Lydia couldn’t die. That was all that Tristan could think about right now. It had never been so important that something happen, or not happen, in the history of the world. Lydia could not die.
“Come on,” Andre placed an arm around Tristan’s should and tried to steer him away, but Tristian remained stubbornly rooted to the spot. “Come on, man, let’s go sit down.” Andre tried again, but Tristan still refused to move.
“Lydia cannot die.” Tristan finally managed to say it aloud, and Andre gave a little sigh.
“I know, man, I know. But standing here is going to nothing but hurt your knees. Let’s go sit down. They’ll come and get us when we can go see her, okay? I promise they’ll get us the moment we can do anything for her. Lydia can’t die.”
Slowly and stiffly, like a man in a trance (or perhaps because he was a man in a trance) Tristian allowed Andre to lead him to some chairs, where he slowly sank down into them. Both men— at that moment–thought the exact same thing. Lydia could not die.