She didn’t tell him that she’d seen the photo online. Besides, that wasn’t why she’d shaved her head. Was it?

“Chemo,” he added.

Izzy nodded. “I’m so sorry.” She ran her hands over the bristles on her scalp. “I think I shaved mine as some kind of penance.” And then, “It’s strange that we found each other.”

“I’m glad we did.” He glanced worriedly at the mannequin lying on floor.

“I’m like her. And you’re like him. And we are both lonely, right? We’re both lonely?”

“Grieving and lonely.” Ever turned back to her. She met the twin mirrors of his gaze. She did not look away.

◆◆◆

Izzy woke later beside him. No bodily warmth could eradicate the pain that had cleaved her clean in half.

She picked up the stone woman she’d stolen from the retreat center and put her in a drawer. Then she sat on the couch and took out the box of photos. The box looked like a little coffin now, Izzy thought, searching through the pictures again, while Dog rested his chin on her knee.

Izzy came to the photo of her and Cyrus at the party at Seth’s house where she, Seth, and Nephy had all met the new guy in town, the tall guy with the long black hair and greenish eyes. For the first time, she thought how young they both looked, as if they’d both aged a hundred years since he’d been gone. Even though now she would never see him age.

She looked over at Ever, asleep on the bed she and Cyrus had shared, and sniffed the skin of her arm, inhaling the quickly fading comfort of Ever’s scent. Ever’s jaw was not as angular as Cyrus’s, his nose flatter, his lips a little less full. Even Ever’s body was different, less muscular, a little softer through the chest and belly. His eyes were darker, and kinder, too, maybe. His left hand was dominant. Still, he had reminded her of Cyrus, just as she had reminded Ever of Emma. Ever and Izzy—each other’s missing piece in a very literal sense. But as much as she wanted Ever to be Cyrus, no such magic had occurred. No, she had to face what had really taken place.

I Am Stretched on Your Grave

I Am Stretched on Your Grave

Joe called collect from CAL. Izzy had left her number on his list when she’d gone to visit him after Cyrus went missing. Now Joe had something to say: “I’m sorry I didn’t help more when you came to see me. Sometimes I get pissed off in here. I didn’t think—”

“I’m sorry, too,” she said, sinking to the cold tile of the bathroom floor; she’d gone in there so as not to wake Ever.