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  “No,” Cydni whispers. “This is really hard. It’s okay.”

  Janet ignores Luke. “I should make some calls.”

  “All right,” Mark agrees.

  “No, wait. I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “The nurse said you have to go to the top floor of the parking garage to get reception.”

  Luke leans over. “Signs everywhere say not to use your cell.”

  “Well,” Janet says, “I can’t leave this room and miss the doctor. Sarah’s going to need me right away.”

  Mark removes his badge and puts it in his pocket. “You’re right. We shouldn’t leave.”

  “Would you like me to go make some calls?” asks Chantelle.

  Janet folds her hands. “No. Let’s wait. Until we know more. No need to call yet.”

  Stepping around a baby crawling on the floor, Mark goes over to the bathroom.

  “Could Sares die, Mom?” Luke asks.

  “That’s exactly what I was wondering,” Cydni says, swiping at her eyes.

  I clutch my cramping stomach.

  Janet clicks her purse closed. “We don’t know. She could, or, she might — ​It’s a very dangerous surgery. Well, um — ” She tucks her hair behind her ear with shaking fingers.

  Luke covers her hand, and she leans her head onto his shoulder.

  Mark returns, smoothing his hair down. It looks more like he wants to rip it all out.

  “Dad?” says Luke.

  “When did I stop paying attention to Sarah?” he asks.

  No one answers him.

  The question niggles into me and morphs. How did Sarah not pay attention and see my car this morning? I grind my heels into the industrial carpet. How is that possible when my headlights were on; can an ounce of blame be moved onto her? Shame heats my face. How did I not pay attention and see her?

  2:40 pm

  “That’s him!”

  Startled, I nearly fall off the chair, until I see Luke leap up and point to the surgeon.

  “Five hours for an operation is crazy,” Luke says to Cydni, who agrees.

  The surgeon gestures to a small room across the hallway, and Luke follows his folks out. “Be right back,” he tells Cydni and Chantelle over his shoulder. They wave him on.

  When Cydni goes into the bathroom, I slip out of the waiting area. There’s a bulletin board in the hallway, which I act like I’m reading as I listen through the ajar door.

  “The surgery has stopped the bleeding.” Air gushes out of my chest and flutters the papers tacked to the display. She’s alive! She’s okay!

  “Excellent,” Luke says.

  “Yes!” Janet exclaims.

  The doctor goes on. “However, we won’t know for an extended period if Sarah’s brain sustained permanent damage. It could take months to identify problems.”

  I choke. Permanent damage?

  “Right now,” he says, “we wait to see if the brain returns to its normal shape. Memory, speech, motor, and reasoning skills could all be altered.”

  It sounds like someone’s nails are scratching against a tabletop.

  “What can I do?” I whisper.

  “What can we do?” Janet asks.

  “Sarah’s in recovery,” the doctor explains. “It will be a few hours before we move her into the ICU. You might think of gathering a few personal effects from home to help make her stay in the hospital more comfortable. She’ll be here for several days.”

  “Yes, we’ll do that,” says Mark.

  “I, I want to see her,” Janet begs.

  “Yes, I understand. We’ll let you know as soon as that is possible. The reception desk will keep you informed.” He comes to the doorway.

  This is the man who touched Sarah’s brain. With his fingers.

  “Thank you,” Janet whispers. “Thank you for giving my daughter back to me.”

  The doctor brushes past me. Should I leave now, before possibly getting a chance to talk to Sarah’s father and hearing how she comes out of recovery? I can’t.

  I shrug my jacket closed and return to the waiting room. Cydni is facing away from the entry, so I drop into the same chair as before behind the tank. Sarah’s out of surgery, alive, but I need to know more about her recovery.

  Luke, Mark, and Janet return and fill in Cydni and Chantelle. I bite at my torn cuticle.

  Janet reaches over and pats Luke’s back. “Right now, the best thing is for you and your dad to go home and pack a few bags for us. Are you listening? I need your help.”

  I sit on my hands.

  Janet mutters, “Your dad probably wants a break anyway.”

