Page 9 of We Drank the Dawn

She paused for a moment. “Yes…I would.”

My heartbeat seemed to ricochet, echoing off the walls of my chest as anxiety swooped through me. “Maybe…you should call Dr. Jones on Monday.”

Her warm body turned to stone in my arms. Then she wriggled around until she faced me, her eyes searching mine in the dark. “What did you just say?”

I gazed at her and spoke slower. “Maybe you should call Dr. Jones on Monday.”

She shook her head. “You can’t say that if you’re not serious.”

“And what if I am?”

She rolled her lips together, blinking. “You’re—you’re ready?”

I had held her back in so many ways. If it were up to her, she’d have a minivan full of children right now. I nodded, incapable of speaking as light from the window glinted off her pooling tears. Finally, I choked out. “I haven’t had a seizure in a long time. Both of us are healthy. Everything we’ve had to wait on isn’t a problem right now. We have the savings set aside. I think…I think we should just do it.”

“You’re serious.” She didn’t believe me.

“I am.” I swiped a strand of hair off her forehead. “What do you think about that?”

She nodded, a tear escaping to race down her cheek. My wife didn’t get emotional often and seeing her cry, even happy tears, made my chest feel funny. “Yes,” she croaked. “I’ll call. You—you don’t want me to wait until after tax season though?”

I shook my head. “Don’t wait. It’ll take a while to get an appointment anyway. We should get the ball rolling.”

White teeth shone in the dark, her huge smile lighting up the room.

I smiled down at her. “I love you, Sarah.”

A soft cry lifted from her shaky smile. “I love you, Peter.”

As we drifted to sleep, our world flickered to black.

Just before her precious dawn.

THREE

Peter

January, two years ago

My thumb anxiously rapped against the steering wheel as I idled at a red light. My meeting with a client ran late, and I was pushing down to the last second for my meeting with Hastings Honda. If I was lucky, I’d be pulling in at 5:02 p.m. Their old accountant got fired for mismanagement and I was going in for a full takeover. Which, of course, would be a challenge since it was tax season and everything was already due. We’d get it done though.

We scheduled the meeting to take two hours, but I knew I’d be there past eight o’clock, maybe nine. Groaning, I let my head fall against the head rest. For a fraction of a second, my eyes closed. Insomnia had been kicking my ass. Why? I didn’t know. But a flare up during tax season was terrible timing.

I accelerated as the light ahead turned green.

From January to April, my days were always long. Leaving early, daily meetings, endless phone calls, back-and-forths with assistants, helping clients that have chronic procrastination issues—it was a lot. I genuinely loved it, but today I wanted nothing more than to veer off the main drag and go home to dinner and bedtime with my wife.

The sky dimmed as the sun sank toward the western horizon and already cars had their headlights on as they zoomed past. I glanced away from the lights, the beginnings of a headache pulling at my temples. I rubbed my lips together, realizing how thirsty and hungry I was, too. I’d worked through lunch, eating a protein bar and some blueberries at my computer. Had I drank anything besides coffee? I typically brought a water bottle, but I was running late this morning and accidentally left it on the counter.

Sitting there, I promised myself to have a good dinner, no matter how late I got back and how tired I was.

The light turned red again before I made it through the intersection and I swore. Settling in for another wait, I indulged in a long, deep exhale. My eyes, stinging with exhaustion, begged me to close them.

I did. Just for a second.

And when I opened them again, tiny blue dots speckled my vision. Just enough to be annoying. I shook my head, wondering how I was going to get through the meeting with a migraine.

My phone rang, and Sarah’s name rolled across the screen on my car’s dash. A relieved smile pulled into my cheeks as I tapped my bluetooth. “Hey, sweetheart.”