Every Little Piece

The nurses leave. The doctors check my pain level and administer more drugs. I welcome it. I can float away and sleep. I can forget the real pain because everything hurts. My head, my arms, my legs, and deep inside, my heart.

Funny thing about death. It seems to come so unexpectedly to those who aren’t looking for it. They’re not thinking this could be their last day on earth. They drink their coffee, go to work, or hang with their friends. They laugh. They talk. They easily forget about the people they’ve hurt, even a little bit, because there’s always time to say sorry. Always tomorrow. They don’t seek out their family members and forgive them.

Forgiveness is powerful, and when we hurt, we wield this gift like a weapon, choosing to slice and dice as we please. Sometimes, all people want is that smile and the words of forgiveness that follow. Sometimes that’s the hardest gift to give or receive.

That’s all I want. To see Brin and Kama, their smiles, and hear that they forgive me, but this life hurts. The pain stabs to the very core of me and never lets me forget. It becomes part of who I am and who I will be tomorrow. It grips and squeezes until I can bear it no longer.

Death would’ve been a gift. I should’ve been with them last year. But just because I was the driver, the way the car spun, the speed of the other vehicle, the angle we hit—I survived. Somehow I was protected. And it happened again. How does fate step in twice to protect my life when I never asked for it?

The door opens but I lay still.

The person crosses the room and drags a chair to the side of my bed.

“Hey, sis.”

I’m mad at Noah. He betrayed me. He asked Tate to hang out with me, making this whole past year a lie. But for some reason while he talks and tries to explain why he did what he did, I don’t feel the anger. Maybe I released it all on my drive. Maybe the accident and my third chance at life took it all away.

He keeps talking. He’s explaining. The words float around me. I squeeze his hand and he stops talking.

“Noah,” I croak. “It’s okay.”

He falls silent. “I’m glad you’re okay and I’ll stop interfering.”

We sit for a long time, and I realize how foolish I’ve been to run from my family. Noah might’ve needed me this past year as much as I pretended I didn’t need him. But that will change. Starting today. He kisses my cheek. His tears wet my face. He leaves and my parents enter.

Mom cries and hugs me even though pain shoots through my head. I groan and Dad pulls her off. I reach out and grab her hand.

“I’m sorry.” The words scrape out my throat and I’m afraid she didn’t hear. I might not have the strength to say them again. The drugs are starting to take effect. “Sorry I ran away.”

Mom leans over and hugs me. Her tears wet my cheek, but I don’t care. Or maybe they’re mine. She whispers in my ear. “We’re just glad you’re okay. We love you and are here for you.”

Dad sends Mom out and then sits where Noah sat. He takes my hand but this feels different.

“Are you up for visitors?”

For the first time, I open my eyes all the way. I blink at the bright fluorescent lights. If Justine were outside he wouldn’t ask like this. He’d check with the doctors to make sure I could handle it. Obviously he’s already done that and now he’s asking for my permission.

“Who?” I ask.

“Seth.”

My heart flutters and nerves coil in my stomach. I can’t even remember why I’m mad at him. I nod and close my eyes.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t stay long, because you need to sleep.”

Dad leaves and the door shuts. I wrap the end of the sheet around and around my finger. I don’t know what to say and I’m afraid. I close my eyes, waiting.

The door opens and closes. Footsteps whisper across the tiles and the legs of the chair scrape as it’s pulled out and then back close to the bed. I crack an eye. His head bent down, Seth’s black hair is mussed and hides his face. I close my eyes again. The pain meds start taking hold. I battle sleep because I never get this Seth, the one who shares everything with me.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” His words stutter out and his voice is breathy like he ran a marathon. “I have to talk to you.” His deep breath rattles in his throat, before he plunges forward. “I’m sorry about last year. I never came to visit you. I was wrong. I was wrong to run away and not talk to you for a year.”

The rumble of his voice stops. It’s followed by a long silence. I think I fade in and out of sleep because when I wake, he’s still talking. What have I missed?