  “Did you say something, Janet?” Mark’s lower jaw is slung to the right.

  “Never mind,” she says, one brow raised. “And start making phone calls. Get a chain going with church and family. I need you to really help here, Luke.”

  He and Mark stand. “This is something we can do,” he says, throwing his arm around his son. “We’ll be back before anyone misses us.”

  Behind him, Janet rolls her eyes. Can’t she give him a break?

  “Come on, Luke,” Mark says. “You okay to drive yourself home?”

  “Yeah.”

  After Cydni pushes a paper into Luke’s hand, she smiles up at him. “My mom and I wrote down some things you might bring back.”

  Janet intercepts the list. “Let me add a few, too.” She scrawls more stuff down on the back of the paper.

  “I’m not getting that stuff together. No way,” says Luke.

  She looks up at him and glares.

  “Okay, okay. But I don’t know a pad from a tampon, you know.” Luke huffs.

  “We’ll get it figured out,” Mark interjects. He takes the list, and the two head out. Luke turns and waves at Cydni, who breaks into a huge grin.

  Should I follow now and intercept Mark and Luke? But Sarah’s going to need those things, and I don’t want to delay them. Maybe I can catch her father alone when he returns?

  “How about a cup of coffee?” Chantelle asks Janet.

  “Probably don’t have time,” she answers.

  “I’m sure we do,” Chantelle urges. “You could check at the desk for when they think Sarah will be moved.”

  Janet finally relents and walks over to the receptionist. My own stomach gurgles, and I realize I missed lunch.

  Janet returns, and Chantelle convinces her she can believe the attendant. There’s time to eat. The two women and Cydni finally leave the waiting room. I let out a huge sigh. The little girl across the way looks over at me and hugs her doll closer.

  Sarah’s survived the surgery. I close my eyes and feel the relief flood me. Before I know it, I’m crying silently.

  There’s a little tap on my leg. I jump. It’s the girl. “It’s okay,” she says to me and makes her doll pat the back of my hand.

  “You’re right,” I say. “It’s okay.”

  3:45 pm

  Down in the busy cafeteria, I scout the area, but the ladies aren’t in sight. I load up my tray with mac and cheese, fries, and a chocolate shake. I pay, then inch into the eating area. It’s not that I can’t deal with Cydni; I already have, and actually I’d like to set a few things straight. But that’s for another time. I just don’t want to upset Janet more than she is right now. She needs to focus on Sarah, to be the best help to her.

  I spot the trio in the middle of the crowded room at a little table. I edge into a seat behind a nearby pillar. Perfect. I can hear them and even catch their reflection in the dark window. Janet grips her cup, and I shovel into my food.

  “We have these huge house payments with the move, what, only three years ago? I mean, we moved so the kids would be in the Covington school district for high school. I can’t believe we moved so my daughter could be hit, walking to her bus stop.”

  “Well, I’m glad you moved near us,” says Cydni, but the ladies ignore her.

  “And now these hospital bills are going to be astronomical. It’s not likely a grad student wou
ld carry enough insurance to cover an accident like this,” Janet says.

  Hey, I’ve got some coverage. Wait, how much do I have?

  Chantelle leans forward. “Don’t worry about the money, or work at the office, or even pressing charges right now. You need all your energy focused on Sarah. She’s what’s important.”

  Charges? The cold milkshake burns my throat.

  Janet sips her drink. “You are right,” she says. “Thanks for being a sounding board, Chantelle.”

  “It’s the least I can do,” she says.

  After a moment, Janet continues. “It’s like everything shifts in a tragedy. As if someone grips your chin and jerks it where you weren’t looking a moment before. The sight is horrid, but you know for certain all your energy has to go into that one place. Oh, shoot. I’ve spilled my coffee.”

  “Wait here. I’ll get a few napkins.” Chantelle crosses the room.

  Janet doesn’t miss a beat. “Some teacher — ”

  “Yeah, I know, Mrs. McCormick,” Cydni says. “It was Mr. Haddings.”

  This gets repeated a couple more times before Chantelle returns.

