Nate’s head was propped on the edge of the couch, one arm thrown carelessly over his forehead, his mouth hanging open slightly. Gentle snores rumbled from deep in his chest.

I watched him, thinking of Violeta and Julia and vitiligo girl and the drugs that tied us together. I thought about the lies I’d told. Big lies and small lies. Half-truths and tiny fibs. To Nate. To his whole family. To Ben. Even to Gabe.

Especially to Gabe.

The lies were woven around me, a spider’s web, swirling, tightening. I was becoming more and more entangled. I didn’t know how to get out now.

Nate was a pretty heavy sleeper, but if he woke and found I was gone, he’d have questions I couldn’t answer. I moved to wake him, to convince him to go upstairs to sleep, but caught sight of an envelope that had been torn open and left on the coffee table. It was addressed to me.

I snatched up the envelope, annoyed that Nate had opened something of mine. My fingers went numb as soon as I read the contents. It was the hospital bill.

I sat on the edge of the coffee table.

Summary for patient: Joshua Sweeney.

Please pay amount due within 30 days of the statement date.

Below that was an itemized list of treatments that Josh had received so far. Above that, in bolded black letters, was the amount owed.

Even after the insurance company had paid, there were still too many digits. They wobbled in front of me. The money in the GoFundMe account wouldn’t cover it. And this was only the first month. It didn’t even include the amount I needed to pay the hospital for Josh’s infusion next week.

“It’s going to be okay.” Nate’s voice was raspy with sleep, making me jump. Charlie lifted his head at the sound and wagged his tail. “We’ll get there. This whole town is rallying to help Josh get this treatment.”

I stared at him, unable to reply. He was so blind. We’d had a trickle of $5 and $10 donations, plus the $330 from Moira’s church’s bake sale, but that was it until the lump payment that Gabe had deposited. This town wasn’t doing anything. I was.

Nate was only inches from me. His hair was tousled from sleep. He needed a haircut. It had grown out from his usual short cut. It made him look younger, gave him a boyish air. If I wanted to, I could reach out and touch him with my fingertips, feel the warmth of his skin on mine. And yet I couldn’t. I was too separate from him, disconnected and alone, as if I were on a wooden raft floating out to sea.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and get some sleep?” I said. “I’m going to read for a bit. I can’t sleep.”