Listed: Volume V (13 page)

Emily
wracked her mind for the allusion, but she just didn’t recognize it. “That
sounds Greek. I suppose it’s some great mythic steed of some kind.”

Paul’s
voice took on a different quality, and she knew he was quoting something
famous. “…
there is no man that shall catch thee by a burst of speed, neither
pass thee by, nay, not though in pursuit he were driving goodly Arion, the
swift horse of Adrastus, that was of heavenly stock
…”

Emily
giggled. Then she couldn’t stop laughing.

Paul’s
arms tightened around her, and she could tell he was smiling, even though she
wasn’t looking up at his face.

“Homer?”
she guessed, when she’d caught her breath.

“Absolutely.”

“
The
Iliad
?”

“Yes.”

“Poor
old Brownie. Plodding through his life for years and then suddenly elevated to
an immortal horse of Greek myth.”

“He’s
up to the challenge.”

Emily
laughed again and looked over to where Paul’s mule was munching on the leaves
of a bush that happened to be directly in front of him in oblivious
contentment. “I think the donkey in his family lineage might be dragging him
down from Greek horse heroics.”

“I’ve
got a good eye,” Paul said, his voice still dry and utterly even, despite the
fact that he was obviously teasing. “He has untapped potential.”

Still
laughing, Emily stretched up to kiss Paul on the lips. “I still wouldn’t
suggest you trust Brownie to carry you into war with Troy.”

Paul
kissed her back. “Duly noted.”

*
* *

Emily was running a
low-grade fever, but she had refused to stay in bed that morning. The high
fever yesterday had broken, but she was feeling worse and worse on each of her
“good” days. She wasn’t going to waste the brief time they were California, so
she’d bluntly told Paul to stop fussing when he’d wanted to delay their plans
to give her more time to recover.

“So,”
Paul asked, slanting her an ironic look as the chauffeured car took them back to
the airport two hours later so they could start for Hawaii as soon as possible,
“Was it worth years of waiting?”

“Don’t
be snide. I thought he was the most handsome man in the world back when I was
twelve,” Emily said, scowling at her husband.

“I’m
sure you did. And six years later you get to kiss him at last. It was a dream
come true, no doubt.”

Emily
stuck her tongue out at him. “I got to cross it off my list. That’s what
counts. He was very nice to be willing to do it. Did you have to give him a big
sob story about me to convince him to agree to kiss me?”

“I
didn’t even talk to him,” Paul explained. “I talked to his manager. It was no
big deal.”

He
sounded nonchalant, but she didn’t know whether to believe him or not. He would
have told her that convincing the former television star to give her a kiss so
she could cross one of the final items off her list was no big deal, even if he’d
had to wage a prolonged campaign of manipulation, bribing, and/or bullying to
make it happen.

Emily
sighed. “He seemed nice enough. He’s not as cute in person as he was on TV.”

“He
looked about the same to me.”

Studying
Paul’s face, Emily smiled, even though she was feeling weak and shaky. “Maybe
my taste in men has changed since then.”

“I
should certainly hope so,” he muttered.

Emily’s
former heartthrob was big, buff, dark-haired, and square-jawed. Next to Paul he
looked overly bulky and overblown. But no one would ever be as handsome to
Emily as Paul—not anymore.

He
caught her gazing at him and seemed to recognize something in her face. His
expression changed. He didn’t say anything, but he reached over and took her
hand. Then raised it so he could press a kiss in the palm.

“Thanks
for arranging this,” Emily murmured, feeling dangerously emotional.  “You have
no idea how much it means to me.”

Paul’s
eyes rested on her face for a long time, and the feeling they conveyed was deep
and heartbreaking.

But
then he gave a half-shrug. “It was no big deal.”

*
* *

Emily sat on the edge
of her bed in their hotel suite in Hawaii and tried to find enough energy to
reach down and put on her shoes. She’d been in bed most of the day before with
a high fever, but it had lowered to just the low-grade one that she doubted
would ever go away now.

Today
she was going to climb the volcano. If she had enough strength to stand up.

Her
whole body ached miserably, and her eyes were raw and dry. Dr. Franklin had
trained Amy on administering a new round of treatment on the trip, and Amy had
traveled with them to help tend Emily while she was ill.

Amy
was sleeping now, since she’d stayed up most of the night until Emily’s fever
had broken. Paul was working at the desk in the main room of the suite. Emily
was supposed to be getting ready to go.

Instead,
she was just staring down at her shoes, which she’d yet to put on.

All
she had left of her list was to climb a volcano and to finish reading
Shakespeare’s plays.

They
were going to the Hawaii Volcanoes National Park. They would drive through most
of it first, so Emily could see all of it without actually hiking it. She
didn’t have the strength for a very long walk, but fortunately Kilauea had a
number of trails that weren’t particularly challenging and weren’t very long.

But
first she had to at least manage to put on her shoes.

She
just felt so bad. Like her body itself was weighing her down. She was only
eighteen. She shouldn’t feel like an eighty-year-old. But she did.

She
wanted to go back to bed. She wanted to cry. She wanted her father.

She
was suddenly hit by a wave of grief so intense it almost strangled her. She
missed her dad so much it physically hurt.

With
a choked sob, she doubled over, trying to breathe, trying not to make any
noise. She didn’t want Paul to hear her crying. She didn’t want to make him
feel any worse.

She
was supposed to climb a volcano today, and she wasn’t sure she was strong
enough to do it.

She
wasn’t sure she was strong enough for any of this.

She
gasped and wheezed and hiccupped and tried desperately to control her tears, but
she hadn’t managed to restrain them when she suddenly felt the bed shift.

