A cold, wet cloth touched her forehead, and she opened her eyes into his worried gaze. He smoothed a lock of hair from her cheek. “Lillian.” She stared past him, through him, seeing the USS Arizona Memorial and a name beneath her finger. She saw a sunny kitchen with a jug of flowers centered on the table. And deeper in her mind lived a rugged blond man, grinding his jaw in frustration. John stroked the back of her hand. “Are you all right, love?” She pulled her lower lip into her mouth and pressed it with her teeth before releasing it. “I’m thirsty,” she said quietly. John shot across the space, located a bottle of water and filled a glass tumbler. Lillian scooted into a sitting position, hugging her knees to her chest. She accepted the water and drank it in one breath. When the last drop wet her tongue, he set aside the glass. And then he was crushing her to him, kissing the part of her hair, her temple, the crest of her cheek. She clung to his neck, her bracelets digging into her skin.
