On the fourth day, Seraphine woke up and sat up against the headboard with her hands folded in her lap. She was very still, as if she had been practicing what to say.
When Greg brought her tea that kept its heat, she looked at the cup for a second and then at him.
"I thought I was going to die..." She said, "I want to make sure you understand that."
"I know," Greg said.
He sat down in the little chair next to the bed.
"I understand that people often express thoughts they wouldn't share otherwise when they believe they are facing death—" She stopped. "Actually, no... I meant every word."
"I was just hoping the fever would give me a way out."
"Did you really... mean it?"
A long pause. The ocean kept crashing against the rocks below.
"I meant it," Seraphine said. "I've loved you since the day you gave me a teacup and told me how you tested comfort as a portable concept."
