She holds up a hand. “Stop! I insist you do exactly the same thing if a crazed psycho ever comes after us again. I’m bulletproof on naltrexone.”
“Did you know the tablets would stop the heroin from, you know…”
“Killing me?”
“Yeah…”
A headshake. “Not really, but I do know it’s given as an antidote for overdoses and that it reduces the effects of opioids.” She crosses her fingers on both hands and holds them up. “So I hoped. When you injected it, I reacted like I’d seen people do on TV. Who knows if it’s real or not, butyou’d assume if we see it that way onscreen often enough, it must be reasonably realistic?” A smile.
“I thought you were dead.” A sob escapes now.
She reaches across the bed cover and squeezes my hand.
“I know. I’m sorry. But I had to make sure she believed it. And it did have a huge effect—I was fairly out of it. I knew the daily dose I take would have some antidote impact, but maybe not enough, and I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to get the box out of my bag.”
I wince at the thought of this, the terror she must have felt.
Another squeeze. “Susan, go easy on yourself. What happened is horrific, but you didn’t intend any of it.”
And that’s the thing. None of us intended any of it. Is that enough, though, for absolution? I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to say.
108
Susan
Sunday
I’m still at the hospital, but with Maeve now, keeping her company while Leesa and Samir get something to eat. Her face changes as soon as her parents leave, and she grabs my hand.
“Susan.” She says my name in an urgent whisper. “They’re saying Nika drove at me because she thinks I spiked her lunch with nuts. That I tried to kill her.” Her eyes tear up. “I hate her, but I’d never do that, no way. She was my best friend once. Like, I’d never do that to anyone, even my worst enemy.” A sad smile. “Which she also is, of course. But I’m really scared Greta did it.”
“What do you mean?” I’m stalling now, trying to work out what to say.
“She saw my laptop.” She reddens. “I was googling, stupid stuff. I’d never have done it. But I’m scared it gave her the idea…”
“She didn’t.” Relief floods through me. I know it wasn’t Greta, and now I know it wasn’t Maeve. “I swear to you, she didn’t. We’ve talked about it. It might have been a kid in the class…I heard some guy posted on Snapchat about putting nuts in someone’s lunch.”
Maeve lets out a breath. “Are you sure it wasn’t Greta?”
I reach and gently push her hair out of her eyes. “Maeve, I’m certain. I’ve known Greta all my life, and you couldn’t find a better person. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Her eyes bloom with tears. “OK. OK. I feel better.” She smiles and gulps a sob. “Please promise me you’ll never tell her I thought that about her?”
“I promise.”
One more secret, but one worth keeping.
• • •
Maeve falls asleep and I slip outside to call Jon and check in on Bella. A figure by the corridor entrance catches my attention. Celeste. Tall, imposing as ever, her red hair gleaming in the evening sunlight. But on closer inspection, her structured navy dress looks crinkled and there are purple shadows visible under her eyes, despite carefully applied concealer. My mind goes back to our phone conversation last week. Her anger, my embarrassment, her request for a public apology. Our eyes meet, just briefly, then she looks down. I take a step toward her.
She clears her throat and looks up again. There’s nothing imposing about her, I see now. She looks…broken.
“Is…is Maeve doing…Is she OK?” It all spins across her face—horror, sadness, regret, resignation.
“She’s fine. A broken leg, but she’s doing OK.”
Her shoulders sag. A sob shudders out. “Oh, thank god.”
