I heard a dull splash, and within seconds William grabbed me and pulled me to the surface. I thirstily gasped for air, coughing and spitting out mouthfuls of water.

Dragging me by the arm, he manically paddled to the shore. As I kept perfectly still, he was careful to keep my head above water.

William pushed me onto dry land. Panting, he shook me. “Gracie, you okay?”

I nodded, staring up at him. His wetted blond hair looked brown, and his curls were flattened against his head. Hugging me, he pulled my head into his chest, and I could feel his heartbeat between the heaves.

“Don’t ever do anything that stupid—” His voice broke.

It was the only time I ever saw him cry.

Chapter 94

After the incident, I began seeing Trevor in that tiny beige room with the coffee pot. The doctors agreed to release me from the hospital so long as I went to see him twice a week.

Trevor was a social worker who specialized in addictions and suicide. Before his transition into therapy, he had worked with the police as a suicide negotiator, convincing people not to take their own lives. He was good in a crisis.

Trevor was in his forties. His face was chubby beneath black stubble, and his eyes were soft with rings of hazel and green. His voice soothed me in a way that made me feel like a child. Not the child I had been, but the child I knew was inside of me. A child who was able to trust, to depend on people, and to be vulnerable.

“You’ve been through a lot of trauma, Grace,” Trevor said decidedly, after I had given him the condensed version of my life: my childhood, my parents, my siblings, my work, my drug use, my hospital stays, the ghosts, Jack and the people in between, and our baby boy. Not the rehearsed version or the one I told to feel better. My monologue had been edited. I shared the truth, as close as I could get to it.

“Yeah.” I nodded, smiling through the discomfort. “I guess you could say that.”

“Have you ever heard of kintsukuroi?” Trevor asked, his hands resting on his knees.

“No.”

“It’s this amazing Japanese art form.” Glancing out the window, he watched a group of kids run by, squealing with delight, seemingly in a game of tag. A smile spread across his face, lost for a moment. He pulled his eyes away, continuing slowly, “Right. Kintsukuroi. So they repair vases that have been broken. They piece them back together, bit by bit, and use gold to fill in the cracks.”

I listened as the cries of the children grew gentler and gentler, until they disappeared entirely.

Trevor grinned. “More beautiful for having been broken, they say.”

I didn’t realize I was crying until I tasted the salt of tears on my tongue.

“Well, first things first, you need to get sober,” he explained, leaning forward to hand me a piece of paper and a tissue. “I would recommend you start attending meetings.”