The Beginning of After

Chapter Twelve



Suzie Sirico’s office was really just a small converted den in her very large house. It was on the first floor and had its own entrance around the back, and I felt a little like hired help as I made my way along the stepping-stones across the grass to a white wooden door.

Inside were a couch and two chairs, with a coffee table between them. Everything was overstuffed and brightly patterned, like one of those rooms you see in a home catalogue that you can’t imagine real people ever actually using.

“Oh, look,” my mom would say when these things came in the mail. “One-stop shopping for people who don’t have any style but want to pretend they do.” She could be a snob about who was born with an artistic eye and who was not.

Suzie sat in one of these carefully designed chairs with a legal pad and pen on her lap, resting her hand in her chin as she gazed at me with curiosity.

I sat on one end of the couch—the end farther from Suzie—with both hands tucked between my knees.

I was here. Bathed, dressed, out of the house.

“Laurel, you will do this. For me. Yes?” Nana had half asked as she put me to bed the night before.

Yes, I would do this. For her.

Now Suzie smiled a bit, still curious, like I was a package she’d found on her doorstep but didn’t want to open yet. We had been sitting in silence for a full minute.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said finally.

It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t answer.

“I heard that Gabriel Kaufman was moved to a long-term care facility in New Jersey, and that David’s staying with relatives nearby.”

“Oh.” Even just hearing Mr. Kaufman’s name was like a slap in my face, but I didn’t let on.

“I thought maybe you’d heard from him, since you still have his dog.” She made it sound like I’d borrowed one of David’s CDs and kept forgetting to give it back.

“No, I haven’t.” I stared at my thumbs lined up next to each other and noticed how the two sets of knuckle creases didn’t quite match.

“I bring up David because I understand you recently had an upsetting experience with him.”

Yeah, thanks for reminding me.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I looked at her now and just shook my head. Suzie regarded me for a second, then wrote something on her pad. I watched the tip of her pen wiggle as it made a smooth scratching noise, as if whispering something back to her.

“Okay,” she said abruptly, plopping the pad down on the end table next to her. “Then I have something fun I’d like to show you.”

Suzie got up and went to her bookcase, found a wooden box next to a figurine of a fairy sitting on a rock, and sat back down. She opened the box and pulled out what looked like an oversized deck of cards.

“We call these Feeling Flash Cards,” she said, smiling as she glanced at one. “I think of them as a game. I show you a card with the beginning of a sentence, and you say the first thing that comes to mind to complete the sentence. Shall we try it?”

This sounded stupid, but I didn’t even have the energy to say that. It was easier just to shrug and nod.

Suzie pulled out a card, eyed it with another grin, and flipped it toward me.

Below a picture of a red wilting flower were the words: I BELIEVE WHEN SOMEONE DIES, THEY . . .

Are watching me.

That’s what popped into my head, taking me by surprise. But I couldn’t echo it with spoken words. I hated to think of what that would lead to.

Instead, I said, “Gone.”

Suzie raised an eyebrow. “Gone, how?”

“Just gone.”

I looked back at the card expectantly, like Hit me again. Suzie frowned but flipped over the next one.

I AM ANGRY BECAUSE . . .

Nothing will go as planned.

Huh? No.

“I have to be here today.”

Suzie gazed at me, again with the curiosity, and then gingerly laid the card back on the deck. She took great care to slowly replace the first card, put the top on the box, and place it on the end table next to her pad. Her movements seemed calm, yet hostile.

“Laurel,” she said, looking at me now with commitment, her face clear of questions. Right in the eyes. “Do you believe your relationship with your parents and your brother is over?”

The force of this made me unfurl. My shoulders hit the back of the couch and my hands came out from between my knees. I didn’t know what to do with them, so I folded them protectively over my stomach.

“Of course it’s over. They’re dead.”

“So they will never be part of your life again?”

“Well, yeah. They’re dead.” Why did I have to repeat that? Had she gotten me mixed up with someone else?

“They won’t have any more influence on you? They won’t contribute to who you are or the decisions you make?”

Now it was my turn to look at Suzie with curiosity.

“Laurel, you have suffered a terrible, horrible loss. Greater than most people can imagine. But you can survive this trauma, and one of the many ways that will help you do that is to think of your relationship with your mom, your relationship with your dad, and your relationship with your brother as things you can work on and develop, even though these people you love are not living.”

I felt something latch open inside me, and the first heat of tears in my eyes. It was an unfamiliar heat, of relief.

