Gasp (Visions) - Lisa McMann Page 0,65
of Chicago for tests and treatment and stuff. I’ve had it my whole life.”
“Well, not quite,” Bridget’s mother says.
“I was born with it.”
“You were five,” Mrs. Brinkerhoff says. “Stop making things up.”
Bridget grins at me.
“Wow, I’m sorry,” I say. My head is spinning. Cancer?
Mr. Brinkerhoff continues where he left off, like he’s used to Bridget’s interruptions. “Normally, we drive around the lake to get here, but we thought it would be fun to take the car ferry once.”
“Fun!” Bridget snorts. “And now we don’t have a car,” she says. “It totally sank. Probably has fish in it by now. So we got this rental. It’s pretty cool. It has a plug for my iPod in the backseat.”
“Cool,” Rowan says.
“Yeppers,” Bridget says. She bobs her head and looks around. “Huh. Nice little place you got here.”
I stifle another laugh. This girl is a hoot.
“Well,” Sawyer says to Mr. Brinkerhoff, “thanks for driving out here to bring it to me. That was really nice of you.”
“It’s the least we could do. We’d really love to do something more for you,” Mrs. Brinkerhoff says. “Maybe take you out for dinner or something . . .”
Inwardly I recoil. They’re nice and everything, and Bridget is mildly hilarious, but I don’t really want to have a relationship with these people. “Maybe,” I say. “But we only did what anybody would do.”
“I don’t think so,” Mrs. Brinkerhoff says. “Did you miss all the pushing and shoving, and the people stealing other people’s life vests? It was a nightmare. You guys and your calm process—not to mention helping others before yourselves—you probably saved a lot of people.”
“Yeah,” Bridget says. “It was almost like you knew it was going to happen.” She tilts her head and flashes a charming smile, then shoves a stick of gum into her mouth.
I freeze. Sawyer gives a hollow laugh. But the moment of panic passes.
Mrs. Brinkerhoff reaches out and gives me a hug. “Bridget wrote down your number—I hope that’s okay.”
I plaster a smile on my face. “Oh, how clever of her. Sure. Call anytime.”
After another round of thanks, they get back into the car and Mr. Brinkerhoff presses buttons on the dashboard, probably entering their next destination into the GPS. We walk back to the step and watch them pull away. And then they stop.
The back door to the car opens and Bridget gets out, without her crutches this time. “Yo, Jules!” she yells. She hops on one foot across the yard toward us. I stand up and go toward her.
“What’s up? Did you forget something?” I ask.
“Yeah, I forgot to give you a hug.”
Kids these days. I try not to roll my eyes, and I lean down so she can hug me.
She wraps her arms around my neck and puts her mouth to my ear. And then she whispers, so softly I can barely hear her, “Guess what? I know about the vision.”
Before I can say a word, she’s hopping back to the car and closing the door, and I’m watching them drive off, wondering, for the millionth time, if I’m losing my mind.
“She knows about the vision,” I tell Sawyer and Rowan once their car is out of sight.
“What?” Rowan asks. “How?”
I think about it for a long moment. “She must have read our text messages on your phone, Sawyer. I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“I don’t think anyone would believe her if she, you know, went to the media or something,” Sawyer says. “Did she say it threateningly? Or what?”
“No,” I say. “Just matter-of-factly, like she blurts out everything else.”
“It probably just makes her feel cool,” Rowan says. “I read your texts all the time. Makes me feel supercool.”
I punch her in the shoulder. “You’d better not.”
“Psh. Good luck trying to stop me.”
Sawyer rolls his eyes. “Anyway. If she wasn’t threatening, then I doubt we have to worry about it.”
“Me too.” I look sidelong at Rowan. “Do you really read my texts? That’s gross.”
She frowns. “Of course not. Don’t be a douche.”
• • •
Later, after Sawyer goes home and everybody is safe in their beds and Bridget Brinkerhoff is but a memory, my phone vibrates with a text message. I think it might be Tori, so I scramble to check it because I forgot to tell her Sawyer and Ben are fine.
But it’s not Tori.
It’s a message from a strange number I don’t have programmed into my phone. One I don’t recognize. I open it and read: Hey Julesies! Guess what? Now I’m seeing a vision too!
Epilogue
Five weeks