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“Your heaven has been denied to me for decades, Stanton. In fact, you yourself made certain of it thirty years ago. Have you gone soft on me? Or has that same heaven suddenly become more inclusive?”
Every single accusation she had ever wanted to throw at his feet filled her mouth, scratching and clawing to get out, to be poured over him like acid, to be exorcized once and for all. But Sam’s fingers were warm and safe in her bandaged hand, all smooth, pale skin against white gauze and blood stains, and Magdalene felt weary and tired and the words seemed useless. She had wasted thirty years hating this man, thinking she hated this place. And in the end none of it mattered.
Alden opened his mouth to answer her, his fingers trembling once again, as if he was afraid she would take away the most precious thing he had. After all, she was the one holding Sam’s hand. But Magdalene merely shook her head, and they sat in silence for a long moment. When he spoke his voice held a note of regret.
“I caused a lot of heartache for you, Magdalene. Are you going to make me swallow it back? You know you can. I think of all people, you are the only one who can.”
He shrugged his shoulder in such familiar fashion, the corners of her mouth lifted in a sorrowful smile.
“Thirty years is a very long time, Stanton. People will condemn you to death by a thousand paper cuts for some nebulous ‘greater good’. You certainly pontificated about that same good when you threw a sixteen year old to the wolves. When you closed the door on me. You carved a hole in me, a hole that she healed.” She reached out and smoothed Sam’s ash covered hair. “I can’t say that I am grateful for the closed doors, Stanton. But you are wrong about one thing.”
“And what would that be?”
“I am not the one to make you swallow the heartache.”
They both watched as the first tendrils of the early morning sun parted the horizon. Sam breathed quietly in front of them, safe under the blanket.
“You know there’s a reason they name storms after people, Magdalene.” His smile looked sincere for once, devoid of artifice or apprehension. “Some individuals should come with warning signs, and the sulky, unrepentant teen I slammed that door on thirty years ago grew up into one of those people, one of those storms. I am sorry for that time. And I apologize for the past months. Yes, that’s because I need you, and because you hold Samantha’s hand. But I am still sorry. And I am very glad for your storm, Magdalene, because you saved her, and she’s all I have.”
With that, he got up off the ground with some difficulty and slowly made his way to where Franz huddled with some of the faculty that had chosen to remain on the ruined grounds.
Sam’s fitful rest was interrupted by moments of wakefulness when she either asked for Magdalene—and made her heart, that was shattered into tiny splinters from the pain and shock of almost losing her, slowly stitch itself back together as those hands reached for her sleepily—or hug the crying Lily, whom Magdalene wanted to both shake and engulf in her own arms.
By the time Sam woke up again, Magdalene’s fingers traveled freely along the angular planes of the beloved features. Her fingertips, encased in bandages, traced the contours of Sam’s face, her cheekbones, her nose, her brows, her forehead, as her long lashes that fanned those slightly hollowed cheeks fluttered open, and Magdalene knew right away that Sam would manage to stay awake this time.
When she spoke, her voice was still hoarse, smoke rough. “I guess I refused hospitalization?”
“In a manner of speaking, darling. Franz insisted you only have a relatively small concussion and a cut on your temple, which he stitched. Since you were so vehement about not wanting to go anywhere, he and I almost had to fight Alden on not taking you to Boston by helicopter. They’re about to move you to Franz’s clinic. He’s mostly assisting the few firefighters now, after assessing Amanda and Lily’s respective degrees of smoke inhalation, and you were resting peacefully, so there was no need to hurry anyone along.”
Sam caught the palm caressing her face and intertwined their fingers.
“Has he checked you out? You were just as exposed as everyone else.” Magdalene tsked, but Sam tugged at her hand and refused to let go until she relented and nodded.
“Yes, yes, he did. I’m fine,” Magdalene acquiesced. “How are you?”
“Ah, I think Franz was right, damn his hide.” Sam moved her shoulders experimentally, then sat up with remarkable ease without Magdalene’s assistance. Another piece of Magdalene’s heart was stitched back at the sight.
“Why was he right, darling?” Sam might have moved and looked fine, but Magdalene proceeded to assist her anyway, at least in wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. When she did, she saw Sam looking at her very closely, as if cataloging her injuries. She really was adorable.
“I thought I had hallucinated Alden’s voice earlier. Turns out I hadn’t, so clearly I’m in great shape. What is he even doing here?”
Sam huddled into the blanket, and Magdalene tucked it around her snugglier and sat down hugging her shoulder, deliberately facing away from the fire and the ruin of the school, staring into the rising sun that spilled color and the hope of the new day over the renewed ocean. Sam stilled next to her and took a cautious look around, as if assessing who might be watching them, but Magdalene simply barreled forward.
“He arrived by private boat about an hour and a half after I called to inform him that the school was burning. He has helped in every way he can. And he didn’t step away from you for a second after you were pulled out of the rubble. He’d be here now, except they are organizing the transportation of the children to town, and I asked him to help.”
“That’s a bit weird, wouldn’t you say?”
just peered into the sunrise, and her lips thinned. She needed to address a certain issue in particular, sooner rather than later, and she wanted to be the one to do it, because with so many well-wishers around her, Sam was bound to find out about this at any moment. And all things considered, Sam was better off hearing some things from Magdalene.
“What’s weird is that Orla is still missing.”
“Do you think she’s…” It was obvious that Sam couldn’t bear to say the words.
And judging by her face, she couldn’t fathom that Fenway could be dead in the rubble of Dragons. Magdalene herself did not believe it. It was too easy a way out for Orla, and Magdalene believed the universe owed her that much; a chance to tear a strip or two off that righteous fool who’d almost gotten all four of them killed because of her obsession.
“We don’t know yet. It appears, from what Lily and Amanda told us and from what others have said, that she might not have been at the school at all. They’re looking for her now. They’ll find her, I’m sure.”
Sam’s face, so expressive, didn’t hide her apprehension. She closed her eyes, and they sat in silence for a long moment. When Sam finally returned her gaze to Magdalene, the disquietude had a different color altogether.