  “He hit my daughter with his car!” says Janet.

  “Yes, he did, Janet,” Chantelle answers.

  All of a sudden, my food slugs my stomach. I swallow, ignoring it, eating one fry after another, cramming the greasy pile into my mouth.

  “He hit her with his car!”

  I belch into my napkin.

  CHAPTER 16

  Sarah

  5:05 pm

  Beep.

  Beep.

  Beeeeep.

  Jostle.

  So … chilled.

  Warm air

  puffs.

  My head aches. Deeply raw.

  Sleep … ing.

  CHAPTER 17

  Haddings

  6:20 pm

  I drop onto the bench outside the children’s ICU waiting room. Cydni’s, her mom’s, and Janet’s voices carry from behind the double doors. When the nurse said Sarah was being moved out of recovery, I headed up here a few minutes after them. The staff has to take her through this hall to get into the ward, I think, so maybe I can see her.

  Wait — ​why are they placing her in a children’s ward?

  I eventually discover the answer by overhearing Janet: there’s a bed available in children’s, and Sarah will get closer attention here than she would in the adult ward.

  “She’s not a child though,” Cydni responds.

  Exactly. In the fall, Sarah will be starting college. Before class a few weeks ago, she mentioned she had her choices narrowed down to Mills or UW. It’s hard to imagine being in school with her in Seattle; it’s all too strange. I shiver. Right now, I don’t even know if she can finish high school.

  “Sarah’s technically an adult, since she turned eighteen last month,” Cydni says.

  “She’ll always be my child,” Janet answers.

  A couple hurries past me through the doors. The nearly empty waiting room is full of little furniture alongside adult-size chairs and tables. I glimpse images of flowers and happy children on the walls before the doors swing shut again.

  “Look, out this window you can see a camera crew is down there,” says Chantelle.

  Are they reporting my accident? What I did? I draw my feet up onto the bench and hide my face against my knees. Please, please, no.

  “I’ll check the TV,” Cydni says. There’s the sound of channel surfing, tumbling words, jingles, sports updates.

  “Why don’t you two go on home now? Get some dinner,” Janet suggests. “Mark and Luke will be back soon. You don’t need to stay. It’s getting late. I’ve got everything under control.”

  I drop my feet to the floor, but Chantelle answers immediately. “We’re not going anywhere right now. We want to see Sarah, and we are not leaving you alone.”

  “I’m okay,” she argues.

  The TV rants, one station, then the next.

  “Well,” Janet eventually says. “Whatever you feel you need to do is fine. I’m not going to spend my energy arguing with you about it.”

  “There! Look!” says Cydni.

  “Early this morning in Covington,” the newscaster relays, “a teen walking to her bus stop was hit by a car in a crosswalk. The driver was not detained, although charges are pending.”

  My heart skips out of beat.

  “Do you have an update, Julie?”

  “The eighteen-year-old girl, a student at Kentlake High School, remains in critical condition. There is no further information at this time.”

  The TV goes mute. “How weird was that?” Cydni says. “I mean, like, they could have interviewed me, you know, since I saw the whole thing happen. I would have talked to them, then everyone would have seen me on TV — ​not that that’s important or anything. It’s Sarah we are thinking about,” she concludes with a hushed voice.

  “Pending charges” rattles my mind. Not homicide. Not manslaughter, but still, some sort of legal repercussion. I need a lawyer ASAP.

  The staff elevator at the end of the hall dings. I hold my breath. After the wide door opens, a body is rolled out. Two attendants block my view as they push the person closer. The male stops right in front of me. Is it Sarah? I clutch the front of the bench. The woman nudges the gurney through the waiting room doors.

  “I have to see,” I plead, standing and peeking into the room.

  Janet lumbers to the bed, and the attendants slow for a moment. “Sarah?” she whispers, and leans over. “Oh, Sarah!”

  I stand on my toes, straining for a glimpse.

  “Is she dead?” Cydni’s shrill voice rises. “Is my friend dead?” The male attendant pulls her aside and talks quietly to her. Chantelle is bawling her head off.

