LM stayed by the window, hugging his book, uncertain as to what to say or do. If only Capernaum were here! He’d help me. He’d give me a nudge. Some sort of hint.
But he isn’t here and he will never return to me. I need to figure out ALL of this stuff on my own.
He walked back to the bed. With every step, he expected her to change her mind. He could almost feel the heat and the pain of her fire on his skin.
But he didn’t stop.
LM walked all the way back to her bed and stopped beside it. He gave his book one more hug before thrusting it at her. “You read the next part.” Missy opened her mouth to potentially say something, but he intercepted her with a firm, “Please.”
She searched his expression for he didn’t even know what.
But he didn’t ask.
He simply waited.
She took the book from him and flipped through the pages. “Little Women. Little. Not big. Not large. Not small. Little. I guess calling it Small Women wouldn’t have had the same ring to it.”
LM had no idea if he was even supposed to respond to that. So, he didn’t bother.
“Oh! Here we are. Sally Moffat’s party.”
LM slouched and propped his elbows on the bed rail. “Start from the beginning of the chapter.”
Bracelets of fire danced around Sarah’s wrists as she turned the page. As always, Raoul and the Persian were stuck in the Phantom’s torture chamber. The torture room was getting so hot Sarah wondered how the two men weren’t taking clothes off.
Christine was the only one who could save them. But which would she choose? The scorpion or the grasshopper?
Sarah knew the answer, but that knowledge did not detract from the whole reading experience. The tension was still there in the words and the character’s actions. The dreadful uncertainty remained. Which would she choose?
Who would she choose?
The car came to a halt, but Sarah kept reading. She wanted to see Christine’s decision. She LOVED that part. It was so dramatic and satisfying.
She moved her finger over the words, trying to drag out the moment for as long as she could. The words appeared, one letter at a time, in a marvelously slow reveal.
John Addleston turned in his seat. “Sarah? We’re here. Are you ready—”
Sarah scowled at him and made the universal sign for “Shush!” She pointed at the middle of her chest, spread her hand flat there, tapped the corner of her eye, and tapped the page.
He smiled. “Okay. I’ll wait.”