ELI wondered if this was shock. He sat on a flimsy plastic chair, a social worker at his side, the doctor straight ahead, an officer looming like a shadow. The cops had come to the house. Driven him to the hospital, even though there was nothing to see, or do. Dead on arrival.

On impact, according to the doctor.

“I’m sorry, son,” said the cop.

God never gives us more than we can bear.

Eli laced his fingers, bowed his head.

It’s up to us to find the purpose in the pain.

“The driver didn’t survive,” continued the cop. “Toxicology’s still out but we think he was drunk.”

“How did they die?”

Eli realized, too late, that he’d asked the wrong question. A shadow crossed the doctor’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t—it’s just—I’m going to be a surgeon, one day. I want to save lives. I just—I need to understand.” He balled his hands into fists. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll lie awake, wondering. I think I would rather know.”

The doctor sighed. “Patrick suffered a cervical fracture of C2 and C3,” he said, touching the bones at the top of his own neck. “Lisa sustained a massive concussion, which resulted in an intracranial hemorrhage. In both cases, it would have been nearly instantaneous.”

Eli was glad they hadn’t suffered. “All right,” he said. “Thank you.”

“They didn’t name a guardian,” said the social worker. “Do you know if there’s someone you can stay with? Until we get things sorted out?”

“Yes,” he lied, digging out his phone. “I’ll call a friend.”

Eli rose and walked a little ways down the hall, but didn’t bother dialing. There was no phone tree this time. And no point in pretending.

Eli was popular, well liked, but he had always been careful to keep a

measure of distance. Too close, and someone might see the seams in his facade, the subtle but constant effort of pretending. Better to be friendly, without being friends.

Eli returned to the social worker and the cop. The doctor had left. “I need to get some things from my place,” he said. “Could you drop me off there?”

He let himself into the house, listened to the sound of the patrol car pulling away before he closed the door. He stood for several long seconds in the darkened hall.

And then turned and slammed his fist into the wall.

Pain flashed through Eli’s hand, up his arm, and he hit the wall again and again until his knuckles split open, and blood dripped down his wrist, and he could breathe.

His legs folded under him, and Eli sank to the floor.

After everything, he was alone again.

God never gives us more than we can bear.