The mom’s back formed a comma as sobs tore out so forcefully, tears sprang to Vera’s eyes. She was intruding; this raw, visceral, chest-cracking-open pain was not meant for her to witness, but still Vera stayed locked, bound by the undiluted agony that connected everyone.

There but for the grace of God go I….

The mom hiccupped, wailing, “She was injured…in…the gas explosion.”

Of course. Vera’s jaw tightened. It always came back to that.

“You don’t know what it’s like, the constant aching, for years, never a moment of relief. Then she found this group. A mind-over-matter thing? I don’t know…it’s been helping.” The heavyset mother clawed at the nurse, fingers pulling at her purple scrubs as if to force her words inside her. “Now this. Why was she in that water?”

“I don’t know,” the nurse replied, not releasing her grip. “The fisherman who found her is talking to the police. I can take you to them.”

Then the daughter’s shrieks quieted. Vera’s eyes shot to the room in time with the mother, and they spied a syringe being pried from the patient’s arm.

“I’ve found the solution,” the daughter mumbled. “The pain doesn’t matter. I can be reborn. Just let me go….” Then she collapsed on the hospital bed, her eyelids shut.

The nurses got to work, placing an oxygen mask over her face as the machines beeped at a slower rhythm.

“What are you doing?” snapped a voice. It was aimed at Vera.

Her head wrenched toward the sound and spied the nurse in lavender scrubs snarling.

“This isn’t a show! Move!” The nurse ordered, pointing. “You know better than this.”

Vera’s cheeks flamed as she awkwardly tucked her hair behind an ear. Then she swiftly spun her cart and marched away, not making eye contact with the mother.

The patient had been injured in the gas explosion, another life revolving around that single day. That and the hurricane. Tragedy after tragedy. Death after death. Pain upon pain.

Vera pushed her cart down the hall, machines still beeping, doctors still running.

Step, step, squeal.

Step, step, squeal.

CHAPTER TEN

The Swim

In a dusty one-room apartment, a clock strikes midnight. She rummages through a drawer, seeking—what’s the word again?—yes, a swimsuit. She tugs it on, wincing as she lifts each leg. Then she limps to her car. She drives, the steering wheel guiding itself, her soul knowing where she needs to be.

She is returning to nature, arriving at the coast to complete darkness. There isn’t even a moon.

Her bare feet sink into the cool sand, black waves roaring before her. She dips a toe, icy water slipping over her feet. It’s June, a reminder of the days when the town still had tourists. That stopped the day her pain began.

Selling lemonade at the game, that was what she was supposed to be doing, if she hadn’t been running late. She wished she’d run even later. If she had not sped through that yellow light, she still would have been behind the wheel rather than on the gymnasium’s front steps at the fateful moment.