Suzie did not smile or nod or seem at all victorious at breaking through like this. She looked at me with even more determination.

“This will be hard, Laurel. But it will be worth it.”


I slept that night, but woke up early to the sound of someone gagging and coughing. When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was Selina on the pillow next to me, staring with disgust at the source of the sound.

Which was Masher, in the middle of my room, spitting something onto the purple rug. There was a foamy pink stain next to a pile of my clothes.

Gross, I thought. What had he eaten that was pink?

But my color-mixing skills as a painter snapped on and reminded me, Red and purple make pink.

He was puking up blood.

I jumped out of bed and grabbed Masher gently by the ears, forcing him to look at me. His eyes were bloodshot, and although this was the first time I’d touched him in days, he didn’t seem to react. He just pulled his head away and dropped it to the floor, where I noticed an older pink stain a few feet away.

“Nana!” I yelled.

I heard frantic footsteps getting louder, and then Nana burst into my room, looking panicked. “What? What happened?”

“Masher’s sick.”

She closed her eyes and put her hand on her chest. “For goodness’ sake, Laurel!” She steadied her breathing. “The dog?”

“Did you notice anything last night?”

Nana looked at Masher distastefully at first, then softened.

“No. He wanted to go out, so I let him. He came back a little later than usual, maybe.”

“I think we need to call the vet. The number’s on that emergency list by the phone downstairs.”

Nana looked at me, then back at Masher. I don’t know which of us looked more pathetic.

“Do you want me to get it?”

“If you could,” I said.

Dr. Fischer had been our vet for years. Her daughter was in Toby’s class. Then I thought of her and her staff, seeing me. Knowing what had happened on prom night. Knowing, period.

Nana was almost out the door when I said, “I don’t think I can take him. Can you do it?”

She turned slowly and made a little ha! noise. “No, Laurel. You took this dog in. You are responsible for him.”

I turned to Masher, his eyes not even pleading anymore, and pushed David’s face out of my mind so it was no longer connected to the dog.

“Then bring me the Yellow Pages,” I said. “I’ll find another vet.”


Ashland Animal Hospital was on Ashland Road in the town just east of ours, but lucky for them they were listed first in the phone book. Nana pulled into a parking space and glanced at me in the rearview mirror. I was sitting in the backseat with Masher in my arms.

“Do you want me to call David’s grandmother? I’m sure she can get in touch with him.”

“No!” I said.

“Laurel, he should know.”

“It’s my fault he got sick. I’ll deal with it.”

“You’ll have to tell him eventually.”

“Not if I can help it. . . .” My voice was on the verge of anger. I could only see Nana’s eyes and eyebrows framed in the little rectangle of the mirror, but from her silence I knew she got it.

“Do you want me to come in?” she asked, sighing a little. Giving in.

“Only if you want to.”

“I brought a book,” she said, pointing to a paperback lying on the front seat next to her, which I took to mean that Nana would be reading in the comfort of the car and not a smelly animal hospital waiting room.

“Okay. I’ll come out and keep you posted.”

I hooked Masher onto his leash and lifted him out of the car, then guided him slowly into the building. The second we walked in, a tiny dog wearing a red sweater started barking at us. Masher could have nibbled that thing like a snack, but he cowered from it, and that told me just how serious this was.

We made it to the front desk by walking the perimeter of the room, away from the yapping mini-whatever.

Just five minutes later, we were in an exam room with Masher lying on the table, staring at the wall. I followed his gaze to a poster of two fluffy kittens wearing sunglasses and berets, with the caption “A Couple of Cool Cats!”

“Yeah,” I said to him. “That’s just wrong.”

There was a quick knock on the door before the doctor came in.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Benavente,” he said in a voice that sounded much younger than he looked. He had salt-and-pepper hair and big glasses, and looked more like a mad scientist in his white coat than a vet, but also like someone you could trust.

“I’m Laurel, and this is Masher.”

He smiled sadly at Masher. “Hi, buddy,” he said. Then, almost as an afterthought, he glanced at me and added, “Nice to meet you. So what’s going on with this guy? They tell me he’s coughing up blood?”

“Yes. And he seems pretty out of it.”

“It just started this morning?”

“Yes.” I thought so. Truth was, he could have been doing this for a day or two and I wouldn’t have noticed.

I watched as Dr. Benavente examined Masher’s eyes, ears, and mouth, and felt around his belly. His face was like a stone, and I couldn’t read it.