His voice cracks, and sobs slip out between his words. His hand touches mine, his palm sweaty and shaky. “That’s why I ran and couldn’t face it and wasn’t there for you.”

What? I want to scream because I wasn’t awake to hear him. I try to talk but just mumble. He squeezes my hand again then the pressure loosens. Sleep pulls me under again.

Before I drop off, I hear his last words. “I’m taking care of a few last things and then I’m leaving. This time for good. You can live and love again. Please, Haley.” His voice is desperate. “Don’t live with the guilt anymore. Brin and Kama wouldn’t want this for you and neither do I.”

He might’ve said more, but I wasn’t awake to hear it.





When I wake the pain has dulled and the fuzziness and confusion has faded. Morning light spills in through the window. It’s the next day. I remember my talk with Noah and my family and peace fills me. Seth was here, but his words float in and out my memory like the tide. I turn toward the clock. Truth whams into me. My chest squeezes. It’s the next day. The day.

The memorial service is happening now. My chance to face my past, to face Brin and Kama, and say goodbye. I buzz the nurse.

She slips in with a tray of food and a bright cheery smile. “Ready for a bite.”

I push up in my bed, hiding any flickers of pain. “I need your help. I need to leave.”

Her smile changes to uncertainty and she glances at the door. She seems young with blue eyes and a stylish cut, probably fresh out of nursing school.

“Aren’t I allowed to sign myself out? I’m nineteen.” I remind her.

“You’re supposed to be released later today after the doctor makes his rounds.”

“Please,” I beg. “There’s something I have to do right now. Someplace I need to be.” Even if I’m late I can still say goodbye and say I’m sorry. Maybe they’ll still hear me. And maybe, just maybe, I can start to forgive myself.

The nurse tries to talk me out of it. I interrupt her. “What if while I eat, you tell me exactly what my injuries are.”

She concedes to this and while I shovel applesauce in my mouth, she enters a safety zone and reads off my injuries. Except she starts listing these fancy names.

“In English?” I ask between bites.

“Basically, it’s a miracle you survived. Your body is bruised from the impact, you have lacerations that will heal, and you have a slight concussion. You need to take it easy for a couple days.”

I push the tray away. “So, if I go slow and take it easy, I’m okay to walk around. What if I call a friend to drive me?”

At first, I thought she’d concede, but this new young nurse seems afraid of breaking the rules. Finally, she shakes her head and gives me a firm no. She says she’ll check on me later and she’ll try to get the doctor in to see me first on rounds. Then she leaves.

I reach for my phone and text Justine.

Come get me. Bring the invitation. Please.

I don’t have long. The nurse won’t stay away forever but she also doesn’t expect me to leave. I untie the hospital gown and let it drop to the floor. I gasp. Ugly yellowing and purple bruises stretch along my arms and legs and shoulders where the airbag hit me. My fingers reach for the butterfly bandages that keep the skin closed on the left side of my face where pieces of glass slashed through like I was paper.

The dull ache in my head comes and goes. I grit my teeth and get dressed as fast as I can. I peek out the door and wait for there to be a lull in the activity. The best way to leave is to act normal, like I should be walking away. My heart beats so loud, it’s like an alarm. On shaky legs, I walk down the hall and slip into the stairwell. I lean against the wall and take some deep breaths.

I can do this.

Slowly, I make it down the stairs. With each step I adjust to the dull pain. By the time I reach the main floor I walk through like I’m a visitor. No one studies my face too closely or even thinks I’m escaping.

Justine texts back.

I’m here.

The doors open automatically with a whoosh, and I walk through and into the fresh breeze. Justine sits behind the wheel of her uncle’s truck. She spots me, jumps out, and runs. In two seconds, she’s next to me, holding me gently. “Thank God you’re okay.”

“I’ll pay for the car. Sorry about that.”

She leads me into the front seat. “Don’t worry about it. That ugly thing needed to go a long time ago. But I want to hear everything.”

The envelope, faded and worn now, rests on the front seat. I pick it up and keep it in my hand as I tell her about my visit home and Noah and Tate.

“Wow,” she says. “I can’t believe it.”

