We waited another ten minutes in silence before we were finally called back to the treatment area and set up in a curtained cubicle. Oliver stayed there while I was wheeled down the hall for X-rays. When I returned to the cubicle, I was transferred to the examining table while he sat in a chair next to me. A nurse gave me a pill for the pain. We had another long wait, and I became aware of something dire happening in the cubicle next to mine. Doctors and nurses rushed back and forth. Female yelps of pain pierced the air. The sounds took me back to the accident. They took me back to Emily Maxwell’s broken body. I pictured a twisted, ruined, bloody body on the other side of the curtain next to me, and I pressed my hands over my ears.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I said. I was shaking convulsively.

Oliver found a basin and a blanket. He spread the blanket over me and put the basin on my lap.

“You are a little green,” he said.

“I can’t stop shaking,” I said, my hands on my thighs now.

“It’s probably from the medication they gave you.”

I shook my head. I knew what was freaking me out. I wished we were in a different cubicle, and I wished they could help that poor woman who was in agony on the other side of the curtain.

“I just need to know how the girl we hurt is doing,” I blurted out, surprising myself. I looked at Oliver.

His eyes were serious behind his glasses. “There must be a way to find out,” he said.

“I’m sort of afraid to.”

“But it sounds like you can’t really rest easy until you know. You said you can’t find her online?”

I shook my head. “She’s not on social media,” I said. “Or maybe she is and keeps it all private. Or maybe she’s in such bad shape, social media is the last thing on her mind. Or maybe she has no mind. Maybe she ended up with brain damage.” I squeezed my trembling hands together. “I know she was paralyzed, but who knows what else is wrong with her?” I said. “When I Google her name, I just get the newspaper report of the accident. That’s it.”

He pressed his lips together as I rambled on, sympathy in his face. Then he reached over and wrapped his hand around both of mine where they were locked together on my lap next to the basin. “I’m so sorry, Morgan,” he said.

I looked at him. “Do you know about the ninth step in AA?” I asked.

He hesitated. “Something about forgiveness?”

“Not exactly. It’s about making amends.” I shuddered. “I think about it a lot, but I don’t think I could do it. I don’t think I could ever face her.”