“I’m heading over now.”

“Whitney is there with you now, no?”

What does that have to do with anything? “Umm, yeah, why?”

“Perhaps I should speak with her. Confirm that she is okay with—”

My turn to interrupt. “It’s fine. There’s no need for that. But I’m a little lost about what you want me to do here?”

“Nothing, Jamal. Your presence will merely help stabilize the reawakening. All of our data points indicate you as an important figure in Quincy’s life. When he sees you, sees his mother, he will be more firmly cemented into our reality. You were his best friend, after all.”

Were. Damn, how does he know to use the past tense?

But then I recall the twelve thousand personal questions I was asked, the majority centered on my relationship with Q, and yeah, of course he knows.

“I’m on my way.”

“You’re on your way where?” Whit asks, as I drop my phone into my pocket. She follows me into the hallway, watches me zip my jacket.

“Q’s reawakening.”

“Wait, I’m confused. I thought . . .”

“Yeah, I thought so too, but I guess after all that’s happened, nothing should surprise us.”

“So, what are you supposed to do? Just sit there until . . .”

“He opens his eyes, yep.” I open the front door. “I’ll call you in a bit.”

“What do you say to someone when they’re headed to a reanimation?” Whit asks. “Good luck?”

I nod. “I’ll take that.”

I’m nearly to Dad’s car—when my chest starts to burn. Just the idea of driving this car makes me want to vomit again, twists a million daggers into my heart. Maybe it won’t even start up.

Except I know it will.

Whit drives it from time to time for this very reason. She even took it for a tune-up the other day. Whenever you’re ready, it’s there, she’s said more times than I can count. Not even blinking when I’ve turned down the keys, when I bummed ride after ride from her, as if she didn’t have a thousand other commitments.

The front door swings open. Whit teeters down the walk. “Are you okay?”

I turn around, walking backward down the driveway. “Yeah. No. I’m not sure. Am I?”

“You’re driving Da . . .” She catches herself, probably afraid to jinx it.

I shrug. “Miracles just happening all over the place.” I slip into the seat and nostalgia floods me. It smells like Dad. How many times had he sat where I’m sitting now?