“The police?” Worried still, yes, but also suspicious. “The last thing Jasper needs is trouble with the police. We’ve had enough of that with his brother.”

“I know, but—all I can say is that I have a really bad feeling. Like he could be in danger. We were talking on the phone last night and—”

“Danger? What are you—oh no. Wait one second here.” Her eyes flash hard in my direction. Then they move again up to my hair. Finally, she has realized, and when she looks me in the eye again, the blast of anger burns. “You,” she growls, pushing herself to her feet. “You’re her. The one that almost got my son killed.”

She steps forward. And I take another couple steps back toward the door. I toss the envelopes addressed to Jasper into a nearby chair. This feels like a peace offering.

“I’m sorry about—but right now—” My foot catches on a chair.

“Oh, so now you’re worried about him? You know what, you should be worried. You know what you cost him? What you took from your so-called friend? How hard he’s worked since he was a teeny-tiny kid to get that opportunity at Boston College? The hours and hours at that ice rink freezing his ass off? And now—” She makes an exploding motion with her hands. “You destroyed everything.”

I am finally at the door, fumbling with the knob behind me as she steps closer. I turn my face, bracing for her to slap me.

“I just—I’m worried about him,” I say again as I get the door open. It scrapes hard against my back. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be sorry!” she shouts after me as I rush outside.

7

I STUMBLE DOWN THE STEPS AND RUN AWAY FROM JASPER’S HOUSE. Bernham Bridge. You should be sorry. Bernham Bridge. You should be sorry. The bridge is not far, I don’t think, maybe less than a half mile. Only a couple of quick turns. But I need to get there now. I can feel it. And that isn’t about reading anybody’s feelings, not about simple Heightened Emotional Perception. There is no one there to read. This feeling is something more.

But I have never been more certain of anything in my life: Jasper needs me, and he needs me right now.

I look around for a taxi, a car, some other option, overwhelmed by the sense of the time I have already wasted. The things I should have realized. Should have said. But there is no one around to help. I have no choice but to run on. I look down at my stupid, useless flip-flops, tugging them off and sprinting barefoot, one gripped in each hand.