“Stevie,” he says, his voice soft, and I am crying harder now. And then he tries to say more, but then stops. His eyes are watering also. What a pair, we are. Jacob hands him a cup of ice water with a straw, and he drinks some. I look at Lottie, and she gives me a small ghost of a smile.

“Give him a minute,” she says.

My mouth is dry, and I swallow, over and over again. Geeta wheeled me close to his bed, then left. He reaches for my good hand with his. He squeezes it.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice thick. They are the limpest words in the world. “I’m sorry, Pete. I’m sorry to all of you.” I look at them, my favorite family. “I wasn’t—”

I wasn’t what? Thinking? Myself? Who I thought I was? I wasn’t okay? I wasn’t sure? I’m still not. There are tears running down Lottie’s cheeks. Jacob puts his arm around her.

“I’m sorry, too, Stevie,” says Pete. This is the voice that has been comforting me my whole life. I am hanging on to his hand so tightly I’m afraid I’m hurting him. “You needed me, and I wasn’t there for you.”

I am nodding. I would nod at anything; my head is pounding with the effort of not sobbing uncontrollably. “You were going through your own stuff,” I say.

“I was,” he says. “I am. But I always have room for you, Stevie. Not to excuse what you did.”

“I know.” I know. I will always know. I can never not know again.

“We’re gonna be fine, Stevie. We’re gonna be just fine.”

I hear a sob come from Lottie, and it is almost too much to bear, but I will bear anything from now on.

“Okay,” I say, and hold his hand forever.

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

It is the fall.

So much time passes during those weeks and months. There are surgeries and recoveries. I have lost the last three fingers of my right hand and now am adapting to what amounts to a kind of claw. I can’t flip anyone the bird on that hand anymore, which is a bit of a shame, and I am trying to relearn how to do so many things. I can still make a gun symbol using my thumb and forefinger, which no one will find funny. I will have scarring on my arms and face and legs for the rest of my life. I look like a proper survivor or criminal, a gangster or a freak, depending on your point of view.