“Has he had diarrhea? Anything with blood in it?” the doctor asked.

“I—I don’t know.” How could I tell him nobody had been walking Masher lately? Then I remembered something from the day before: Nana yelling at him downstairs, saying things like “disgusting” and “shouldn’t be doing this” loud enough for me to hear.

Dr. Benavente looked at me a little differently now, like I’d just slid into a new category for him. Someone who did not take good care of her pet.

“We’ll run some tests, but my gut feeling is that this guy has ingested rat poison. It’s unfortunately very common; to dogs, rat poison looks just like kibble. But it’s also potentially lethal to them. I think we may have caught this early enough, but he’s going to need some emergency treatment.”

I put my hand over my mouth and then struggled to say something intelligent. “So why is there blood?”

“Some rat poisons kill by interfering with an animal’s blood clotting, so Masher’s bleeding internally. I think he ingested it at least twenty-four hours ago, so it’s too late to induce vomiting, but we can give him vitamin K injections that will help his blood clot and stop the hemorrhaging. I’d like to keep him here for a couple of days for treatment and observation. Does that sound okay?”

He’d had me at “bleeding internally.” The tears were streaming down my face now, and I couldn’t even look at Masher; I had to focus on the ridiculous beret kittens to keep some control.

“Please do whatever you have to do,” I said.

“Go out front and give this to Eve,” he said, handing me a yellow paper with illegible scrawl on it. “We’ll get started, and I’ll give you an update as soon as I have one.”

I just nodded, and while Dr. Benavente picked up Masher, I locked eyes with the dog once and said, “I’m so sorry . . .” before running out.

At the front desk, a girl a few years older than me, maybe college age, was punching at fax machine buttons and cursing under her breath.

“I’m supposed to give this to Eve,” I said, waving the yellow paper.

“That’s me,” she said, reaching out to take it. She glanced at the notes and her lower lip jutted out, turned down. “Poisoning is rough. But you’re in good hands.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you want me to run up an estimate of the costs?”

The costs.

Before I knew it I was crying again.

“Oh God, please don’t cry . . . ,” said the girl. “It’s going to be okay. There are ways we can help if it’s a financial burden.”

I sniffled and shook my head. “No, it’s not that. I mean, it is a little. But mostly I just feel so awful. This isn’t even my dog, but it’s my fault he got sick, so of course I should—”

“This isn’t your dog?” Eve asked, a new concern drawn on her face. She had long blond bangs that half-covered her eyes.

“Not officially. I . . . He lives with me, but he’s not . . .” I looked at Eve, who was listening, confused and interested. She did not know me or David or what had happened. This was why I’d come here. I realized it was the first time since losing my family that I was with people who didn’t know about the accident, which felt frustrating and freeing all at once.

“His owner can’t take care of him at the moment . . . ,” I finally continued, steadying myself. “So I took him in for a while.”

Eve’s wariness turned into a big smile, like now I was speaking her language. “Good for you,” she said approvingly. She stared at me for another few seconds and then said, “Hey, I don’t know if you’re looking for a job or anything, but we need someone to help out in the office for the summer. We have a current student, but she’s leaving next week.”

I stood frozen for a moment. A job?

“Or maybe you know someone. I was going to post something at the high school today. It’s just a few hours a week. I’m not sure how much time you have.”

I thought of Nana in the car and Meg at school and the wide, unstructured expanse of my bed. Then I asked, “Can you tell me more about what it involves?”


i want to c u! can i come dwn?

I texted Meg as soon as Nana and I got home. The sky had gone white and the air was hanging heavy in preparation for something. But after my morning, the punch of seeing Masher suffering and having to leave him at the vet’s, and then arranging to come in on Monday to start training as a summer office assistant, I didn’t feel like staying in the house.

r u kidding? get here asap! came the text back from Meg.

“Is it okay if I go over to Meg’s?” I asked Nana. Her eyes brightened. They had already sparkled a little when I’d asked her permission to start working at the vet’s. Anything that got me out into the world again, doing stuff, apparently caused some kind of power surge inside her.

“Of course. Just call me if you think you’ll be awhile.”

I nodded and headed down the hill to her house.

