Jeanne Louise hesitated, then set down her spoon and moved toward the door to the pantry. “I’ll get it.”
“I wasn’t asking you to get it. I can get it. Just tell me where it is,” Paul said sharply, following her.
“It’s no trouble,” Jeanne Louise said grimly, tugging the door open and stepping into the garage. “Just go back to your game. I’ll replace the bottle.”
“God dammit, Jeanie!”
She stopped abruptly at the shout and then turned slowly as Paul stepped into the small room and closed the door. Sighing, he leaned back against the door and shut his eyes before saying wearily, “Jeanie, I can’t do this.”
“Do what?” she asked warily.
He opened his eyes and said solemnly, “I can’t handle you treating me like a child.”
Jeanne Louise frowned and then forced a nervous laugh and moved in front of him, her hands sliding down over his chest, one drifting farther down to cup him through his jeans as she leaned up to nibble at his ear and whisper, “I hardly think I treat you like a child, Paul.”
“Not in bed,” he said grimly, catching her hands and urging her back. “That’s the only time you don’t treat me like a child.”
Jeanne Louise stared at him uncertainly. “I don’t understand. When do I treat you like a child?”
“The water jug,” he said quietly.
She shrugged her shoulders unhappily. “I was just trying to help. They’re heavy and—”
“For me,” Paul interrupted. “But they aren’t for you or Livy, I know,” he said wearily. “But they aren’t so heavy I can’t carry them.” Sighing, he ran one hand through his hair. “You’re overprotective of me, Jeanie. You don’t want me to do anything dangerous, or carry anything heavy. I suspect if I let you, you’d wrap me in cotton batting and keep me in the house all the time.”
“I’m just . . .” When Jeanne Louise paused helplessly, he pulled her into his arms and held her tight.
“It’s bad enough that your uncle and the other men treat me like a girl, but I can’t handle you doing it too,” Paul said in a pained voice.
Jeanne Louise hesitated, and then wrapped her arms around him. “We’re just worried about you, Paul.”
“I know,” he said unhappily. “And why wouldn’t you be? I’m the weakling here. The fragile one. And you’re all stronger, faster, and smarter than me.”
“We may be stronger and faster, but we’re not smarter,” Jeanne Louise said at once, trying to pull back. “You’re smart, Paul.”
“Then why didn’t I see what your uncle and father did?” he asked quietly, letting her pull back finally. “Why didn’t I see that we wouldn’t work like this?”
“We can work,” she said at once, desperation entering her voice.
“No, we won’t,” Paul said solemnly. “We can’t. Because I’m asking you to do what I couldn’t.”
Jeanne Louise shook her head with confusion. “I don’t—”
“I’m asking you to watch me die,” he said solemnly. “Jeanie, you treat me exactly like I treated Livy when I found out about the tumor, even before she grew thin and weak. You’re worried and protective. You’re having to watch me die just like I was watching Livy die, only you’re going to have to watch and worry for decades rather than months. And you have no hope of saving me.” He let his breath out on a sigh, and then said, “I was selfish enough that I was willing to let you suffer the worry and misery of it. I wanted it even though I knew it would hurt you every day to see me age, wither, and die. And I’d probably still be selfish enough to make you do that . . . except for how weak and useless it makes me feel.”
“I’ll try not to make you feel weak and useless,” Jeanne Louise said quietly and when he started to shake his head, she said more strongly, “I will. I wasn’t thinking about how you’d feel. I’ll let you be a man, Paul. I’m not saying I won’t worry or fret, but I’ll try to check myself before I speak, and let you carry heavy things and I won’t try to stop you from doing things you’re perfectly capable of.”
“But no one else will,” he pointed out gently. “They’ll still treat me like the weakling I am in comparison to them.”
“Then we’ll leave,” she said. “We’ll go to your house. I can train Livy myself.”
“Will they let us?” Paul asked uncertainly.
“They’ll have to,” she said firmly.
Paul stared at her uncertainly, and then nodded and pulled her against his chest for a hug, and Jeanne Louise let her breath out on a sigh. But she was troubled. Just the thought of losing him had raised such panic in her . . . and she was going to. She might be lucky and he’d live to eighty. She might have forty years with him. But that was barely a heartbeat to her people. She was one hundred and two years old, almost one hundred and three. Just a baby to her people. She could live to be a thousand, two thousand, even three thousand years old. Her time with him would be a mere blip in her life, and then she would spend the rest of her years alone, living on her memories. It could break her.
Seventeen