When the three of us walk into the burn unit, Nurse Linda’s ample bosom practically bowls me over as she hug-attacks me. You tend to bond with someone after they change your diaper and crusty bandages. Nothin’ says lovin’ like a little skin sloughin’.

The smell of her perfume—lilacs—whisks me immediately back to my bedbound days, fantasizing about when I could go home.

Now I’m heading back in.

I glance behind me at the exit. One week.

In the pre-op room, Dr. Sharp runs through the procedure with me while Linda inserts an IV into my arm.

“Now, this one’s going to be a little different,” Dr. Sharp says. “When you wake up, your eyes will be sewn shut. This will allow the skin to heal, but it will feel very strange.”

Different. Strange. Got it.

Nineteen surgeries. I’ve been down this path nineteen times, but Dr. Sharp is right: This one is different. He’s not just patching up the empty places.

He’s giving me back a piece of what the fire stole.

Cora smiles at me, gripping my hand before they wheel me away. I grip her back.

Linda switches out the saline for the good stuff, the clear elixir that transports me out of this bed while doctors work on my body. I count backward from ten until the numbers blur like the ceiling tiles above my head.

And everything fades to black.

37

A boy screams.

Loud, terrified, gut-punch hollers that echo through my dreams.

I jolt awake.

Darkness grips me. I, too, scream into the nothingness.

A touch on my arm.

“Ava, it’s Cora. You’re in the hospital. Your eyes are sewn shut. Do you remember?”

My memory slowly coalesces. My breathing slows. The screaming boy continues.

“Who is that?” I croak.

“A boy down the hall, that’s all.”

I’m in the burn unit, where pain is background noise.

I hear Cora’s feet on the linoleum, followed by the click of the door, which muffles the boy only slightly.

“I’m just here for a week, right?”

“One week. And then you’ve got the play in a few weeks. Your drama crew sent over some balloons for you. Oh, and your friends from back home sent flowers. Your favorite—orange and pink gerbera daisies.”

I think of all the unanswered messages they’ve sent since I left.

“How did they know?”

“Oh, they check in with me now and again. They love you, Ava.”

I feel sleep pulling me under.

“I think I’ll rest now.”

Cora is so quiet I’m not even sure she’s still there until I ask and she says, “I’m right here, honey.”

It used to make me anxious, Cora always by my bed, checking my stats, asking if I was okay. But now, each time I wake up, I’m glad she’s there, like an anchor in the darkness.