I rub the envelope. Out of the corner of my eye, Justine watches, and I tuck the envelope into my back pocket. I don’t know if I’m ready. Doubt seizes me and I panic. “Are you sure I should go?”

Justine doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. You were their best friend. You need to be there.”

I stare out the window. Time to face my mistakes. I have no idea if I’m ready.





I hang at the back of the memorial service. No one will see me. I am a vapor, a breath of wind.

It’s been almost one year. One year of complete hell for all of us. How is it that life is like lightning, choosing when and where to strike, without any warning? The rolls of thunder echo and thick black clouds form in the sky, yet we still think it won’t be us. We walk through the storm unscathed and blameless.

Until it’s us.

Flowers, all kinds of flowers, decorate the front of Kama’s parents’ church. They overflow the stage and the steps and continue into the aisles. The pungent smell turns my stomach, all the different scents mixing together. But what strikes my heart are the poster-sized pictures of Kama and Brin. Their senior pictures. Their bright eyes and smiles reach in and grab my heart and wrench it from my chest.

Classmates trickle in. I see the hugs and the cheek kisses, the smiles. Some are forced but some are genuine after a year of not seeing each other. They laugh and share the news from the past year. I blinked and high school was over. We thought it would go on forever. We thought we’d all graduate and go on to college. I was so sure of everything, of my life, and my relationship with Haley. In a heartbeat that all changed.

Carter and Jamie arrive together, and I shrink farther into the shadows. Luckily, everyone focuses on each other, and they block out the tragic reason they’re all together. They don’t see me. Carter knows. Last year I couldn’t stand that he knew the truth. I ran. I didn’t leave any numbers or addresses, and I never texted back. Eventually they stopped. I owe them an apology, but I’m not sure if the rift between us can be repaired. Some things can’t be fixed.

The room grows more crowded, and it’s harder to pick out the people I know. Teachers sit with former students. Family members mix with the people who barely knew Kama and Brin.

Kama’s parents sit in the front. They don’t mingle but fold their hands and bow their heads. Kama’s mom’s blonde hair causes a twinge in my chest. She’s so much like Kama. It’s as if I could rest my arm over her shoulder, talk to her, and I’d be talking to Kama. Brin’s mom sits next to Kama’s mom. They hug. Her shoulder-length brown hair is straight as a pin and she’s dressed up. I take her in, amazed at the difference.

Brin’s mom was a wreck. Everyone knew that. But this woman is different. She exudes a quiet confidence and acts it. They talk like old friends, hugging and wiping the occasional tear. My throat tightens as I realize that everyone fell apart after the accident, but some have managed to climb from the pit of despair and use it for the better.

I feel the desire to talk to Kama and Brin. Sit down and tell them everything. All the thoughts I’ve been running from. Even if they can’t hear me. I’m about to leave for the graveyard early when she enters.

At first, she stands at the doorway, timid and pale. The sunlight behind her frames her body and she looks like an angel. My heart beats and love floods through me. Justine is at her side and holds her arm. They take a tentative step forward. Haley pulls on Justine’s arm and whispers to her, glancing at the exit.

Justine whispers back, then leads her forward. She keeps pulling her long hair forward as if hoping no one sees her. But they will. And I know our class. No one blames her. I’m glad I told Haley everything in the hospital. Maybe I should’ve waited until she was out of the hospital but I didn’t trust myself. I had to do it while I had the courage to speak the truth. I didn’t even wait for her reaction but left right away. I’ll be gone by tonight.

I can’t keep my eyes off her. She’s thinner and the sparkle in her eyes and the aura of joy she carried with her has faded. Her eyes flick nervously from person to person. Justine kisses her cheek and sends her off into the crowds.

She floats like a lost angel through the people. They smile. They hug her and I know they speak words of encouragement. Tears wet my cheeks but it’s because I’m so happy she’s here. She reached this place, and if my confession had something to do with that then I made the right decision. As she makes her way to the front I can’t keep her in my sight. I inch along the wall, not wanting to draw any attention. I don’t want anyone to see me. I can’t keep my eyes off her. It’s like I’ve been in a desert for years and Haley is my oasis.

