Hannah's Touch (8 page)

“Are you sure it wasn't the ambulance guy?” My voice came out in a squeak.

“Oh, I'm sure.” She chuckled. “None of our attendants have dimples like that.”

Logan.
I turned to instant Jell-O. My knees were shaking so much I could hardly stand up. It didn't make sense. It wasn't possible. I was insane to even think it.

But Logan's St. Christopher medallion pressed into my palm.

There are a million things we don't
understand
, M.C. had said
. But it doesn't
make them any less real.

“I asked if he wanted to leave a message,” the nurse added, “but he said no. He seemed to be in a hurry.”

In a hurry.
A half-laugh, half-cry bubbled up my throat. “Yeah.” I reached up to put the medallion on. There was nothing wrong with the clasp. I knew that for sure.

“Let me help,” the nurse said, coming out from behind the desk. I felt her cool fingers against the nape of my neck. Had Logan touched her, I wondered. Had he
really
been here? Did it even matter? “There.”

The medallion settled on my skin like a soft kiss. “Thanks.” I fought back tears and rubbed the small silver disk between my fingers. Everybody said I had to let Logan go, even M.C. Learn to accept and learn to let go, she'd said. But this...I brought the medallion to my lips. Maybe one day I'd be ready to let it go. To take it off and drop it into a jewelry box, but not now. Not yet. Letting go of my grief was enough of a job.

The nurse studied me with the practiced eye of a health-care professional. “You're awfully pale,” she said. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.”

More than fine, I thought as I walked to the elevator. While I waited for it to come, I gazed at the bulletin board.

There was a notice for yoga classes Thursday at noon. A picture of a white cat with the words
free kittens
written beside a phone number. And there was a car poster. It was a red car, some fancy thing Logan would have recognized. Above it, in bold black letters, were three words:
Live life large
.

There was a soft
ping
and the
swish
of doors as the elevator opened. I walked inside and pushed
M
for main.

Live large. I thought of what had happened in that room with Tom and how he'd be okay now. That was large. I thought about how large I felt when I touched someone who was hurting. I thought about the hum, the presence, that feeling of love.

Life
was
large, I thought as the elevator bumped to a stop. Only most of us lived it small. Most of us couldn't see the truth, even when it burned the palms of our hands.

The doors slid open. Not anymore, I thought as I reached up and touched Logan's St. Christopher. Not anymore.

Laura Langston is the author of
Exit Point
in the Orca Soundings series, along with teen novels and picturebooks. Laura lives in Victoria, British Columbia.

Also by Laura Langston:

CCBC Starred Our Choice
PSLA Top Forty

Exit Point
978-1-55143-505-3 PB
RL 2.8