It was the first time since the accident that I’d walked the distance between our house and the Dills’, instead of driving, and it hit me: It’s summer. It had still been spring when my family died, the trees just starting to swell again, the grass patchy. Now, just seven weeks later, a thick fabric of green draped the houses in my neighborhood and fell in clumps along both sides of the road I’d walked so many times in my life. The wind blew everything this way and that, the buzz of cicadas rising and falling with the same rhythm. I was used to noticing scenery and landscapes because of my Drama Club painting. This time, it was like the landscape was noticing me.

I thought of Masher. Part of me wondered if he had done it on purpose, eaten the rat poison—probably at a neighbor’s house on one of his late-night outings—just to spite me into snapping out of it. It was as if he was saying, Therapy’s great and all that, but at some point you’re going to have to start paying attention to stuff.

Like my best friend.

When I got to Meg’s, I opened the back door and called for her, then walked in through the kitchen and past the cozy breakfast nook under which loopy embroidered letters spelled out “Bless This House” inside a frame. Although our homes were built the same year by the same company, and had almost the same layout except for a few small differences—in Meg’s house, the L of the kitchen swung left, while at mine it swung right—inside they were worlds apart. Mrs. Dill decorated her rooms with complete furniture and fabric sets from Pottery Barn so everything matched. They weren’t littered with fifteen different things from eight different trips abroad, the way ours were. Meg’s house always looked so much more like the houses we saw on sitcoms and in movies, and sometimes I envied her for that.

“Hello?” I called from the stairs.

I heard the door to Meg’s room open, then close, and Meg came bounding down the hall.

“Hi, you,” I said.

She didn’t stop but instead, hugged me tight and fast. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you called. Come,” she said, grabbing my elbow and tugging me back toward the door. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Just before I swiveled to follow her, I heard voices coming from Meg’s parents’ room and loud music from Mary’s.

Outside, Meg jerked her head toward the woods behind her house and I went along, still unable to get a look at her face. But something in the way her shoulders squared off at right angles told me all was not well. Once we stepped through the wall of trees that lined the Dills’ yard, I tugged at the back of her tank top.

“What’s up?” I asked softly.

She turned to me, looking a bit guilty. “I needed someone to talk to, but I was afraid to call,” she said, like an apology.

“Well, I’m here.”

Meg looked down at the dirt and rocks surrounding our feet, then back up at me. “My dad was out all night last night. He came home this morning and . . .” She stopped, and her eyes swept across my face. “You seem different. Are you okay?”

“Something happened today. But I’ll tell you later. Your dad was out all night and he came home and . . .”

Meg paused, then shook her head. “No, it’ll be fine. It’s no big deal. He and my mom just had a wicked fight, and it kind of freaked me out. I want to hear about the thing that happened to you.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. It was strange to be the one putting a hand on my friend’s elbow and sounding concerned.

“Positive,” Meg said, and she motioned for me to keep walking. So we shuffled our usual way through the woods, past the neighbors’ houses, up the hill to a flat rock that was always just big enough for the two of us. I told Meg about Masher and the vet and Eve and the job.

“That is awful but good about the job,” said Meg. “So I’m guessing you’re not coming back to school this year?” She said this with a forced casualness, especially the “back to school” part, throwing her glance at the treetops.

“I’m not ready. There’s only two weeks left, anyway, right?”

Meg nodded but kept staring up. I wasn’t sure if my not being at school made things harder or easier for her.

“You should email Joe,” she said finally.

“That ship has sailed,” I replied flatly. “Gone.”

“Oh, I think that ship might just be circling the harbor. He asked about you a couple times.”

“If he wanted to know how I was, he could have emailed me.”

Meg shrugged. “He’s a guy. What do you expect?”

I had no answer to that. We were silent for a few moments.

“Hey, do you want to see my pictures from Six Flags?” she said suddenly. “Some of them are hilarious.”

“Maybe some other time.” Or never. I had no desire to see the rest of my classmates having a totally fun, normal, end-of-school trip to the amusement park.

We paused again. This time, I was the one who felt the need to fill the void.

“So do they still talk about me? About prom night?”

Meg paused. “No, I think they stopped. Lucky for you, someone smashed up four of the front windows in the science wing, and that’s the hot topic right now.”

“When they find out who did it,” I said, “remind me to thank them.”

Meg smiled and then turned serious. She reached out and touched me on the shoulder.

“It’s going to be a good summer, Laurel. We’ll make it a good summer.”

She was right, and I hugged her, and while we had our arms around each other I made a mental note to find out, someday soon, the full story of her dad not coming home and why she had so desperately needed to talk. Someday soon, for sure.