I sit up. “I know what the inquest said. But I didn’t want to believe it then and maybe I was right not to. I’m remembering other things too, fragments from the night of the wedding.”

He’s frowning down at me, no sign of his beautiful crooked smile, and I wish I hadn’t said anything. I don’t want him looking at me with the same wariness the doctor did, like I’m off my rocker. I reach up and impulsively kiss him. I think he’s going to move away, then he kisses me back and, instead of pulling away, he sinks down on me, onto the bed, and I’m no longer tired, not one little bit. My heart is pounding as he pauses and looks at me.

“Tess—are you sure?”

I remember the first time I saw Max, when Julia brought him for a visit. He came in last and I think I loved him right away in the way only fourteen-year-olds can fall in love—full, instantly, from head to toe, of shivery, pulse-racing love for a lanky teenage boy with brown hair and a crooked smile. I loved him without pause for two more years until the day of the wedding when, for the first time, I thought he might love me back and I think we almost kissed. Almost. I probably would have exploded if we had. Just plain exploded from all that bottled-up love. But we didn’t kiss. Bella died instead and I didn’t see him anymore. And not once, in all the years since, have I ever felt that soaring love for anyone else. So am I sure?

I pull him back toward me and reach for the buttons on his shirt.

When I wake up, Max’s arm lies heavy across my belly. I lift it off and look over at the clock again. My stomach rumbles. We never did have dinner. The pizza we ended up ordering is congealing in the kitchen. It’s nearly five in the morning. I slept again, this time for nearly six hours. With that and the hour earlier, it’s more than I’ve slept in days. But I’m wide awake now and I know my sleep’s over for the night.