  The woman attendant turns to Janet. “Ma’am, we’re taking Sarah into ICU, and then a nurse will come get you. We want to get her cleaned up and comfortable.” She tries to roll the gurney forward.

  “Let me take care of her,” Janet demands. “I’ll clean her up. I’ll take care of my daughter now.”

  “No, ma’am. That’s our job,” the attendant says.

  The male props Cydni in a chair. “There, now.” He turns to Sarah’s mom and grasps her arms. He walks her a step back from the gurney. “The sooner we go and do our work, the sooner we can come and get you. It will only be a few minutes. Okay?”

  Janet tries to reach around him, but he holds her back as the female attendant punches a code into a keypad. Quickly, they push Sarah through the ICU doors, which shut behind them.

  Janet turns to Chantelle. “Don’t say anything!” she yells. “She looks beautiful! My daughter is still beautiful! Don’t you say anything otherwise! She — ​is — ​beautiful!”

  Chantelle runs off to the bathroom, where her crying only echoes louder. Janet slams her hands against the locked doors that lead into ICU. “She is beautiful!” she wails to no one.

  “Excuse me.”

  I turn and come face to face with the surgeon. “Oh, I’m sorry.” I step behind the door and open it for him. He strides across the room while I open the door a smidge wider to watch.

  “Mrs. McCormick,” he says, breaking the insane spell she’s in. She wipes her eyes with the back of her wrist and hurries to his side.

  “The follow-up CAT scan confirms the surgery’s effort.”

  “Effort?” Chantelle asks, coming out of the bathroom.

  “The scan,” the doctor continues, “shows no further bleeding. The titanium plate screwed onto the skull is holding the pieces in place.”

  “Screwed?” asks Janet.

  “Yes, screwed onto her skull.”

  “Will she start bleeding again?” Cydni asks, getting up from the chair.

  “No. Neurological damage is the concern now.”

  “But she’s okay?” Cydni says. “She’s not dead or anything — ”

  The doctor smiles. “She’s sedated.” He hands Janet a piece of paper.

  “
The blood pool is gone,” she says, clutching the neck of her shirt closed.

  “Yes, and the brain is beginning to regain its shape,” the surgeon answers. “We’ll start testing very soon for further damage; although, as I said earlier, it will take months to determine her full state. I’ll go and examine her now. It won’t be long, though, before they take you to her.”

  Janet reaches out and squeezes his thin hand. “I need to see Sarah now. I need to take care of her.”

  “Yes, Mrs. McCormick. You’ll be taken inside in a few moments.” He slips from her grasp, punches in the code, and disappears inside the unit.

  Janet and Chantelle embrace and begin rehashing everything the surgeon said.

  That’s it. I can’t stand it. I’m going to go in and introduce myself and get this over with. I’ll weather their reaction; I just have to get inside and see Sarah myself — ​if only her mother will allow it. Maybe I can be of help right now. I step into the room.

  Cydni looks up, and we stare at each other, still as statues. “No,” she mouths, rushing at me, her curls wired in fury all over her head like Medusa’s snakes. She shoves me into the hall, and the door clunks closed behind us.

  “What are you doing?” she yells in a whisper.

  I step back, trying to pull an answer up from my blank mind.

  She elbows me toward the elevator, and I stumble as she herds me to the doors and crams the down button. “What are you doing here?” she spits into my face.

  “I had to know.”

  “Had to know what?”

  “I had to know she’s all right,” I say.

  She glances over her shoulder. “All right? If Sarah’s all right? Are you kidding me? Didn’t you see — ” She shakes her head. “What if Mrs. McCormick sees you? You are such a selfish jerk! You’re the last person she’s going to want to see right now. She’s nearly losing it already without meeting you.”

  “No, no. That’s why I didn’t intrude. I was only waiting nearby — ​but now I thought Sarah’s mother might want an explanation, or to, I don’t know, have the opportunity to vent at me. I, I want to take responsibility for — ”

  “You creep! You’re a total stalker. What is wrong with you? No one wants you here.”