I hide behind a pillar and peek around the side. Her fingers twitch nervously and I see her close her eyes and take a few deep breaths. She winces when Jamie comes up from behind her and hugs her. She must be bruised and sore, and it takes everything in me not to rush forward and keep anyone from hurting her, even if they don’t realize it. They talk for a few minutes. The whole time Haley is watching Kama and Brin’s parents who are only a few feet away.

Finally, Haley gently hugs him again and stands next to Kama’s parents who are on the outer edge. She doesn’t say a word and doesn’t move to touch their shoulder. My heart squeezes. I want to hold her hand and whisper words of encouragement in her ear. It would be so easy for her to walk away especially since they don’t notice her. She coughs and Kama’s mom turns.

Immediately, she stands and wraps her arms around Haley. It only takes a few minutes before Haley’s body is shaking. Kama’s mom rubs her back and then Kama’s dad is there too and wraps his arms around them both. Haley’s whole body shudders and they don’t let go of her. She has needed this more than anything. A few of our friends notice and whisper.

More tears wet my cheeks. This was so hard for her to do but maybe this means she’s willing to accept the truth that it was me, not her. She can let the guilt float away on the breeze.

When Kama’s parents let go of her, she steps toward Brin’s mom. This time Haley makes the first move. She drops to her knees in front of Brin’s mom and her lips move, the words tumbling out. I don’t know what she’s saying, but the tension in her face relaxes, and peace takes its place. The minister taps the microphone and welcomes everyone. Haley slides in next to Brin’s mom, who has her arm around Haley.

I am jealous. I want to be there, to hold her, to comfort her. But I lost that place last year when I ran, when I caused everything. While everyone finds seats, I need to make my exit. With my head down, I move slowly to the back and leave. If I stay, I’ll completely lose it. The words build in my chest. I need to talk with Brin and Kama. I haven’t been able to say a word to them all year. It’s like my heart was frozen and all my feelings were trapped in that block of ice.

Slowly and surely, I’m thawing. I desperately need to apologize, even though that won’t bring them back or give them a second chance. Now more than ever I need this. To let go. To take responsibility.

Even if it means I lose everything too.





I’m vaguely aware of the tiny details. The smell of roses and carnations and lilies lining the front of the church. The chatter and whispers of my high school classmates behind me. The smell of my own fears. The pounding in my head and the small pulses of pain in my body from Jamie’s hug.

Those details swirl in the air and swarm my senses. I’m here at their memorial service but I haven’t looked at their picture yet and I haven’t opened the invitation, which is still in my pocket. I know what it says but I don’t need the words branded into my brain. I’m afraid that’s all I’ll remember from this day, and there’s so much more I want to remember. So much more.

I feel like a ghost. Like my body is here and I’m looking down from above as I entered and smiled and acted like the past year was great. They smiled at me. They hugged me. But they all avoided the issue. With me. In their circles when they didn’t know I was there, they were sharing stories about Kama and Brin. They were laughing and remembering in a way that I haven’t been able to. I can’t go there. I haven’t let myself.

But maybe I need that. I desperately crave that. To laugh and remember them without the fog blinding me from what I loved about them the most.

But I can’t. Not when I’m here, and they’re not.

Brin’s mom squeezes my hand and tears spring to my eyes. She wants to say something. I want to say I’m sorry and beg her forgiveness. Now’s the moment. I might not get another chance. The minister is about to speak and then we’ll all sing and move onto refreshments. The crowds will swallow me as Justine makes sure I’m facing everyone. Isn’t that the goal? Isn’t that the whole reason I’m here? To talk? To move on?

The words build in my chest and my heart rate spikes. My palms grow sweaty and I pull my hand away from Brin’s mom and wipe it on my pants. I swallow the huge lump in my throat.

“I’m sorry,” I say. But someone coughs behind us and my words are swallowed as if I never spoke them. Brin’s mom is staring at the picture of her daughter, lost in the past. She didn’t hear my weak apology.

