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“I hate it when you’re right.”

My father smiled sadly at me and tucked my hair behind my ear.

“I never got to see you like this,” he said softly. “Maybe I was wrong before. I do have one regret: that I never watched you grow into the wonderful woman you’ve become. That I never saw you achieve everything I knew you could, and that I never got to tell you that you are everything I dreamt you could be, and so much more.”

More tears fell, and I found myself pressed against the crisp fabric of his uniform. I settled in and let myself sob into his shoulder the way that I’d wanted to, all those nights after he was gone. He let me cry it out for a long time, and when I backed away, he brushed my cheek fondly with his hand.

“I miss you more than ever,” I told him.

He gave me another small, somber smile that told me what was coming. “I’m the snow on your palm, darling. The moss under your feet. The blue sky, and the rain on your skin. I’m the beat of your heart and the breath in your chest. Listen closely and you’ll hear me.”

He paused, and I heard my pulse in my ears—but somehow, I knew it was his, too. It was a song that had been written at the beginning of the world, at the beginning of life. I listened to his voice and mine, singing together the way we had when I was a girl. It went on and on, and I was so whole, so peaceful. Like I was finished, complete. Like I could stay here, forever, and never want for anything.

“There are others who need you now,” my father reminded me with a sad smile. “Far more than this old soldier.”

“John,” I remembered, sniffling. His face came to me as readily as my own. “You would’ve liked him, you know. Once you got past the hair.”

My father’s laughter was like a drug I couldn’t get enough of. I drank in his presence like a woman who’d discovered an oasis after wandering the desert for days.

“My love for you has never waned, Claire-bear,” he murmured, and he bent to brush his lips against my cheek. “Not in fifteen years, not ever. You were always my greatest joy. Be brave, my girl—you have many more memories to make, and stories to tell.”

His image began to fade, and in desperation, I burst out, “Will I see you again?”

“Possibly,” came his answer, his voice a mere echo. “At the end of all things.”

Too late, I said, “I love you.”

But he was gone, and all I felt was the imprint of his kiss on my cheek.

There was dim light beyond my eyelids, but my eyes refused to open. I tried to inhale but the stabbing pain in my side took my breath away. All was quiet except for the wet gasp of someone nearby.

“Baby, you’re killing me,” John whispered, and the anguish in his voice pierced my soul. “I’ve hunted bears and fought gangsters, but I’ve never been this scared. Never.”

I tried to make my lips form words, but the sickness that still gripped my body was pulling me down again, back towards unconsciousness. My fever burned less hot than before, but it hadn’t dissipated, and my mind was fuzzy and drowsy.

“Please stay with me, sweetheart,” he said, and my heart ached when he broke down into sobs. “Maybe someone better than me could tell you it’s okay to let go. Fuck that shit. I love you too much to ever let you go.”

I’d never heard John cry like this—so brokenly, so helplessly. It took a moment before he could stop and speak again.

“There are so many books you haven’t read to me yet. So many drawings you haven’t finished. A schoolhouse you haven’t built, and kids you haven’t taught.”

He stroked my clammy cheek with his thumb.

“There are so many spring days you haven’t seen yet,” he continued, soft and broken. “So many mornings we haven’t spent together on the back porch at Summerhurst. So many walks in the woods we haven’t taken. So many times we haven’t made love yet. If you stay with me…I promise, I’ll make you happier than you’ve ever been.”

One more ragged sob burst free before he whispered, “I can’t do this without you, my Claire. I’m not strong enough. So, please…fight for me. For us.”

He took a few deep breaths, steadying himself before I felt the press of his lips against my cheek—the same spot where my father had kissed me in my dream. I wanted to hold him, to tell him that I’d fight for us every day for the rest of my life. I love you, I tried to say, but my lips wouldn’t obey my brain. My limbs felt like they were weighed down by rocks.

I heard John stand up and move around the room before sitting at my bedside and taking my hand in both of his again. A moment later, the door to the cabin opened.

“How’s she doing?” Kimmy asked in a hushed voice.

“Pretty much the same as the last check,” John replied, sounding remarkably composed, albeit exhausted.

Kimmy hovered over me, checking my vitals.

“There’s been some more drainage,” she said. “That’s good news. Still worried about that fever, but it hasn’t gotten worse, at least. You should get some rest, John. I’ll sit with her.”