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Chapters (58)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise for Abbi Waxman and her novels
  3. Berkley Titles by Abbi Waxman
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. Summer
  7. ONE
  8. TWO
  9. THREE
  10. FOUR
  11. FIVE
  12. SIX
  13. SEVEN
  14. EIGHT
  15. NINE
  16. TEN
  17. ELEVEN
  18. TWELVE
  19. THIRTEEN
  20. FOURTEEN
  21. FIFTEEN
  22. SIXTEEN
  23. SEVENTEEN
  24. EIGHTEEN
  25. NINETEEN
  26. TWENTY
  27. TWENTY-ONE
  28. TWENTY-TWO
  29. TWENTY-THREE
  30. TWENTY-FOUR
  31. TWENTY-FIVE
  32. TWENTY-SIX
  33. TWENTY-SEVEN
  34. TWENTY-EIGHT
  35. TWENTY-NINE
  36. THIRTY
  37. THIRTY-ONE
  38. THIRTY-TWO
  39. THIRTY-THREE
  40. THIRTY-FOUR
  41. THIRTY-FIVE
  42. THIRTY-SIX
  43. THIRTY-SEVEN
  44. Fall
  45. THIRTY-EIGHT
  46. THIRTY-NINE
  47. FORTY
  48. FORTY-ONE
  49. FORTY-TWO
  50. FORTY-THREE
  51. FORTY-FOUR
  52. FORTY-FIVE
  53. EPILOGUE
  54. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  55. Readers Guide
  56. Questions for Discussion
  57. About the Author
  58. What’s next onyour reading list?

“When the accident happened it was dark, like now, but there was snow on the sides of the highway. Not a lot. But some. I’d been snowboarding with friends . . . they stayed up at the mountain. I wanted to get back, I don’t remember why. I was following a truck and rocking out to something on the radio, not going fast, not being distracted, but the truck hit its brakes and something went wrong.” She looked at Bob, her eyes still glittering with tears. “I tried to avoid hitting it, but the back end was swinging around weirdly, and as I tried to pass, it swung back and basically I drove into it at the same time as it was accelerating toward me.” She breathed some more. “You know how they say time sometimes stands still?”

He nodded, his eyes holding hers, his hand somehow holding hers, his heart keeping time with hers.

Laura’s eyes were filled with tears, but they didn’t fall. “Well, I remember the next few minutes as though they were hours. I’m super focused, right, on trying to steer around it, but it’s coming toward me and I realize I’m going to hit it. There’s no other option, I have no choice. I hit the brakes, but it doesn’t really matter and we hit.” Her voice died away as she remembered coming to, mercifully briefly, seeing the Christmas decoration spangle of the broken glass all over her, not seeing blood and thinking maybe she was OK. She’d drifted in and out of what felt like a dream but was so, so much worse than any nightmare. She couldn’t understand why she couldn’t see but learned later her eyes were so badly damaged by the airbags they’d swollen shut. Her body had been facing almost backward, wedged against the seat belt next to the door, her legs still the other way, trapped and twisted under the dashboard. Everything was wrong, the wrong textures, the wrong smells, the wrong sounds: faintly, the sound of sirens, the sound of brakes, the sound of voices. She smelled something like fireworks and tasted something like salt, and then suddenly her mind cleared and she was back in the truck, the lights of Dodger Stadium illuminating Bob’s cheekbones and the wide eyes of his sympathy.

Laura took a deep breath.

“You can drive now. I think that’s enough for one night.”

Silently he nodded, and opened his door to come around and take the wheel again.

•   •   •

When they got home it was late, and Bob could see Laura was wiped out. He held her door open and walked slowly alongside her as they went into the house. She stepped into her bedroom and turned to him and smiled. She opened her mouth to invite him in, a decision she had reached on the drive home, but before she could say anything, he spoke.