Doubts crashes in. How can I do this? I shouldn’t even be here. The guilt and shame ripples across my neck and face.

The room hushes as the pastor walks down the aisle. I want to run but I can’t now. It’s too late. He makes his way through the flowers and stands at the podium. I glance at Justine about five rows back. She air hugs me. I can’t believe I’m here, and I haven’t even opened the envelope. It’s too late now. The tearing of paper would be too loud. Brin and Kama’s mom would see that I haven’t even read it.

The pastor reads from the bible and then launches into his speech. The words fall on my dry and brittle heart. I block him out.

Kama’s mom whispers to me. “Thank you so much for today. It must be hard but the girls would love it, and I know they’re looking down from heaven and listening.”

“You’re welcome.” I say the words but I’m not sure at our exchange. I had nothing to do with today. In fact, I almost didn’t come. No one should be thanking me.

Kama’s mom isn’t done. “We wouldn’t have been able to move on without the mystery behind this being wrapped up.”

I choke. They must’ve finally come to the conclusion that it was me. Driving carelessly in the rain after my boyfriend.

“So it’s proper and fitting that you’re here.” She pats my knee. “We tried for months to contact you. We talked to your parents and they said they’d relay the message.”

Guilt wraps its hands around my neck and squeezes. I close my eyes and take deep breaths. They figured out it was me, couldn’t find me, so talked to my parents. Except, I’ve been ignoring my parents all year, refusing to listen to what they have to say. They wanted me to come home and talk, that they had things they needed to share with me. I’d assumed the worst and dove into waitressing or hanging out with Tate.

Everyone starts clapping, softly at first. Brin’s mom hugs me and then Kama’s does too. I stare at them, unsure of what prompted their show of affection.

“It’s your turn,” Kama’s mom says.

I glance back at Justine who grimaces but gives me a thumbs-up. The pastor has stepped aside and the microphone is alone, the space in front of it empty. People lean forward in their pews, the pastor smiles kindly, patiently. Expectation is written on their faces. They want to hear my story, my struggles. The realization that I’m supposed to talk sinks in. The curiosity burns in their eyes. They want to hear from the girl who killed her best friends and then dropped out of life.

I have to take shallow breaths to prevent hyperventilation.

The church is silent. The microphone squeaks as someone plays around with the volume. They’re waiting. Each second feels like an eternity in hell as I swallow and try to grasp what I’ve walked into. Stares burn into the back of my head, people waiting, curious, anxious at the impromptu invitation to speak.

The pastor introduces me as a dear and cherished friend of Brin and Kama’s. I still can’t look at their pictures, their perma-smiles or the bright gleam in their eyes. I’m not sure how it happens but I’m standing and walking on shaky legs up to the platform. The pastor mumbles something but I can’t hear him beyond the roaring in my ears. Then I’m standing at the microphone and I don’t even know how I got here. I need to let them know it’s a mistake. Carter or Jamie can give the speech. They knew Kama and Brin, too, and it turns out they were much better friends.

A lone drop of sweat rolls between my shoulder blades. But more builds on my forehead. My body is on fire. The heat burns through my clothing. I stare down at the program, at the smiling faces, but all I see are the blank vacant looks in their eyes the moment they died. The paper crumples as my fingers close around it.

The microphone picks up my breathing and squeals again. I lift my head and feel like a deer in headlights, staring at the faces of my classmates. The place is flooded with people. Family, friends, teachers, community members. Waiting. They want me to remember for them. But I can’t. The memories are locked away.

For a second, I can’t breathe, and I step away. The pastor hands me a glass of water. My hands slide around the cool glass and I take a sip. Then I press it to my forehead and cheeks. I step forward again. The faces blur in front of me. I see all of them. Carly sits in the middle. Her face is pale. My parents and Noah are in the back, probably furious that I left the hospital. Jamie and Carter sit with their pals.

Seth isn’t here.

I flash back to the hospital. Maybe it’s this moment he was talking about. Trying to tell me to come and talk because then I’d feel better. I’d be able to say my goodbyes, find closure. And what did he say? I’d be able to move on and live and love. Without him. He was moving on or away. Something like that.

