Emily makes a face behind her back, and Pav laughs and says, “How are we going to do this?”

“You and Emily go first,” I say, “then Ali and Jennifer. I’ll go on my own.”

Emily looks confused and is about to argue when I say, “I found her. I’d like to talk to her alone.”

Before Mayfield, she would never have agreed to go with Pav, but Emily nods and says, “Okay.”

When they are gone, Ali and Jennifer make small talk while I watch the nurses moving from room to room.

I imagine what would have happened if Mom had made it to the hospital, if someone had found her alive and she’d been rushed in while doctors spoke in frantic codes like on TV. But there was nothing to resuscitate, nothing to help, only a body to pick apart for clues that weren’t there.

I wonder why I think these things. Do I have a choice, or is it who I am? Am I destined to think bad thoughts for the rest of my life?

Emily touches my shoulder, shaking me out of my daydream, before I even notice she’s back. “You okay?” she says.

I nod, watching as Ali and Jennifer go in.

I’m not sure if I want to go by myself anymore. I’m scared Bernie will say she only got drunk to forget what I told her—that her sadness was worthless compared to mine. But it’s either that or I leave without saying anything, and that feels worse.

“How is she?” I ask Emily.

“Okay, I think. I expected her to be at death’s door, to be honest.”

I don’t reply. I stare down the hallway and see Bernie’s parents walking toward me.

Her mom is short and slim. She used to jog past our window every evening, and I remember watching her stretch in her front yard and wondering why she bothered.

She’s smiling, and when she gets closer, she says, “Jessica. I’m so glad you came.”

I stand up and let her hug me, then wait for her to fill the silence.

“Have you seen her yet?” she asks.

I shake my head. “It’s two at a time.”

Bernie’s stepdad grins and says, “Don’t listen to them. We’re always sneaking in extras.”

He has a beard now, thicker than the hair on his head, and I feel awkward for not knowing him better.

I nod, and when I don’t reply, he says, “We heard you were the one who found her.”

I nod again, because I know what’s coming, and I don’t want it.

“Thank you,” he says. “For everything you’ve done.”