The Way Back (Champions of the Crystal Book 4)

Chapter 12.3

Reese and Ford were waiting for her when she came out of the room. Neither of them commented on her tear-stained face. Reese merely looked in to make sure her grandfather was asleep, and then she escorted them both silently out into the hall.

"I'd like to come again, soon," Sabrina said at last.

"Please. Any time you like," Reese replied. "You are always welcome."

"Thank you."

They didn't speak again until they reached the main door; then Ford took over their good-byes, thanking Reese for her hospitality and shepherding a silent, numb Sabrina to the flyer. He didn't speak to her, glancing at her from time to time as she sat listlessly staring out of the window without seeing the ground flash by beneath them. She was vaguely grateful for his silence, for the room he was giving her to think and grieve. Either he was extraordinarily tactful, or awkwardly indifferent; right now she didn't care which. At least he wasn't mouthing platitudes at her, or pretending to understand. She didn't think she could have borne it.

No one could understand what she was feeling right now; even she couldn't make much sense of the maelstrom tearing at her heart. Of all the things she felt, only a huge, dark emptiness clearly identified itself. That she and Tassan belonged together, would live their lives together, had been the cornerstone of her life on Earth for nine years—had made so much about it bearable, temporary.

But the loneliness wasn't going to go away, after all; it was only going to be worse, with no hope of reprieve. She and Tassan had very little time left, and no chance of togetherness; their old rapport was gone, lost somewhere in the long trail of years behind them. She had lived with a futile dream the past nine years. She had to face it, as Tassan had done so long ago. The goals and priorities in her life, the very definitions of it, had all been erased and must be rewritten. How could she bear it? Where would she find the strength?

Before, when horrible blows shattered her world, she had found reasons to go on, to rebuild. There had always been a duty, someone who needed her. Scotty had needed her when their parents died, and through all the hard times afterward, but there was nothing she could do for him now. He was utterly beyond her help, as surely out of reach as if he were indeed dead. Tirqwin was his only hope. And Tirqwin, who had once clutched at her faith and promises as his only lifeline, manifestly did not need her any longer. Neither did Mara. Praxatillus had not needed her in nearly a century.

Where did she fit? Who needed her now? And if the answers were nowhere and no one, did she have the strength to redefine herself, to find a new place to belong and new people who needed her?

Is this at the root of what Tirqwin calls my martyr complex? Was I always so terrified of this moment, so convinced it lay ahead, that I preferred to die rather than face this? My own obsolescence?

Stop being an idiot, the tart, rational voice in the back of her mind snapped. There are always things that need to be done, people who need to be helped. Stop wallowing and look around.

I can't. I'm so tired, she thought. She felt a long, lifeless sigh slide out of her.

"Sabrina?" Ford said.

His voice was soft, hesitant, and she waited in helpless irritation for him to ask if she was all right. No, I'm not all right. My whole life, the man I love, all of it's gone. All my plans, all my hopes. How can you even ask?

"We have a couple of hours still before your wardrobe appointments," he said. "Do you want to go home, or would you rather be somewhere else for a while?"

She looked over at him in surprise and relief. "Oh...." she sighed. "Somewhere else, please. I don't think.... I can't face anyone. Not yet."

"I know someplace we won't be disturbed," he said.