My face burns but my mind is blank. I can’t see past that night. Rain pelts and blurs my vision. The sound of metal crunching and the feel of losing control and spinning and rolling. The scream of sirens. And the whispers.

The dam in my heart breaks. The tears start and I can’t stop them. I stand there in front of everyone, my head down. The carpet patterns go in and out of focus at my feet. I try to control the tears, to gather myself together but I can’t. I can’t see past my last moments with them.

The car was upside down. For some crazy reason, as the driver, I was protected as I was earlier. The car had been hit from the side. The window shattered into Brin’s face, and the blood dripped down her face, her neck and seeped into her clothing.

I remember screaming. I reached for her and called her name. She rolled her head to the side, the life slipping from her eyes.

“Don’t you dare! You hold on. Help is coming.” Those are the words I said over and over again. Then I glanced in the back seat. Kama didn’t move, her face still. Her eyes gazing off. No life. No life. That’s what I remember. The look of someone who’d left this earth. And I didn’t get a chance to save her or call for help.

“Haley!” Brin croaked.

I focused on her. My hands reached toward her and I grabbed napkins to try and sop up the blood. She tried to talk but then her body seized, shaking violently. Her eyes rolled back and her face turned red and then purple. I screamed her name. The rain kept coming in through the window. I hugged. My arms reaching across the space between us. The shaking stopped and she didn’t say another word.

That was it. I didn’t get a chance to say sorry or that I loved them. Within seconds my friends went from living and breathing souls to just gone. Their bodies were shells and I sat with them for over an hour because the car was crunched and my door was jammed.

The rest was a blur.

Someone coughs in the audience and I snap back to the present. I’m a hypocrite. I can’t give a little speech to help everyone feel better. I’m not ready to laugh at the memories because it seems like yesterday I was in the car with them, when their hearts stopped, and their life slipped away like a dream I couldn’t hold onto in the morning hours.

More tears stream my cheeks. I can’t stop them.

I can’t be this person for them. Another time, maybe in years, I could give this speech. But not now. I need air. I can’t be here. I stumble down the steps and knock over an arrangement of flowers. Faces and the lips move as people gasp and wonder what’s going on. I race down the narrow aisle and slam against the doors.

They fly open. Noah is there. He wraps his arms around me but I jerk away. I scream at him then I stop.

“Noah. You have to go in there and talk to those people. Give the speech that I couldn’t give.” I begged him.

“I’m not leaving you.” Pain reflects in his eyes.

“You have to. I’m going to the cemetery.”

He purses his lips. “Are you sure?”

“Please. I need time alone with them.”

He kisses my cheek. “Okay.”

Then he’s gone, and I’m running. The cemetery is close. Not right next to the church but down the road. I can get there easily within minutes. Maybe I can face my friends in the graveyard. Maybe finally I can talk to them.





I move between the silent graves. The new growth of grass is a carpet under my feet. Life is everywhere. The new buds on the branches, ready to grow into leaves. The scurry of squirrels and their high chatter as they warn their buddies. I plod forward. I know where to go. In the middle of the back left corner.

My hands feel empty and I wish for flowers or something to lay on their graves. That would be nice. But today, this visit is about so much more than offering a tribute, saying a few words and then leaving.

So much more.

The crowd in the church will soon make their way out here. I’ll be gone before they arrive.

The closer I get, the dread builds, creating an ache in my stomach. I move slower. The truth weighs heavy on my shoulders, and I’m tired of carrying this around. There they are. The twin graves. The families decided to bury them together. Kama and Brin. Beloved friends. Cherished family.

My heart is pumping at full steam, like they’re watching, wondering why I’m here. Do they know what happened? Or are they in limbo somewhere not knowing why they died? Or maybe they know and they’re yelling at me to leave, that I don’t deserve to be here.

I push forward and drop to my knees. The gravestones have strains of a light gray, almost silver, running through them. Flowers have already been left. Along with notes from classmates who came here first. I lower my gaze. My head and heart are empty. Where do I begin?

