“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Lennon is a race car driver. She knows how to handle herself behind the wheel. And she just?—”
“Then maybe you’re wrong. If I was Lennon and I can handle a car so well, how did we end up in an accident this bad?” I ask waving my right arm over my body.
“I don’t know. But I’m damn sure going to find out,” he says. His jaw is set in determination.
“That’s not a lot of proof of me being Lennon.”
“Maybe not. But as much as I love Lennon, I just know I’d feel her loss in my soul. And I don’t. I’m hurting, yes. But I’m hurtingforLennon…because she is the one who lost her sister. And everyone who knows you knows how close you are.”
He’s so serious and sure of himself. I’m almost jealous because I’m not sure of anything right now.
“There’s something else—” He’s cut off by Hendrix wheeling in who must be my sister. He pulls the bed over, right next to mine and unzips the black bag but doesn’t open it.
“Shut the door and leave. Give me my five minutes, please.”
They both start to leave but I stop them.
“Dash, if you think you can handle it, do you mind staying?” I ask. It’s a big ask and I know it is. I have no right, and I can’t explain why, but I need him in here.
He glances at Hendrix who then glances back at me and nods before quietly closing the door.
“Thank you. Can you open the bag so I can see her face?” I ask.
He hesitates but eventually moves to do as I’ve asked.
When he reveals her face, he sucks in a breath and looks away. My chest aches so deeply when I see her. She looks just like who I saw on screen. She looks like me. We’re identical. I want to hold her hand, but I know I can’t. And even though I feel a hole in my chest, I feel like a piece of me clicked back into place.
I close my eyes and I can almost see her in the back of my mind. She’s vibrant and laughing. So full of life. She’s reaching for my hand and then my eyes fly open when I hear Dash’s voice.
“Do you remember anything when you look at her?” he asks still turned away.
“Maybe. But it’s more of a feeling than an actual memory,” I tell him.
I commit her face to whatever memory I have left and then ask Dash to cover her again. Before he does, his gaze studies her one more time. Then, he zips the bag.
He’s about to say something when Hendrix comes in. “It’s time,” he says.
I nod, swiping tears from my face with my right hand. His brows furrow in concern before he takes my sister away from me once more.
But he stops at the door and stares at Dash. “Visiting hours are over,” he says before he disappears down the hall.
“We need to talk, Len—” He stops himself. “There are things to say. Just…please hear me out when you can. I’m not trying to push you. But know I’m here when you’re ready and I’ll be close by watching out for you,” he says.
He leans in and doesn’t kiss my lips, but he does kiss my forehead. I feel him tremble a little, and then he pulls back and wipes his eyes. He stares at my face one more time like he can resurrect Lennon before walking out the door and leaving me alone reeling. Why do I feel more of a connection to him than anyone else? There should be ways to tell twins apart. Littlemarks or scars. Dental records. Surely there is something that isn’t identical between us.
Dash has to be wrong. He’s just in shock. Maybe the part of me who knows I’ve lost Lennon is connecting with him because he lost her too.
My head hurts. My body hurts. But my heart hurts even more. I close my eyes and start to drift off and it’s there that I see her again. But this time when she reaches for my hand, I see myself take it, just before I fall asleep. If my dreams are the only place I can see her, I’ll try to dream as much as I can. Because seeing her makes me feel whole again. Even if it’s only in my dreams.
3
“It’s time, London,” a voice sounds behind me as I sit at a vanity brushing my hair with my good arm. I’m staring into the eyes of the reflection in the mirror. They’re still empty. Nothing has come back to me in the last two weeks. I finally shift my gaze higher and see my mother standing there, even if I don’t remember her.
I’ve only been home for a few days. But what is home? Neither me nor my sister live in this house with my parents anymore. We haven’t in years. We’re both adults and have our own lives. But they brought me here to help with my recovery.
They want to be there for me, and I get it. But I can’t stand the way everyone is hovering and the way they look at me when they think I won’t notice.
