Page 105 of Head Under Water

“Fine. True. I guessed by the way he was glowing.” Cory’s still trying to find a comfortable position in the chair. He’s broken, too. Hiding it the only way he knows how.

“Cornelius. Hush,” Mom says, swatting Cory’s leg. “Opal, Will’s right. Go home and get some rest. We’ll trade shifts. Someone goes home, naps, and brings the rest of us food.”

“I shouldn’t be first. I went home last time,” I argue, but it’s no use. They’re set on their decision.

“I’m actually going to run across the street to get some better food than they serve in this place for dinner,” Cory says, standing and stretching. “If it makes you feel any better, I can technically be the first one to leave.”

“You were the only one who worked today,” Mom points out. Some part of me thinks she just doesn’t want me around, doesn’t want me to tell Will and Cory what I learned yet. “You need your rest.”

“Will did, too,” I say. They all just look at me, unyielding. I narrow my eyes. “Fine. But just so we’re clear, two weeks does not make me the baby of this family. You don’t have to protect me from this.” I let my words sink in before adding, “I’ll be back in the morning.” I pull Will into a hug, my chest tight. “First thing.”

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

PRESENT DAY

At home, all I want to do is wash the hospital off me. I’m so exhausted. My entire body feels as if it’s filled with thousands of bricks, like I can barely lift my feet.

Everything feels wrong now, like I’m standing on the other side of a fracture, like everything in my life might be before and after, and the midpoint is this day.

Mom’s words ring in my ears. Her confession. A truth that I’m now forced to carry—that I’ll have to tell Will about someday soon. And how could he ever forgive her? How could I expect him to?

Poor Ruth…

Everything shrinks when I think of her, my vision going fuzzy, scalp throbbing. The fact that Mom hurt her enough that she wanted to hurt herself. That she was so broken, so alone…

I would do anything to go back. I don’t know how to forgive Mom, either, I realize. I don’t know how to move on after what she did. Ruth was her friend, her sister. She deserved to hear the truth from her, not from a child she hardly knew.

I move through the quiet apartment slowly, switching on lights and lamps until the whole place looks like a department store. I hadn’t even realized I was afraid until this moment. Like I just watched a horror movie, though it’s more like I’m living it.

In the bathroom, I turn on the faucet, watching the water roar into the tub. Will’s face surfaces in my mind, the brokenness in his eyes when he walked out into the waiting room. How much longer can he go on like this? How much longer can Margie fight?

The doctors just keep telling us she’s stable—so much so that I’m afraid it’s losing meaning. Because stable doesn’t mean safe this time. It just means paused, like a stopwatch. A held breath.

I force the thought away and touch the water, gauging the temperature. I pour lavender bath salts into the tub, watching them swirl and disappear under the surface.

In the mirror, I hardly recognize myself. My face is pale. Empty. Lost.

Steam fogs the glass, softening my reflection, and I look away, undressing once the tub is full. The heat steals my breath as I lower myself into the water, sliding down until it laps at my collarbone. My hair floats around me, and I close my eyes, taking in the silence.

It’s almost too quiet, the kind of stillness that makes me jump at every creak of a pipe or the sudden sound of the heat turning on.

Everything’s okay, I promise myself. I’m going to take a bath, then pass out in bed, and tomorrow I’ll go back to the hospital first thing.

I’ll have to text the school principal before I pass out, to let her know they’ll need to find a sub for tomorrow. There’s a part of me—minor and not exactly pressing—that feels guilty for already being such a needy employee. I’m grateful for the work family I’ve built, and I can only hope this doesn’t jeopardize that.

And then there’s George. Someone I truly considered a friend. I can’t begin to think about what this means for our relationship, whether I’ll ever be able to trust him again.

A soft thud echoes in some other part of the apartment. My eyes shoot open, and my hands tighten on the sides of the tub.

My pulse quickens, and I listen closely, my thoughts swirling with panic.

It was distinct. Not the pipes or the air.

A footstep. A door closing.

“Will?” I call, sitting up in the water. Chills line my skin at once.

I’m straining to hear over the steady hum of the vents. I weigh my options—I could get out, wrap up in a towel, and investigate, or I could stay here and pretend I imagined it.