Chương 12
Emily noticed the sign.
Daniel noticed her noticing.
Neither said anything.
After the appointment, he stopped near the elevators.
“Show me.”
Emily looked at him.
“The chapel.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
They went anyway.
It was empty.
No wedding flowers.
No hospital bed.
No guests.
Just rows of polished pews, ivory daylight through tall windows, and the altar where Emily had stood with his ring in her fist.
Daniel walked slowly down the aisle.
His limp was almost gone, but not entirely.
Emily remained a few steps behind.
He reached the place beside the altar.
“Here?”
“Yes.”
“The bed?”
“Right there.”
He looked at the floor.
“And you were…”
“Here.”
Emily moved beside him.
Daniel closed his eyes.
For several seconds nothing happened.
Then he opened them.
“I remember the sound.”
“What sound?”
“The ring.”
Emily stopped breathing.
Daniel looked down at his hand.
“Metal on something.”
“The bed rail.”
“I thought I dropped it.”
“You almost did.”
He rubbed his fingers together.
“I remember trying to catch it.”
Emily’s eyes burned.
“And then?”
He shook his head.
“Nothing clear.”
“That’s enough.”
“No.”
“Daniel.”
“I want the rest.”
“I know.”
He looked toward the altar.
“I want to remember what you said.”
Emily’s throat tightened.
“You don’t have to.”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because everybody tells me I chose you.”
She stared at him.
Daniel continued, “I want to know if I chose you then.”
“You were barely conscious.”
“But I said wife.”
“Yes.”
“What did you say before?”
Emily hesitated.
Then she repeated it.
Not as perfectly as she had that day.
Her voice caught in the middle.
“I said I wasn’t marrying you because you might wake up. I was marrying you because you had already chosen me.”
Daniel looked at her for a long time.
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
Emily blinked.
Then laughed.
The laugh surprised her.
“Yeah.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“You were going to marry me while I was unconscious because of a choice I made before the accident.”
“Yes.”
“And then I woke up without the choice.”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the front pew.
“That must have been awful.”
Emily crossed her arms.
“It wasn’t my favorite month.”
Daniel smiled faintly.
Then he became serious.
“Do you still want to marry me?”
The chapel changed around the question.
Not physically.
Nothing moved.
But Emily felt the old day pressing against the new one.
The flowers.
The guests.
The monitor.
Father Michael asking if she was sure.
She had been so certain then.
Certain enough for both of them.
Now certainty felt less romantic.
More dangerous.
“I don’t know.”
Daniel’s face went still.
Emily forced herself to continue.
“I love you.”
He looked down.
“But?”
“No but.”
“That sounded like one.”
“I love you. I also don’t want to marry you because we were supposed to.”
Daniel sat in the front pew.
Emily sat beside him.
He folded his hands.
“Is this because I’m different?”
“Yes.”
He flinched.
She touched his arm.
“Daniel. You are different.”
“I know.”
“So am I.”
He looked at her.
“I almost married you without asking what I needed.”
“What did you need?”
“A fact.”
He waited.
“That you were mine.”
Daniel’s expression tightened.
Emily shook her head.
“I know how that sounds.”
“It sounds scared.”
“I was.”
“You still are.”
“Yes.”
He rubbed his palms together.
“What do you need now?”
Emily looked at the empty altar.
“I need us to choose something because it works now.”
Daniel nodded.
After a while he said, “I don’t know if I’m ready.”
The answer hurt.
It also relieved her.
“That might be the first honest thing anybody has said about this wedding.”
He looked at her.
“Are we still engaged?”
She smiled sadly.
“I don’t know.”
Daniel laughed once.
“That’s efficient.”
“We’re very modern.”
“Can we be something less complicated?”
“No.”
He nodded.
“Worth asking.”
They left the chapel without making a decision.
For the first time, Emily did not feel like indecision was failure.
They started couples counseling again.
Daniel did not remember the first counselor, so they found someone new.
Dr. Renee Holloway had an office above a bakery and refused to let either of them use brain injury as the explanation for every conflict.
“Sometimes,” she told Daniel during their third session, “you’re not irritable because of neurological fatigue. Sometimes you’re irritated because Emily is irritating.”
Emily looked offended.
Daniel laughed so hard he had to hold his head.
Dr. Holloway pointed at Emily.
“And sometimes you’re controlling because you’re terrified, not because Daniel needs help.”
Emily crossed her arms.
“I dislike this.”
“That’s fine.”
Daniel grinned.
“Expensive therapy.”
Emily glared at him.
His grin widened.
They talked about grief.
Not abstractly.
About specific things.
Daniel grieved work.
Emily grieved being known automatically.
Daniel grieved the body he could once trust.
Emily grieved the future she had treated like a reservation.
They talked about sex, which was awkward.
They talked about money.
Daniel’s disability coverage would not last forever. His savings were decent, but medical bills, therapy copays, and lost income had started turning numbers into decisions.
Emily resented that he still wanted to pay half the rent from savings.
Daniel resented that she had started making financial decisions without him because he had been unable to participate.
Neither was entirely wrong.
Neither was entirely fair.
One night, Daniel found a spreadsheet Emily had made tracking his medical expenses.
He stared at it.
“You color-coded my brain injury.”
“It’s not the injury. It’s billing.”
“There are tabs.”
“I like tabs.”
“This one says denied claims.”
“Because those claims were denied.”
Daniel scrolled.
“How long did this take?”
“Not long.”
“Emily.”
“Several hours.”
He looked at her.
“You did all this while I was in rehab?”
“Yes.”
He sat down.
She mistook his silence for gratitude.
Then he said, “I hate it.”
Her face changed.
“What?”
“I hate that you had to do this.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“I know.”
May you like
“You sounded like you hated the spreadsheet.”
“I do. It’s terrifying.”
