93/395
she?? he asked as though he had been meaning to ask her that
question all night.
?Beth Smith.?
?Beth Smith. Right,? he said sarcastically.
?What??
?Well, ?Smith? is obviously an alias.?
?You don?t know that. You don?t know anything about her. How
can you say that isn?t my mother?s name?? Helen asked, getting
defensive.
She had never even known her mother, and here was this
stranger assuming he knew more than she did. It cut Helen a little
to have to admit to herself that perhaps he did. For the first time in
hours, she was also hyperaware of the fact that she was lying on
top of him, and she didn?t want to be anymore. She tried to put
pressure on her forearm but a searing pain informed her that there
would be none of that. After a few feeble attempts to roll off of him
she gave up. She could feel him smiling, and his arms tensing to
hold on to her just in case she managed to get away.
?I know your mother wasn?t named ?Smith? because you can fly,
Helen, now hold still. You?re hurting me,? he said frankly.
?Sorry,? she said, suddenly realizing that he?d taken the brunt of
her weight when they hit the ground. His injuries were probably
far worse than hers?and hers were awful.
As she watched the sand turn gray, then pink, then coral with the
rising sun, Helen thought that this was the second dawn she had
seen in as many days. Of the two, she much preferred this one. She
was in far more pain, but she was also alive and completely free
from anger. Helen hadn?t realized how heavy the burden of hate
had been until she was allowed to put it down.