“She was here,” Bishop said. Heather felt her chest seize again. She was here meant she’d left. Of course. “Lily, too,” he rushed on. “She wanted to stay. She was hysterical—”
“It’s all right,” Heather said. Bishop was still looking at her weirdly, like someone had just forced a handful of Sour Patch Kids into his mouth. It occurred to her that she must look like crap, probably smelled like crap too. She felt her face heat up. Great. Now she’d look like crap warmed over. “What?” she said, trying to sound annoyed without breathing too hard. “What is it?”
“Listen, Heather. Something happened last night, and you—”
The door swung open, and Mrs. Velez came into the room, balancing two cups of coffee and a sandwich filmed in plastic, obviously from the cafeteria. Mr. Velez was right behind her, carrying a duffel bag Heather recognized as belonging to Nat.
“Heather!” Mrs. Velez beamed at her. “You’re awake.”
“I told my parents,” Nat said unnecessarily, under her breath.
“It’s all right,” Heather said again. And secretly, she was pleased that Mr. and Mrs. Velez had come. She was suddenly worried she might cry. Mr. Velez’s hair was sticking straight up, and he had a grass stain on one of the knees of his khakis; Mrs. Velez was wearing one of her pastel cardigans, and both of them were looking at Heather as though she had come back from the dead. Maybe she had. For the first time she realized, really realized, how close she had come. She swallowed rapidly, willing back the urge to cry.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Mrs. Velez set the coffees and sandwich on the counter and sat down on Heather’s bed. She reached out and smoothed back Heather’s hair; Heather imagined, just for a second, that Mrs. Velez was her real mother.
“You know.” Heather tried, and failed, to smile.
“I had my dad bring some stuff,” Nat said. Mr. Velez hitched the duffel bag a little higher, and it occurred to Heather that she had lost her own bag—left it in the Graybill house. It was probably ashes by now. “Magazines. And that fuzzy blanket from my basement.”
The way Nat was talking made it seem as if Heather was actually going to be staying here. “I’m really fine.” She sat up a little higher in bed, as though to prove it. “I can go home.”
“The doctors need to make sure there’s no damage inside,” Mrs. Velez said. “It might be a little while.”
“Don’t worry, Heather,” Bishop said quietly. He reached out and took her hand; she was startled by the softness of his touch, by the slow warmth that radiated from his fingertips through her body. “I’ll stay with you.”
I love you. She thought the words suddenly; this urge, like the earlier urge to cry, she had to will down.
“Me too,” Nat said loyally.
“Heather needs to rest,” Mrs. Velez said. She was still smiling, but the corners of her eyes were creased with worry. “Do you remember what happened last night, honey?”
Heather tensed. She wasn’t sure how much she should say. She looked to Nat and Bishop for cues, but both of them avoided her eyes. “Most of it,” she said cautiously.
Mrs. Velez was still watching her extra carefully, as if she were worried Heather might suddenly crack apart, or begin bleeding from the eyeballs. “And do you feel up to talking about it, or would you rather wait?”
Heather’s stomach began to twist. Why wouldn’t Bishop and Nat look at her? “What do you mean, talking about it?”
“The police are here,” Bishop blurted out. “We tried to tell you.”
“I don’t get it,” Heather said.
“They think that the fire wasn’t an accident,” Bishop said. Heather felt like he was trying to communicate a message to her with his eyes, and she was too stupid to get it. “Someone burned the house down on purpose.”
“But it was an accident,” Nat insisted.
“For God’s sake, both of you.” Mrs. Velez rarely lost her temper; Heather was surprised even to hear her say “God.” “Stop it. You’re not doing anybody any good by lying. This is because of that game—Panic, or whatever you call it. Don’t try to pretend it isn’t. The police know. It’s all over. Honestly, I would have expected better. Especially from you, Bishop.”
Bishop opened his mouth, then closed it again. Heather wondered whether he’d been about to defend himself. But that would mean selling out Heather and Nat. She felt horribly ashamed. Panic. The word seemed awful spoken out loud, here, in this clean white place.
Mrs. Velez’s voice turned gentle again. “You’ll have to tell them the truth, Heather,” she said. “Tell them everything you know.”
Heather was starting to freak. “But I don’t know anything,” she said. She pulled her hand away from Bishop’s; her palm was starting to sweat. “Why do they need to talk to me? I didn’t do anything.”
“Someone is dead, Heather,” Mrs. Velez said. “It’s very serious.”
For a second, Heather was sure she’d misheard. “What?”
Mrs. Velez looked stricken. “I thought you knew.” She turned to Nat. “I was sure you would have told her.”