The day ended with us signing the lease on a small, black 2010 four-door. It’s nothing like the old SUV I saved up for, nothing like the vehicle Harper and I spent so much time in. I have no memories in the seats, no knickknacks tucked into the middle compartment or side pockets. Harper will never ride in it.
But others will. New people will fill the seats, new jokes will be told, and new music will filter through the speakers. And though I want to throw up each time I climb behind the wheel and ambombarded with images of bent metal and bloodstained snow, it subsides quicker each time.
“I’d like to arrive alive, so I’ll take Miss Caution over you any day,” Finn says from his spot in the passenger seat.
“You’ve ridden in my car like five times,” says Nora. “And people who don’t have licenses don’t get to judge.”
“I was dead. Couldn’t exactly take my driver’s test,” Finn says. He flashes me a wicked grin.
“First off, you weren’t dead. Technically. Second, that excuse was only valid the first ten times. You’ve exhausted it.”
“What do you think, Jo?” Finn asks. “Think I’veexhaustedit?” His hand finds my knee across the middle compartment, and I know I’m blushing, but after a month of these little touches, I still react the same. I wonder if that feeling will ever go away. The miracle of a small touch.
“I’ll give you a few more.”
“You’re both nauseating.” Nora groans and sits back. But when I catch her eye in the rearview mirror, she’s smiling. “If this is going to be our new normal, we’re alternating. Next time, I get shotgun.”
“But, Nora, I—” Finn starts.
“If you say the worddied, I will climb up there, open the door, and shove you out.”
“Fortunately, Jo’s driving slow enough that I’ll survive it,” Finn says.
A laugh slips past my lips. It happens more these days. Laughter is no longer such a reach. It comes easy, though anger comes easy, too. With the whole town—the state, even the country—solidly locked on Holden and his pending trial, I’ve had to fend off a dozen reporters knocking on our front door or pretending to be interested in book shopping only to drop a question bomb.
I spent only a day in that bunker, but it sticks to my skin like pollen, and likely will for a long time. The same goes for Jasper, Finn, Aisha, and Sloane. Jasper’s nightmares bring him into my room a few nights a week. Aisha texts me several times a week to check in on us, like she’s worried one day she won’t get a reply. Sloane stops into the bookstore just as often, usually with a brother or two in tow, watching her intently. And sometimes when Finn grabs my hand, he looks down at our fingers for a long time, quiet, as if waiting for his skin to pass through mine again.
“Turn here,” Nora says suddenly, and the easy feeling hardens, the reason for today’s drive settling around us all like a fog.
When I told Nora and Finn I wanted to visit Ingrid’s parents, neither was all that eager, but they both agreed to come. The three of us go most places together these days, and this is no exception.
“Should we have called ahead to make sure they’re home?” Finn asks as Nora directs me to a house at the end of the block. It’s painted yellow, with a wraparound porch and colorful flowers. Aisha would love the garden.
“Probably,” Nora says. “Too late now.”
I pull up to the curb and put the car in park. My stomach threatens to claw its way up my throat and out of my mouth, and my heart is beating so loud, I miss Finn asking a question.
“Hmm?” I say.
His brows knit together. “Do you want me to come with you?” he repeats.
My gaze drifts to the house. Ingrid’s house. I shake my head. “I’ve got this,” I say.
I climb out of the car, leaving the engine running, and head up the pathway to the front door. I sneak a glance over my shoulder. Simultaneously, Finn and Nora give me a thumbs-up.
I push down my own nerves; I’m not here for me. I dig my hand into my pocket, closing around the bracelet I’ve held on to since that day by the creek when the man in the woods was still a shadow, when Finn was a specter, and when I was still a ghost in my own right.
Taking a breath, I reach out and press the doorbell.
A beat passes. Then a woman opens the door, her husband behind her. Harriett and Andrew. A small, fat Yorkie rushes between their legs and sniffs at my shoes.
“Edward, get back here,” Harriett says. The dog, Edward, ignores her, continuing his inspection of my shoes. “Sorry about that. He’s relentlessly nosy.”
I smile, bending down to pet Edward’s head. He licks my fingers once before heading back through the door, satisfied.
“How can we help you?” Harriett asks.
“Hi. I’m not sure if you remember me. We met at the block party in July,” I say.
