“You really think so? Even with Cecily out there doing god knows what?”
“I do,” I say. And it’s the truth. Maybe it’s presumptuous, or maybe it’s a side effect of all the medication, but the air feels different. Like the tension permeating this town like a fog has lifted. Or lifted enough to see through.
Once, at one of my follow-up appointments after the accident, a nurse gave me her metaphor for surviving grief. It wasn’t the first or the last time I’d heard something in that vein; everyonehas their tried-and-true method, and everyone believes theirs is the best.
Hers was like this: grief is a ball bouncing around a box. In the beginning, the ball takes up the whole box. It fills out your life. Every time it hits a wall, it hurts. But as time passes, the box gets bigger. The grief stays the same size, and it hits the walls a little less. It hurts just as much when it does collide, but as the world moves on and life fills the box with more space, the collisions are less frequent.
Right now, the box is barely big enough for the loss stuffed inside. But all of us—Aisha and Sloane and Finn, our families, the families of the kids we couldn’t save—will grow. The loss will live inside us, but wewilllive.
“She’d be proud of you, you know,” Margot says. “Harper.”
The tears I’ve been holding back since I woke strapped to that table fly forward, blurring my vision as they trickle down my cheeks. I wipe them away and try to smile. It’s probably more of a grimace.
“And as pissed as I am at you for going off into the woods by yourself, I’m proud of you, too,” she says. “You saved a lot of lives. And stopped us from losing any more.”
“When did you get all grown-up on me?” I ask.
Margot snorts.
“I guess I haven’t really been paying much attention,” I say. I’ve been stuck in my grief bubble, not bothering to peek outside. Not seeing that the people I love were changing, growing, while I tried my hardest to stay still.
“No, you haven’t.”
“I am now, though.”
“Good,” she says. She leans back, folding her arms over her chest. “Speaking of paying attention…”
I frown, already suspicious of where she’s going with this.
“He’s at the other end of the hall. But I haven’t seen him or Nora.” Margot leans back, lifting her sneakers up onto the bed. She stretches a foot forward to tap mine beneath the blanket.
“Can’t put it off forever,” she says. She stands, heading for the door. “I’ll keep the parents busy for a few minutes. You better not be in here when I get back.”
Then she’s gone, and though it triggers my fight-or-flight response, I force myself to my feet and make my way toward the hall.
Forty-Four
I slink by the mainnurses’ station and spot the only other door monitored by an officer. Finn’s. I slow slightly as I near it, and the officer, a woman with her hair slicked back and a tense expression on her face, lifts her chin. Her lips part, forming the beginning of the inevitable inquisition, but before she can release it, someone steps through the doorway.
Nora. It’s only the second time since I’ve known her that she isn’t wearing her token red lipstick. No makeup at all, and her usually pristine nails are peeling, one of the acrylics gone, like she’s been picking at them.
The moment she sees me, a relieved smile lights up her face. She moves forward as the officer does and stops, turning to the woman. “She’s okay.”
“Only family allowed—”
“She’s his girlfriend,” Nora interrupts.
Heat rushes up from my toes, flushing across my skin and leaving what I know is an unsubtle blush. While the label might do some good at getting me in the room, it still makes me squirm to hear. Makes me wonder if it’d be better to turn around and beeline back to my room.
“She’s okay.”
“Immediately family only, Miss Shipman—”
“Oh, come on, Ava. Look at her. Does she look like a threat? She’s not even wearing shoes,” Nora says, propping a hand on her hip. “And I know he wants to see her.”
I am apparently unneeded in this conversation. Which is okay, seeing as I lost all ability to speak when I walked up. It takes all my energy to not bolt.
The officer, Ava, isn’t thrilled at the use of her first name, but she also doesn’t seem to want to enter this fight with Nora. Even if she wins, Nora will make it painful enough she’ll wish she hadn’t.
