“We don’t go in there. His room.” Her voice shakes with nerves. “I used to. Right after everything, I slept in there a bunch. I couldn’t believe that he was gone. That I wouldn’t wake up and find him sitting at the foot of the bed, looking at me like What are you doing sleeping in my room?” She pauses, staring down at her feet. “Then there was one morning a few weeks after…I overslept, and my parents didn’t know where I was. My mom found me in here and…Jesus.” She rubs her forehead. “It was like she’d seen a ghost.” Her jaw clenches. “Anyway, we haven’t gone in since. None of us. It’s been almost a year, and this is the closest I’ve come to setting foot inside.”
And then she reaches out and opens the door.
She’s crying.
I reach out and hover my hand over her back, trying to give her something—some support—without physically touching her. I want her to know that I’m here, right behind her—that I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.
We both stand in the doorway, silent. The room in front of us is lonely, unused, like an abandoned museum. Textbooks shoved into the shelf under the window. A half-made bed on the far wall. It’s pretty obvious that no one has been in here in ages: unlike the rest of the house, which is so clean you could eat off its floors, a thick layer of dust covers the furniture. The desk, the bureau, the bedside table, all coated in gray.
May grips the wood doorframe and then leans against it like it’s holding up her entire being. She’s staring at the guitar that’s propped against Jordan’s desk. “They brought that back.” Her voice is tight, coming out in chokes. “After.” She blinks hard. “After…what happened. It was still at the school. In that room. I saw it…I saw it when they carried me out of that fucking room, Zach. I kept my eyes open, and I saw his guitar.” Her tears start to fall faster, and she rubs her face hard with her palms, wiping them away. “It was lying there. Like he had dropped it, right before…There was blood everywhere….” Her body shakes with a sob. “I miss him so much.”
I close the distance between us. Put my arms around her. Pull her toward me. Say the first thing that comes into my head.
“I wish I’d known him.”
May pulls away and looks at me. Her face crumples and falls again, but not in a bad way, in a way that makes me think that maybe, for once in my life, I said the right thing.
“Do you know…?” Her voice breaks, and she clears her throat again and again. She’s trying so hard to hold it together, and I want to tell her she doesn’t have to, that she can break, that I’ll help pick up the pieces, but no words come. “There were so many times I wished he didn’t exist. And now that he doesn’t…all I want is to see him one more time.” She puts her hands over her face. “Jesus. I’ve never said that out loud. How fucking awful am I?”
“Hey. Do you know how many times I’ve wished my mom would just disappear?” I ask.
About a trillion. Last year, when she took the case and my life became a living hell, I spent ninety percent of my waking hours wishing I’d been born into a different family, a different life. “It’s normal. I know it’s hard to realize that right now, but it’s normal to think that way. I promise.”
“Yeah. I guess.” She stares blankly into the room, like her mind is a million miles from here. “You know, the weekend before everything, he showed up at this party where I was. At least, that’s the story according to some people.” Her face pales. She rubs her temples like she has a horrible headache.
Whoa. “Jesus. That’s…” I don’t even know how to end that sentence. Goose bumps rise on my arms. I wrinkle my forehead. “What do you mean ‘some people’?”
She shakes her head. “I mean”—her nostrils flare— “my ex-boyfriend. This guy Miles.