I turn toward Sean, he’s chewing his bottom lip, like he wants to say something but isn’t sure he should. “Go on,” I say.
Sean takes a breath. “Do you wish I hadn’t told you? I thought about not…I thought maybe if I convinced you to give up looking…” Sean pauses. “Would it be better if you didn’t know?”
But now that I know, it’s hard to even imagine what it was like when I didn’t. I feel like I have aged a hundred years since this morning, since an hour ago. I feel sorry for that poor innocent Ellie of earlier today, who so naively believed that everything was going to be fine. I shake my head. “The only way it would be better is if it hadn’t happened,” I say. And hearing myself say these words, the crying starts again.
Sean reaches out and squeezes my knee. “I’ve been through this,” Sean says. “I will go through this with you, Ellie. You won’t be alone. I promise you won’t be alone.”
And I nod, grateful at least for that.
Thirty-four
We’re at a motel now, the Grand Canyon Cactus Lodge, a group of wood buildings surrounding a parking lot. It’s nothing like the fancy places we were at before, it’s not even touristy, it’s the type of place people go to sink into anonymity, the type of place people go to hide.
I am sitting on a bed, my bare legs against a faded scratchy Aztec-print comforter, leaning against a chipped plywood headboard. I am having another one of those strange blank moments. My head feels like it’s stuffed with thick cotton that somehow cushions my brain from all my thoughts.
“Are you hungry?” Sean asks. He is next to me, holding my limp hand, looking at me with such concern. I am grateful to him for being here, for expecting nothing from me. But I don’t have the energy to express this right now.
I shake my head.
“If I get you something, will you eat it? I think I saw a pizza place near here. I could call information and find out the number.” He pats his pockets like he’s looking for his cell phone. He makes a slightly confused face. “Or we could eat brownies out of the vending machine.”
And then I start crying again. Nina loved vending machines.
“What am I supposed to do now?” I say.
“You don’t need to think about that,” Sean says. “I’ll do all the thinking for both of us. You cry it out. And I will take care of you.”
And I lean back against the pillow. I am holding my phone limply in my hand.
“My battery died,” I say. And I feel the tears slipping down my cheeks now. “I can’t call anyone, because I don’t even know anyone’s number.”
“You don’t need to call anyone,” Sean says. “You don’t need to tell anyone.”
And I want to believe him. I try to believe him, but I know that no matter how long I wait, at some point I will have to be the one to call my mother and tell her her daughter is dead. And Amanda, I will have to tell her. And Brad. And…I am crying harder now. How can I exist in a world that I know Nina is not in? And do I even want to?
Sean puts his arms around me and pulls me toward him, pressing my face against his chest.
“We don’t have to go back,” Sean whispers. “We don’t have to ever go back.”
All I can do is nod. I can feel the tears spreading out, soaking through his shirt, until my entire face is wet with them.
Thirty-five
Sean is in bed asleep, his cheeks flushed, his hands curled into fists around the edges of the scratchy brown blanket. He is smiling, just slightly. And I am awake watching him.
I do not think I will ever sleep again. The limp wet sadness of earlier is gone, having been replaced by a hard nugget lodged in my center, its sharp jagged edges piercing my insides, filling me with a thousand questions. Who was the man that killed her? And where is he now? Is he alive? Is he in jail? And what about this boyfriend, this boyfriend she died for? Where is he? And who is he? And what about Nina? Did someone have to go identify her at the hospital? And why didn’t anyone ever call my mom? And where is her body buried? Her body. Her body that she is no longer in. Her body that is just meat now.