“You would be well again,” I whispered. “You would sleep in my arms, and I would kiss you without ever having to come up for air. I would make a hymn of both our names. It would make the most beautiful sound . . .” I’d dropped my English because Spanish has so many words for declaring love, and I needed to use them all before it was too late. And though his tears were invisible in water, we both wept to the sound of promises whispered like prayers through the glass about a future where time couldn’t chase us, where my heart would beat for him for as long as he wanted it—until the oceans boiled
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