She
jerked up straight and wiped hurriedly at her face in a futile attempt to
pretend she hadn’t just been sobbing.

Paul
had sat down on the edge of the bed beside her, his face tightly controlled.

Without
speaking, he slid an arm around her and pulled her against his side.

“I’m
okay,” she rasped. “I was just…”

Paul
pulled her against his chest, and she sobbed into his shirt. His arms around
her were so tight she could barely breathe.

After
a few minutes, Emily had stopped crying. She tried to pull away and finally
Paul released her.

She
rubbed at her wet face and looked back down at her shoes. She still needed to put
them on. She took a shuddering breath, hating how weak and miserable she felt.

“We
don’t have to do it today,” Paul said. “If you feel too bad, we can wait.”

She
shook her head and reached down for one shoe. “I’ll feel worse tomorrow. It has
to be today.”

*
* *

As was expected, Paul
had planned the volcano hike perfectly. He’d arranged for a private guide to
take them up to the rim of the Kilauea caldera. They didn’t use one of the
public trails, so they didn’t have to deal with a lot of other tourists. They
were able to park in a spot that was close enough for the walk to not be too
rigorous for Emily, but it was long enough to feel like she was climbing the
volcano and not just stepping out of a car.

The
terrain of rock and lava flows was fascinating and almost alien, but climbing
the volcano was nothing like what she’d imagined at twelve-years-old. As a
child, she’d assumed it would be like climbing a mountain and then looking down
into a crater of hot lava. Instead, the caldera was over three miles wide.
Naturally, there was no sea of lava inside. Their guide explained about cracks,
fissures, and steam vents, and how the previous eruptions had shaped the
landscape into what it was.

Had
Emily felt better, the walk would have been incredibly enjoyable. But, as it
was, even the short half-mile, combined with the sulphur fumes and hot
temperature, was almost too much for her.

As
they turned back to return to the car, Emily was drenched in sweat and felt so
ill she could barely stand up. Waves of heat kept slamming into her, and she
was having trouble taking a full breath. The low grade fever she’d had that
morning seemed to have risen, and there wasn’t a single part of her body that
didn’t hurt.

The
guide kept looking at her dubiously, and Paul had put a supportive arm around
her as she stopped to drink some water.

“You
don’t have to walk back,” Paul said softly. “We can—”

“No,”
she interrupted in a croaky voice. “I’m doing this. I can do it.”

Perhaps
it was irrational, but if she didn’t walk the whole way then it wouldn’t feel
like she’d really completed her list. She ignored the weakness of her body and
forced herself to keep walking.

Paul
kept a hand on her back the whole way, until the last stretch where her legs
would barely hold her up. Then he held her up with one arm, supporting most of
her weight as she stumbled. She knew he just wanted to pick her up and carry
her. She knew it was hard for him to let her continue doing something that was
obviously battering her physically.

But
he didn’t object. He just held her up as she kept limping and faltering through
the daze of pain and heat until they finally made it back to the
air-conditioned car and Emily could breathe at last.

She
was so sick and exhausted that she couldn’t sit up on the drive back to the hotel.
She collapsed in the back seat with her head in Paul’s lap and hoped to drift
into unconsciousness, since at least then her body wouldn’t hurt so much.

“I
guess this new treatment isn’t working either,” she rasped without warning,
opening her eyes after a brief, uncomfortable doze.

Paul
must be in bad shape emotionally, since he couldn’t keep up his normal soothing
confidence. Instead, he blurted out what he’d really been thinking. “The report
they found about the virus could have just been a wild goose chase. There might
not be anything worthwhile to come from it at all.”

“We
don’t know that. I still think it was your dad, and he was trying to help.”

“He
wouldn’t do that.”

“I
think he would. I think he cares about you more than you think.” She gazed up
at Paul’s face, blurry from the dryness of her eyes.

“I
don’t know why you would feel that optimistic about humanity. The world has
been nothing but brutal to you. Where did you find that kind of hope?”

She
wasn’t sure if the bitter question was rhetorical or not, but she answered it
anyway. “I found it in you.”

The
hardness on his face shifted into confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I
mean you had every reason not to love me.” She had to force the words out over
a lump in her throat. “Loving me has only hurt you. But you do anyway.”

Paul
turned away with a sudden jerk of his head.

“So
I’m going to keep hoping about your father,” she concluded, wishing she was
strong enough to help him, to comfort him, for real.

When
he didn’t turn back to meet her eyes, she added, “I’ll hope enough for both of
us.”

*
* *

She was barely
conscious as they went up to their suite, and Paul helped her out of her
clothes and into a tepid bath scented with lemon and eucalyptus oils. She
vaguely tried to convince him to go rest and let Amy take care of her, but he
refused. Of course.

The
bath helped, as did the pills Paul made her swallow.

He
helped her into clean pajamas and then gently brushed her hair and pulled it
into two ponytails. She felt like a child and didn’t like the feeling. She
tried to summon the strength to do some of these simple tasks on her own, but
she just couldn’t.

After
he helped her into bed, Paul stood staring down at her. He wore the casual
clothes he’d worn for the volcano walk, and he looked handsome and masculine.
And strangely helpless.

She
ached for him—even more than she ached for herself.

“Do
you need anything, baby?” he asked after a minute.

Emily
stared up at him with glazed eyes, shifting slightly from the discomfort her
body. “My list.”

Paul
understood. He went to her bag and pulled out the folded list. The paper was so
worn it was fragile, and he very gently unfolded it, spreading the page out on
the nightstand beside the bed and handing her a pen.