It couldn’t hurt to try, right?

Ryan’s birthday was December 7, so I quickly keyed in 1-2-0-7 and held my breath.

Immediately, the entire screen shook.

Nice try, it seemed to say.

I grabbed my own phone and looked up Tiffane’s birthday.

0-2-1-5.

Again, the screen shuddered.

Nope.

I decided to give it one more try. I typed in 7-9-2-6—for R-y-a-n—and this time, the phone actually did respond.

YOU HAVE ENTERED AN INCORRECT PASSCODE 3 TIMES. THE PHONE WILL AUTOMATICALLY LOCK AFTER 7 MORE ATTEMPTS.

I clicked the button at the top of the phone to turn off the screen and dropped it back into my purse before standing up. Shelby didn’t move an inch as I walked past her and into the bedroom.

Keith was rolled over on his side, snoring, the whiskey-stained glass in its usual spot. If he’d known what I’d spent the last three hours doing, he would’ve thought I was crazy.

He probably would’ve been right.

I crawled into bed beside him and finally let the sleep take over.

• • •

“Hey.”

Keith was sitting in his wheelchair at the side of the bed, peering down at me. I blinked at him through last night’s mascara and wondered why he was talking so loudly.

“We have to be at Dr. Bryant’s in an hour.” He pushed himself back and rolled out of the room.

I was still in the clothes I’d worn the night before, my body sprawled awkwardly across the bed. I winced as I sat up, the sunlight hurting my eyes. Pushing myself out of bed, I went to the bathroom to get ready.

During our early trips to the doctor’s office, Keith and I had been chatty—with each other, with the doctors and medical staff, and with anyone who’d listen. We thought talking a lot would make things a little less terrible. We simply couldn’t give in to the paralyzing abnormality of it all. We talked loudly to drown out the sobs in our hearts. We held hands, and we laughed. We pretended.

These days, our visits were quiet, almost silent. We were too tired, and the doctor’s office seemed to shrink with each visit. Too tight for any small talk to fit.

We were quiet on the trip there too, sitting silently beside each other while I drove the twenty minutes to her office. When we arrived, we sat wordlessly in her waiting room, our eyes trained on the silent television mounted in one corner. When she was ready, I pushed Keith into her office and took a seat beside him.

“When’s the big day?” Dr. Bryant asked from behind her desk. “Heading back to work.”

Keith cleared his throat and looked at me. “Tomorrow,” he said. “And I’m not exactly going back. I’m just going to watch one of the swim meets.”