When The Sun Sets

16: Through Sickness and Health

Part Two | Chapter Sixteen: Through Sickness and Health

Newport, Rhode Island

July 1919

We haven't done much these past two days and I don't count finding Harry at a cemetery as a vacation activity that a couple does together. But we've been in Newport for two days and have yet to go out and visit the place that Harry heard his friends talk so highly about.

He's heard about Newport from his company members, but he doesn't wish to meet them. I know they're not dead because he's told me they were on the same train home. ButNedjam was alive on that train too, besides Harry, getting off at the stop before the train continued into New Jersey. We haven't spoken about Nedjem since last night, though it's not as if I'll be bringing him up on my own. After the night Harry's had, the new goal is to keep him distracted. Of course what happens in his brain won't be completely transparent to me, but I've become better at reading his facial expressions again, so I use them to judge his mood.

Today is a particularly dry day. The residue of rain is gone by the afternoon, birds chirping loudly and people returning to the streets. The shore is just a few blocks away, the salty air carrying its way over to the hotel where Harry and I sit to have lunch. Due to the situation last night, we've slept in.

Well, Harry slept in until nearly noon. I was just happy being in his arms again. I'd turned around and looked at him for what felt like hours, familiarizing myself with every line and freckle on his face.

This morning, my attention was on the white scar. Since Harry was sleeping so soundly, I took my time, gently tracing over the soft skin with my fingertips. I've never touched it before. It feels softer than his skin everywhere else, a tissue that's saved the injury from bleeding out now separating the hairs of his eyebrow. Hair will never grow there as the cells are too damaged.

I blocked his scar with my finger and looked at his face to see if I could recognize him easier this way. I could; it was 23 year old Harry in my bed again, holding me tightly in the room that once used to be his. We listened to the heavy rain outside and occasional thunder, his hand sliding up and down my sides, creating goosebumps. My own hand rested on his cheek, thumbing at his eyelashes until one fell off. That was the man in my bed.

But when I removed my hand, my husband returned and I realized that no matter how badly I wanted Harry to be happy, the 23 year old would not be coming back and that my husband lying beside me was still the man I would be in love with for the rest of my life.

I swallow some water, remembering how he looked in the bed, white sheets pooling at his waist, his chest peeking out from under his nightshirt.

My throat aches a bit when I swallow. I cough into my arm. Harry glances at me carefully.

"Not getting sick, are you?"

"Of course not," I say dismissively. "Why would I be?"

"If I remember correctly, you stood out in the rain for a good while."

"That doesn't mean I'll get sick," I laugh, resisting the urge to cough again. "Anyways, what should we do today? I want to go out."

Harry nods. "I know. I overheard some people talking about an exhibition at the beach. Some sort of art showing."

"Beach?" I groan, putting my fork down. "I am not going. I will burn and die."

"Wow," Harry says sarcastically around his salad. "At the same time? Maybe you'll catch on fire."

"Ha. So funny."

"No, really. It will be quite a sight."

"You're paler than me."