I STAND FOREVER in Rachel’s fancy spa shower, trying to wash away the hospital. Soon my time locked up there starts to feel like some kind of weird, invented memory. Something I might even forget if it weren’t for how responsible I feel for the girls I left behind.

After the shower, I head to Rachel’s bedroom to change into the clothes she insisted I borrow. She said I could take whatever I wanted. Her massive walk-in closet is like its own perfectly arranged boutique, the expensive clothes all well spaced and nicely lit. There are dozens of built-in cubbies, too, each with only one pair of shoes. I’ve never seen anything like it, and it is completely overwhelming. I close the closet and turn to Rachel’s large bureau, hoping there might be something less intimidating in there.

Sure enough there are jeans, but buttery and soft in a way I was not aware denim could be. Still, they are my best option. I pull out a pair and move on, hoping to find a nonthreatening T-shirt of some kind. It isn’t until I dig way to the bottom of the second stack of shirts that I feel something like plain old cotton. As I’m pulling it out my fingers hit on something hard at the bottom of the drawer. I pull the T-shirts back and look. It’s a small square box like the kind an expensive bracelet might come in.

Why would someone who lives alone be hiding a box at the bottom of her drawer? Who would she be hiding it from? I am about to pull it out and investigate, but something stops me. It’s none of my business. Rachel is helping us. I don’t want to jeopardize that by snooping through her things.

WHEN I GET back downstairs, Jasper is sound asleep on the couch. He’s propped up stiff—feet square on the floor, arms tightly crossed. Only his head is tilted a little off to the side, mouth open slightly. I take a pillow off the bright-white couch opposite him. When I tuck it under his head, he shifts and leans into it in his sleep.

I watch him for a minute. It’s easier to look right at him with his eyes closed. I am glad he is there, more than I am ready to admit. And not because I need him. I don’t need him, not like that. I just want him here, which—it turns out—is actually way more unnerving.

I sit down on the couch across from him and dig out Kelsey’s copy of 1984 stowed in the getaway tote Rachel gave us. There isn’t anything else but to wait for Rachel to call with news. This time I start reading at the beginning.