kind of important?”
“I guess? The wolves have only got two weeks. I can worry about clearing my name afterward. I don’t think the cops can find anything to pin on me,” Sam said. But he wasn’t looking at me.
“I thought the cops didn’t suspect you anymore,” I said. “I thought Koenig knew.”
“Koenig knows. No one else. He can’t just tell them I’m innocent.”
“Sam!”
He shrugged, not meeting my gaze. “There’s nothing I can do about it right now.”
The thought of him being questioned in the police department was acutely painful. The idea that my parents might think him capable of hurting me was even worse. And the possibility that he could be tried for murder was unthinkable.
An idea presented itself.
“I have to tell my parents,” I said. I thought about my conversation with Isabel earlier that day. “Or Rachel. Or someone. I have to let someone know that I’m alive. No dead Grace, no murder mystery.”
“And your parents will be understanding,” Sam said.
“I don’t know what they’ll be, Sam! But I’m not going to just let you — let you go to jail.” I wadded my napkin and threw it at the pizza box angrily. We’d so narrowly avoided being pulled apart — it seemed appalling to think that after everything else, an entirely man-made, unscientific event might be what finally separated us. And there was Sam, looking guilty, as if he believed that he’d been responsible for my supposed death. “No matter how bad my parents are, that’s worse.”
Sam looked at me. “Do you trust them?”
“Sam, they’re not going to try to kill me,” I snapped.
I stopped and put my hands over my nose and mouth, my breath coming out in a rush.
Sam’s face didn’t change. The napkin he had been very carefully ripping apart stilled in his hands.
I covered my whole face now. I couldn’t stand to look at him. “I’m sorry, Sam,” I said. “I’m sorry.” The thought of his face, unchanging, gaze steady and lupine — I felt tears trying to tease themselves out of my eyes.
I heard the floor creak as he stood up. I pulled my hands away from my face. “Please don’t go,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“I got you a present,” Sam said. “I forgot it in the car. I’m going to go get it.” He touched the top of my head as he went quietly out, shutting the door.
So I was still feeling like the most terrible person in the world when he gave me the dress. He was sitting on his knees in front of me like a penitent, watching my face carefully as I pulled it out. For some reason I thought, at first, that it would be skimpy underwear, and I felt relieved and disappointed, somehow, when it was a pretty summer dress instead. I couldn’t seem to sort out my emotions lately.
I flattened the top out with my hand, smoothing the fabric, looking at the fine straps. It was a dress for a hot, carefree summer, which felt like a long time from now. I looked up at Sam and saw that he was biting the inside of his lip, watching my reaction.
“You’re the nicest boy ever,” I told him, feeling undeserving and terrible. “You didn’t have to get me anything. I like thinking about you thinking about me when I’m not around.” I reached out and put my hand on his cheek. He turned his face and kissed my palm; his lips inside my hand made something inside me squeeze. My voice was a little lower when I said, “Should I go try it on now?”
In the bathroom, it took me several long minutes how to work out putting it on, though there was nothing complicated about it. I was unused to wearing dresses, and I felt like I had nothing on. I stood on the edge of the tub to look in the mirror, trying to imagine what had made Sam look at this dress and say Get that for Grace. Was it because he thought I would like it? Because he thought it was sexy? Because he wanted to get me something and this happened to be the first thing? I wasn’t sure why it made a difference whether he had asked a salesgirl what his girlfriend would like versus found it hanging on a hanger and imagined my body in it.
In the mirror, I thought I looked like a college girl, confident, pretty. Sure of what would show off her body to its best advantage.