Those were perhaps the most perfect days, those few days, that Beth and I ever had, the wonderful, beautiful us I'd always known we could be.
The night before I left, for the first time, Beth cried, not for sorrow nor for rage, but for love, a love I could feel with every part of my being, when she came on me, in me, verbalized the wonder she felt when my body tightened and pulsed around her and when we finally slept, she still rest within me.
"I love you, JayJay," she whispered into my neck and held me close with gentle desperation, the same way she'd made love. "I love you and our baby."
The ride to Rhode Island passed in a blur of high spirits about the gig - and anxiety about the gig - but the four of us balanced each other well, and Noah was almost as careful as Beth in reminding me to drink enough water, eat another something or other.
Noah reached behind the bench in the double row van that held us and our equipment and when he turned back around with a bottle of water in hand, his eyes widened before he lunged forward to grab me and tuck me under him.
Then the world flipped on its back with a sharp, brilliant blasting howl...before it turned silent, warm, and black.
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