing her cello—a soft, aching piece by Bach that seemed to lift the ceiling off the room and let in something larger than grief.
And for the first time in her life, she meant it without a single reservation.
He squeezed her hand. "Nothing. Everything. I want you to be here when I go. And I want you to promise me something afterward."
"Michael—"
"You're not afraid anymore?"
Kimmy was holding his left hand. Julianne was holding his right. Lucy sat at the foot of the bed, playing her cello—a soft, aching piece by Bach that seemed to lift the ceiling off the room and let in something larger than grief.
And for the first time in her life, she meant it without a single reservation.
He squeezed her hand. "Nothing. Everything. I want you to be here when I go. And I want you to promise me something afterward."
"Michael—"
"You're not afraid anymore?"