“Any news?” Momma asks them while Martha hugs Annabel and me in turn and Tom shakes my hand.

“She’s okay. Not making much sense at the moment but that’s because she has a concussion and her face is a bit bruised from the airbag so it’s hard for her to speak. They’re keeping her overnight for observation. She also has a bunch of scrapes and bruises, but otherwise . . .” Martha breaks off and starts crying softly. Her husband puts an arm around her shoulders and she turns into him, wilting against him like a deflating balloon.

Mr. Summers continues. “She’s lucky. It would have been worse. She crashed into a tree. The officer at the scene said they don’t think it was an accident.” His voice is gruff.

“What does that mean?” Momma asks. “How could it not be an accident?”

“There weren’t any brake marks. She wasn’t veering away or trying to avoid crashing. And they did a blood test and a tox screen. She wasn’t on anything.”

“What are you saying, Tom?” Momma’s eyes are wide. “She crashed on purpose?”

Mr. Summers meets my eyes, his own grave and intense.

The waiting room falls away as shock rolls through me. A tidal wave of guilt and shame floods over me, the feeling so visceral it roars in my ears.

She did hurt herself intentionally. I didn’t want to believe it, not after everything . . .

I blink Mr. Summers into focus, realizing he’s speaking to me, asking me something.

“Has she said anything to you? Do you know where she was going or what she was doing? We looked through her phone. She had been calling you a lot but it doesn’t look like you were answering.”

His tone isn’t censorious, but there’s an unspoken question in his words.

Why weren’t you with her?

“The truth is, sir . . .”

Martha sniffs and meets my eyes, her own red rimmed and tired.

“My phone broke. I dropped it when I was running yesterday and I haven’t had it replaced. I had no idea anything was wrong. I haven’t talked to Abby in a couple days. School has been . . . busy.”

The excuses are lame, even to my own ears, but no one notices.

Except Annabel, who is still standing out of sight of everyone else. She just rolls her eyes.

Martha reaches for me, taking my hand in hers and squeezing. “They’re moving her upstairs to a room shortly. I’m sure she’s going to want to see you.”

I squeeze her hand back, unsure how to respond. I hate everything about this.

“I want to see her too.”

Except I don’t end up seeing Abby until morning. By the time they move her to a room for the night, it’s nearly midnight and visiting hours are way over.

So I do what any person pretending to be someone’s long-time boyfriend would do: I stay the night. All night. Dozing in an uncomfortable chair and thinking too much about Abby and her parents—who also stay the night, except Martha stays in Abby’s room—and wondering how the heck all of this is going to shake out and how much trouble I’m gonna gather along the way.