“Hi.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “It’s been a while.”

Lame. Totally lame. I know that. This is hard, almost as if they’re standing right in front of me. Harder than telling Haley the truth in the hospital. I think back on her. This is her day. I’ll leave and she’ll be able to move on. But I let myself get lost in the memory of us, which now I realize was like a blink of time.

The first time I met Haley on the playground. Our moms knew each other and we played on the slide. She played her first prank on me. I was a goner. I didn’t know girls could be cool. I didn’t know they could be like boys and have fun and do smart things, instead of tattling on boys and playing with dolls. Haley Sparks was the ultimate girl and still is. My chest heaves and a sob escapes. I force my thoughts away.

“I’m sorry, Brin, Kama. This took way too long. But I’m here now. I’m here to tell you everything. Something I should’ve done last year.”

Why did I run away so fast? Haley. It was all about her. I’d caused her such grief, and I thought leaving would save her the heartache of seeing me every day. A constant reminder of what happened. But that was a lie I told myself. I couldn’t face her. I couldn’t face them. And I couldn’t face myself. So I ran.

Footsteps run through the cemetery, hitting the soft grass as if they’re in a hurry. I panic because they shouldn’t be moving out here yet, and I don’t want to be seen. I jump to my feet and turn, tense.

Haley breaks through the graves but stops suddenly when she sees me. Her eyes are red and swollen. The breeze moves her hair and I’m afraid she’ll topple over. Her face is haunted and her eyes so sad that my heart breaks a little more. The shame spreads across my cheeks.

She glances around and takes a step back, as if to run.

I stretch out my hand. “It’s okay. I’ll go.”

She tilts her head and the shock of seeing me seems to have distracted her. “I thought you’d be gone.”

I shrug. “I had some last words to say. Goodbyes.”

Her eyes betray her, reflecting the hurt, as she studies me, piercing me, trying to figure me out. But I’m not exactly a puzzle. She knows everything. I told her all of it.

“Is the ceremony over?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Almost. I kinda ran out on it.” Her voice catches and she whispers, “It was too hard.”

I don’t say anything but I understand. I couldn’t stay either but needed to be here. Her body trembles. All I want to do is take her in my arms and hold her. I want to protect her and whisper that everything will be okay. That I’ll take care of her. My throat tightens. I lost that privilege last year.

“I’ll leave you then,” I say. “You must want to talk with them too. I can come back later.” I turn and walk away but then I hear a noise, so soft, so quiet that it’s like a sparrow flapped its wings.

I turn back. Tears run down her cheeks. She drops in front of their graves and she beats her fists against the ground. Her body shudders with the grief as it pours out of her. I can’t hold back and run to her side and wrap my arms around her. It feels so good. Her hair against my cheek and her head on my shoulder.

“Shh.” I stroke her back.

She pushes me away. I expect her to be angry but she’s not.

“I don’t deserve any comfort.” She pounds her chest. “I deserve to feel this pain, this guilt.”

My heart about stops. In my mind, the strands of a knot slowly unravel. Her extreme guilt, the hospital visit, her mumbling. It’s like a fog lifts and I can see clearly. Did she not hear anything I said in the hospital? “Were you on pain meds in the hospital when I was visiting?”

She nods yes.

Oh my God. My stomach drops and my heart pounds. She doesn’t know. And now I have a choice. I can lie and then run or I can tell her truth.





Seth pales, and sways on his feet, like he’s going to puke. He plays with the ends of his shirt, something he always did when he was nervous.

“I have to talk to you. About that night.” His voice is rough and on the verge of breaking.

The buried feelings of anger rise to the surface. That he left the party drunk, without a care. Without realizing that his friends or that I would be worried. That he left with Carly. But then a wave of guilt crashes against me. “Whether you cheated on me that night isn’t important anymore.”

“Oh my God, is that what you think?” he asks, his body recoiling.

I shrug and make sure I look into his eyes. “I don’t know. I never found out. You weren’t here.” I shake it off. “None of this is important. I don’t care. Don’t you get it?” I bite back another sob. I can’t handle anymore crying. “It’s not important. Not when I’m alive and…” I point to their graves, unable to say the words.

