He shook his head. The fact that he wouldn’t explain was answer enough.
The brief silence that followed was all-consuming, and I slowly started to piece things together. I didn’t hear the cry that escaped my throat, my mind too trapped in the shattering image of that girl … of Ella in the seat next to me, her blue eyes staring lifelessly at me as they pried her out of the car.
“Don’t cry. Please, Maddy, don’t cry. Nobody blames you. The roads were wet and the car slid. There was nothing you could do to stop it.”
He reached out to me, and I moved back. “No! Don’t touch me.” I didn’t want to be comforted or held. I wanted him to tell me what had happened, why I couldn’t remember anything, anything except that girl’s dead eyes.
7
Alex left me there sobbing, unable to form a coherent sentence. I saw the terror in his eyes when he finally got up and scrambled for the door. He had begged me to calm down, promised me everything would be fine. He was wrong, so wrong. Nothing would ever be fine again.
If what he was slowly trying to ease me into realizing was true, then the girl next to me in the car, the one I killed, was my own sister. Nothing … not the terrifying inability to remember who I was, not even the pain that was lancing through my head could compete with that dark truth.
“She’s awake,” I heard him say. The sound in the hall was deafening. Cheers mingled with cries. I saw a girl make for my door. I couldn’t pull her name from the tattered recesses of my mind. Didn’t need to because the swell of emotion that came from a glimpse of her face was more than enough. Hatred clawed at me, a complete and bone-deep hatred solely directed at her. Thankfully, Alex stopped her at the door and gently eased her aside to let someone in.
The door closed, blocking out the people in the hall, and the smell of coffee flooded the room. I looked up at the man, stared straight at him and prayed he would somehow make sense of this for me.
He stopped midstep and watched me. I prayed he would see the plea in my eyes, would say or do something to jar the simple recognition of who I was and what had happened back into place.
The man dropped his cup, black coffee covering his shoes as he stood there frozen for what seemed like an eternity. His shoulders shook, and it was then that I saw his tears. He didn’t do anything to try to hide them. I swear I saw a brief flash of confusion cross his face, as if he were trying to see something that wasn’t there, as if, like me, he was trying to fit what he’d been told into a box that wasn’t the right size.
“Mr. Lawton?” It was Alex’s worried tone that tore the man’s eyes from mine. “She seems confused, like she’s not sure who she is or why she’s here. I know it’s probably the pain meds they gave her—the doctor said she may be a bit hazy for a while—but she’s asking questions about…” He drifted off, the pity I heard in his voice overwhelming. “I don’t know what she remembers, and I thought … I didn’t want to tell her … I thought maybe you and Mrs. Lawton…”
The older man’s confusion disappeared, and he held up his hand for Alex to stop talking. He walked over to my bed and carefully sat down. His hand hovered for a second, trembling, before he wiped away my tears. “How’s my sweet girl?”
I leaned into his hand, wondering how a simple gesture could bring me so much solace. “Why am I here? What did I do?” The questions flew from my mouth, each one calling forth more unease, more uncertainty.
“Everything is fine, Maddy. Your mother and I promise you that everything is going to be fine.”