chaos, neither of us had thought to tell Lottie, or anyone else, where we’d gone. I pulled out Katie’s phone to find about a million frantic, all-caps text messages and a number of voicemails.
I didn’t want to leave Katie, but I had to do something, so I texted Lottie, Trish, Will, Simon, Zan and Audrey what had happened. This was not the kind of thing you sent in a text message, but I couldn’t really make a call.
They messaged back, and I tried to answer them as best I could, saying that I would call later with more details.
Talking, talking, talking. So much talking.
And then it was time to leave. Just like that.
I had no idea what the hell I was supposed to do, so I just got Katie to her feet and waited for someone to tell me.
“I guess Africa is going to have to wait,” I heard Kayla say to Adam. “You can go back if you want.”
“Not without you, and not like this,” he said, giving her a kiss on the side of her forehead.
I looked at Katie, at her red eyes and disheveled hair, and I knew I wasn’t going anywhere either. Not like this.
“I’m coming with you,” I said. “Wherever you go, I’m coming with you, sweetheart.”
I drove Katie back to her house and Adam drove Kayla and Mrs. Hallman. It seemed like there should be more to it. Like rain, or a sad song. I guess death isn’t like the movies.
There were a few cars in the driveway and the lights were on as if everything were completely normal.
I didn’t carry Katie into the house, but she did lean on me as I helped her up the steps. The last time I’d been here, she’d kissed me and I’d drawn on her hand and I’d played the violin and she’d fought with her mom.
As much as it had sucked when I’d had to leave, I wished I could rewind time and go back to it. Even that was better than this.
The house was in chaos, the floor covered in dirt and debris from the paramedics tramping around.
“Oh, you’re back,” someone said, coming out of the kitchen. It was Katie’s aunt, Carol. There were other people in there as well, most of whom I recognized from Thanksgiving.
It was like they were having a grief party.
Everyone tried to come hug Katie after hugging and comforting Mrs. Hallman, who was back to crying again. Kayla went to the kitchen and Adam followed, never leaving her side.
“Tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”
“I just want to go to my room,” she said, so I took her. It was changed from the last time I’d been in here. The walls were white and bare, empty of the hundreds of smiling photographs that had once covered every available bit of bare wall.
“She did it,” she said, going to the wall across from her bed and rubbing her hand on it. “She cleaned it off.”
“What?” She turned around and went to sit on her bed.
“I drew all over my wall with marker and she cleaned it off. I took a picture with my phone though.”
“Can I see it?” I said, sitting down next to her. I thought she would lean into me again, but she didn’t, instead propping her back against the wall. I did the same, our shoulders almost touching.
“It was so stupid. Just a bunch of designs and words. It doesn’t matter now because my dad is dead.” She turned her head and met my eyes. “My dad is dead.”
I thought she was going to break down again, but she didn’t, instead closing her eyes and tipping her head all the way back until she was staring at the ceiling.
“I don’t remember the last thing he said to me. It was probably I love you, but I don’t know. How could I not know? What if I’d said something horrible to him and that was the last thing I said to him, before…” She didn’t finish.
I had to say something, even if I couldn’t find the exact right words. Maybe there weren’t any right words.
“He loved you so much, and nothing you could ever say would change that, Katie. Nothing. He thought the world of you. Anyone could see that. You can’t think about that stuff, or regrets, or anything like that. You’ll just end up crazy and angry and he wouldn’t want that for you.” Not that I had any right to say what her dad