Seth reaches for my hand. “It is important. I have to tell you.” Then his words tumble out. “Before the party, my parents told me they were splitting. Mom cheated.”

I gasp. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“I was upset at the party but I didn’t want to ruin everyone’s night.” He laughs in a self-deprecating way. “So much for that. Anyway, I took it out on you that night. I’m sorry.” He pauses, closes his eyes for a second, then continues. “She cheated with Carly’s dad. I didn’t leave the party with her, but pushed her away because I wanted to be alone. She wanted to come with me, because she didn’t want me to drive.”

I drop in front of the graves. I don’t know what else he has to say, but I’m hungry for the truth of what happened to him that night.

“I took off, alone,” he says.

I can’t hide the bitter truth behind my words. “I went looking for you.” I have no energy left to explain anything else. Nothing more needs to be said. “Well, glad you could clear that up. Hope you feel better.”

“Haley,” he says my name so soft, like a whisper. But it’s tainted with something else. I can’t quite put my finger on it. “There’s more.”

“Fine, go ahead if it’ll make you feel better.”

He drops to the ground and addresses Brin and Kama too. “I’m sorry. I never should’ve left the party. I never should’ve gotten behind the wheel after drinking. I knew it but I did anyway. I was too mad. But that’s no excuse.” His voice breaks and his words come out in pieces. “I never should’ve been on the road…or you’d both be alive.”

My breath catches in my throat and I have to force it out. Why is he taking the blame? Because I went looking for him? That’s crazy. That’s like Justine feeling responsible for having the party. “Seth.” I’m about to set him straight.

“No. Let me finish.” He takes a deep breath. “I was driving. It was raining. I got in an accident that night. My mom’s van. The front was all messed up in the morning. Bad enough we had to buy a new van.” His voice is hoarse. “I don’t remember much. I must’ve hit and run.”

His words hang in the air and then settle over me. He drove drunk. He got in an accident. A bad one. Hit and run. The truth hits me hard and squeezes my chest. I can barely breathe. No. No. No. It can’t be. I’m leaning over, breathing hard, rocking back and forth. I don’t want to think the thoughts crashing through my head. It can’t be true.

I shudder and sob, then crumple over. Everything I thought was a lie. All of it. But the truth is much worse than the lie.

Then his voice speaks from next me. “I’m sorry. I visited you in the hospital that night. I overheard nurses talking. I saw you run from your room. That’s when I remembered. That’s when I knew I could never be the one to comfort you. I knew you’d be better without me. I left to protect you.”

A torrent of emotion rushes through me and words spit out. All my sadness and regret and confusion over Seth turns to vicious hatred. “Protect me? Ha! I lived an entire year feeling the guilt. That I was the one.” I broke off, still unable to say the words.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

But that isn’t enough for me. I push him away. “Sorry isn’t enough. I’ve lived with the guilt of killing my best friends! That it was me!” I close the gap between us and beat his chest with my fist. “And yes, I still take responsibility, but you were the one drinking and driving!” The tears blur my vision of him, and I scream, “You killed them!”

I continue to pound my fists against his chest and he takes it. He takes all of it.

He’s crying too. “I’m sorry. I made the wrong choice. I loved you so much and couldn’t believe what I’d done. I was angry.” His voice matches mine. “Yes. It’s me. I take all the blame. All of it. That’s why I came back. To face you. Tell you. Set you free from this.”

“Are you kidding me? You think this fixes my life?” My head throbs. “This truth is so much worse than what I’ve been living with. That the boy I loved, that I wanted a future with, ran out when I needed him most. That he didn’t care enough to tell the truth.” I can’t say it anymore. I can’t stand the sight of him. “Please, just leave. Go back to wherever you came from.”

He stands. “I’m going to make this right.”

“There’s nothing you can do. This can’t be fixed.”

“Goodbye Brin. Goodbye Kama. I’m so sorry. I’ll love you forever.” He touches my shoulder.

Then he leaves.