Chapters (39)
- Cover
- Title
- Author’s Note
- Glossary
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Acknowledgments
Although the rain continued whirring in the upper boughs of the trees, the light was changing. She looked over her feet, through the opening of the shelter and beyond the trees to where the sun lit the clouds from behind. The darkness in the shelter separated her and Faye from the rest of the world and yet, because it comprised pieces of the forest, it seemed that they were also part of the place. Connected. A nest in the trees. A spot in the forest. A place in the world.
She heard Faye sit up and moan quietly. “You’re awake,” Faye said, rubbing her neck. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” said Clare, going for the default before she realised how pointless it was to pretend. “No, I don’t think I am.”
“Even more painful than yesterday?”
She gave a tiny nod. “It’s so uncomfortable to breathe.”
“Did you sleep at all?”
“Yes, a bit.”
Faye peeled an orange and gave it to her. “You need this before you take more painkillers.”
She didn’t ask Clare if she wanted to eat or what she’d prefer. The orange was followed by an energy bar, water and painkillers. Clare didn’t resist. It was as if, without asking or even anticipating that she might not be welcome, Faye had simply stepped into the bubble Clare had created to hold the world at bay. It was meant to be a place where she could remain numb, put life on pause. Others had seen it, but now Faye ignored it and Clare was grateful.
“Look,” said Faye, as she took the bottle from her. “The rain has stopped.”
Sixteen
Sixteen
There was something about the combination of the morning light slanting through the cabin window and the stiffness of his joints that reminded Derek of the phase of his life his mother referred to as “Derek’s Meningitis Days.”
He was six when he fell ill. It was only when he was rushed to hospital for the second time that doctors diagnosed the illness and began treatment. After several complications and weeks of handwringing and prayer from his mother, little Derek was laid up for more than two months. Eventually, fully conscious and with less fever, vomiting and headaches, the boy’s recovery became a time of love and loss, which, though no one suspected it then, shaped the man he became.