It actually hurt when the nurse took Max. When I started to cry, Carly didn’t act like it was silly. She let me rest my head on her shoulder and promised over and over that he’d be back soon. He’s only been gone for five minutes but being away from him is painful in every inch of my body. It’s a good hurt. I’m not afraid of myself anymore. I know that I will never ever leave him. I couldn’t. He’s mine and I’m his and it’s just that simple.

“I miss him already,” Margo says.

“Me too,” Carly says. “Those tiny, tiny feet! I wish I could be here when he gets back.” She gets up and my arm feels cold where her body was warming it.

“You can’t stay to eat?” Margo asks, giving Carly the same worried look she’s given me so many times.

“My shift starts soon.” Carly pulls her jacket on and steps into her boots.

“You need to eat,” Margo says, handing Carly a takeout bag and one of the milkshakes. She gives Carly a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for finding our girl.”

I expect Carly to bristle at the affection, but she hugs back and says, “Of course.”

They’ve been through something together now. They already matter to each other.

Carly slips the bag of food in her backpack. She picks up my guitar case with her free hand.

“Wait,” I say. “What—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Margo says.

“It has a little crack,” Carly tells me. “From when you fell. Nothing to worry about.”

There were splinters in the dirt. Was that now, or was it then? I try to remember, but my thoughts feel like wadded up fishing line. “It’s broken?”

“Oh, sweets. It’ll be alright,” Margo says, trying to coax me from panic. “We called the guitar store. They fix these things all the time.”

Carly nods. “I’m taking it over now.”

I look around the room for my bag. “My wallet—I can give you—”

“Shush.” Margo shakes her head. “It’s taken care of.”

“We got you, Pilgrim. I promise.” Carly looks me in the eyes to show me she means it. “I’ll see you all tonight.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, trying not to cry.

Carly is careful to keep from banging my guitar case on the doorframe as she leaves. We hear her boots clomping down the hallway, then she shouts, “Hey, half-caff, double espresso!”

Another voice says, “Hey, tattooed coffee girl!” And then he walks into my room wearing a striped knit hat with earflaps and fingerless gloves like the ones I used to have. He looks ridiculous. He looks good. He looks really, really good.

“Angel,” he says. “Oh my god!”