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good chance,” North repeated. “Does he have family?”
    “Not here. Just me. Can I see him?”
    “Someone will come in to take you up to ICU shortly.”
    When they did, she stared down at him. His face under the clouds and streams of bruises was deathly pale. It wasn’t right, was all she could think. None of this was right. He didn’t even look like Steve with those blackened, sunken eyes, and his nose all swollen, and the white bandages around his head.
    They’d taken his earring off. Why did they do that?
    He didn’t look like Steve.
    She took the small silver hoop out of her ear and, bending over him, fixed it to his. And brushed his bruised cheek with a kiss.
    “That’s better now,” she whispered. “That’s better. I’m going to be here, okay?” Lifting his hand, she kissed his fingers. “Even when I’m not here, I’ll be here. You don’t get to leave. That’s the rule. You don’t get to leave me.”
    She stayed, holding his hand, until the nurse shooed her out.

Part Two
    REHAB
    Change your opinions,
keep to your principles;
Change your leaves,
keep intact your roots.
    — VICTOR HUGO

ELEVEN
    “ W e can take shifts.” Ford glanced over at Cilla as he drove. She hadn’t objected when he insisted she needed to go home, get some rest, have a meal. And that worried him. "They’re pretty strict in ICU anyway, and don’t let you hang out very long, so we’ll take shifts. Between you and me, Shanna and some of the guys, we’ll cover it.”
    “They don’t know how long he’ll be in a coma. It could be hours, or days, and that’s if—”
    “When. We’re going with when .”
    “I’ve never had a very optimistic nature.”
    “That’s okay.” He tried to find a tone between firm and sympathetic. “I’ve got one and you can borrow a piece.”
    “It looked like he’d been beaten. Just beaten.”
    “It’s the skull fracture. I talked to one of the nurses when you were in with him. It’s part of it.” Knowing it, even knowing it, he thought, hadn’t dulled the shock when he’d been allowed a minute with Steve. “So’s the coma. The coma’s not a bad thing, Cilla. It’s giving his body a chance to heal. It’s focusing.”
    “You do have plenty of optimistic pieces. But this isn’t a comic book where the good guy pulls it out every time. Even if—or we can go with your rainbow when —he comes out of it, there could be brain damage.”
    He’d gotten that, too, but saw no point in pushing through to worst-case scenario. “In my rainbow world, and in your darker version, the brain relearns. It’s a clever bastard.”
    “I didn’t get the goddamn padlock.”
    “If somebody got in the barn and went at Steve, why do you think a padlock would’ve kept them out?”
    She curled her fingers into her palms as they approached her drive. “I took down the gates. And planted fucking trees.”
    “Yeah, I figure the trees are what did it. Makes it all your fault.” He waited for her to take a shot at him—better, to his mind, than wallowing. But she said nothing. “Okay, again, if someone wanted in, how would a couple of wrought-iron panels stop them? What happened to pessimism?”
    She only shook her head and stared at the house. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. That crazy old man was probably right. The place is cursed. My uncle died, my grandmother, and now Steve may die. For what? So I can buff and polish, paint and trim this place? Looking for that link, that click, that connection with my grandmother because I’ve got none with my own mother? What’s the point? She’s dead, so what’s the point ?”
    “Identity.” Ford gripped her arm before she could push the car door open. “How can we know who we really are until we know where we came from, and overcome it, build on it or accept it?”
    “I know who I am.” She wrenched free, shoved the door open. Slammed it behind her.
    “No, you really don’t,” Ford responded.
    She strode around the side of the house. Work, she thought, a couple hours of sweaty work, then she’d clean up and go back to the hospital. The patio had been repaired, the new slate laid, with the walkways roped and dug except for the one she’d added to the plans. The one leading to the barn. Yellow crime-scene tape crossed over her barn door like ugly ribbon over a nasty gift. She stared at it as Shanna dropped her shovel and raced over the lawn.
    Cilla willed her compassion back into place. She wasn’t the only one