to my fridge and get a bottle of water. “I just faked an orgasm. Do you want to know why? Because I didn’t know if you liked me anymore, and I’m so confused that instead of pushing you away, I faked it. Who does that? Not to mention you’re so drunk you answered the door in your skivvies.” Realization dawns, and I lean against the kitchen counter. “We shouldn’t be having this conversation, considering the state you’re in. You won’t remember it in the morning. Just go to sleep.”
He doesn’t respond.
“Crew?”
I go closer and hear him snoring.
I sit beside him, half hoping he’ll wake up so we can clear the air. I poke him but he doesn’t move. “Just great.”
I cross to the sink and stub my toe on the coffee table because Crew put it back the wrong way. Sitting on the couch, I rub my toe. My phone pings with a text. It’s Brett, thanking me for replying. It lights up the coffee table, and that’s when I see Crew’s notebook, and it’s open. Did he leave it that way on purpose or did it happen when the table fell over?
I close my eyes and bite my lip. Don’t do it.
Really, though, is it my fault he left it like that, open for anyone to read? If I look but don’t touch it, am I breaking the rules?
I hesitantly pick up my phone and turn on the flashlight, looking back at Crew to make sure he’s still sleeping. Then I scoot to the edge of the couch and look. As soon as I see the title at the top of the page, ‘Right to Die,’ I know I’m going to read it. I take a deep breath.
I’m alone with my bottle
Searching for a friend
Looking for my heart
Coming up empty again
(chorus)
I have no right to die, or I’d have gone long ago
I’m living as a dead man—no hope, no soul
Never knew it’d hurt this hard.
Limb by limb being pulled apart
My heart jumps when I hear a sound. I turn the flashlight off and glance at the bed. After my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see he’s turned over. I turn the light back on.
Give me blue, brown, or clear
Don’t care if it’s plastic or glass
I’ll drink until it’s empty
Drive until I’m out of gas
The pain becomes too much
It’s blinding and complete
I know what I have to do
I have to die so we can meet
There’s one more verse, but I can’t read it through my tears. I close the notebook, knowing I’ve violated his privacy by reading his most intimate thoughts. He wants to die? I open it again. The song is near the beginning, so it’s old. Does he still feel this way? He has to die to be with her?
I sink back into the couch, two thoughts clouding my head: one—Abby’s dead? How awful for Crew, that must have been horrible; and two—Abby’s dead. How do I compete with a ghost?
Chapter Thirty
Crew
Seven years ago
I am horrorstruck as police cordon off Abby’s car and the surrounding area. An officer says to Mom and me, “We’d like you to come to the station to give a statement.”
“Right away.” Mom starts to her car, then pauses. “Chris, you coming?”
I hear her, but I can’t move. My feet are cemented to the ground as a cop places a numbered piece of plastic next to Abby’s phone and then takes fifty pictures of it. I’ve seen this a million times on TV. They think this is evidence, but of what? My stomach flips again, but there’s nothing left to bring up.
I feel Mom’s hand on my shoulder. “Chris?”
I look at her and then back at Abby’s car. I don’t want to leave. I feel if I go, I’ll never see Abby again.
“Folks, we need you to clear the area,” a cop says.
Mom tugs on my arm. “They need us at the police station.”
As we walk away, I see the police talking to some of the employees I spoke with inside the restaurant. One of them points to me.
Mom drives us to the police station across town. My phone blows up with texts. After glancing at a few of them, I realize word has spread. I can’t look at it anymore. I shut it off and put it in the cup holder.
At the station, we’re escorted down a hall. We pass a room with a glass door. Abby’s parents are inside. They look up and see me, their terrified expressions matching mine.
Mom is