“What do I look like?”
“The burns aren’t bad,” the doctor said. “There’s a small patch along your jaw that we’re going to watch carefully, but there should be little or no real scarring. We don’t anticipate needing any skin grafts. May I remove the bandages now?”
Zach nodded.
Dr. Lyman went over to the sink and washed his hands and then carefully unwound Zach’s bandages. Zach’s hair had been shaved on one side and left long on the other, and it gave him a lopsided, off-balance look.
As the bandages came off, Jude saw the whole blistered, oozing burn, the way it swept down along his hairline, across his cheek and jaw.
Slowly, Dr. Lyman removed the bandages on Zach’s eyes, and the metal, honeycombed cups over each eye. He tilted Zach’s head and put some drops in his eyes. “Okay,” he finally said, “open your eyes.”
Zach’s lashes were crusty and spiked looking. He wet his lips and bit down on his lower lip.
“You can do it, Zach,” Miles said, leaning toward him.
Zach’s eyelashes fluttered like a baby bird’s first lifting of wings, and then slowly, slowly, he opened his eyes.
“What can you see?” Dr. Lyman asked.
Zach took his time, turned his head. “It’s blurry, but I can see. Mom. Dad. New guy with white hair.”
Miles sagged forward. “Thank God.”
Dr. Lyman said, “The blurriness is temporary. Your vision should clear up in no time. You’re a lucky young man.”
“Yeah. Lucky.”
*
Jude could hear Zach crying, and it brought her fresh pain, both because it was happening and because she couldn’t think of how to make him feel better. There was nothing she could do to help him or herself or Mia.
“It’s okay, Zach,” Miles said when the doctor left them.
“It’s my fault, Dad,” Zach said. “How am I supposed to live with that?”
“Mia wouldn’t blame you,” Miles said, and though his words were reasonable, his voice betrayed the depth of his pain. Jude could tell how hard her husband was trying to grieve for one child while comforting the other. She could tell because her struggle was the same.
“I wish I were blind,” Zach said, and for the first time, he sounded like a man. Certain. “I don’t want to go home and see Mia’s room. Or her picture.”
Just then, Officer Avery walked into the room. He was holding a crumpled-up paper bag in his hands, worrying the rolled crease with his blunt-tipped fingers. “Dr. Farraday? Jude?” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m so sorry to bother you at this difficult time.” He cleared his throat again. “But I need to ask Zach some questions.”
“Of course,” Miles asked, stepping closer to the bed. “Zach? Can you answer a few questions?”
“Whatever,” Zach said.
The officer cleared his throat and then stepped awkwardly toward Jude, offering her the paper bag. “Here,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
She felt as if she were underwater, reaching for something that looked close but was really far away. She was faintly surprised when she felt the rough brown paper. Opening it, she saw a blur of quilted pink—Mia’s purse—and she closed the bag quickly, clutching it in shaking hands.
The policeman stepped back a respectful distance, opened a small notebook. “You are Zachary Farraday?”
“You know I am. You were Officer Friendly in fourth grade.”
Officer Avery smiled briefly at that. “And it was your white Mustang that was totaled on Night Road last night?”
“It was my car.”
“And you attended a party at the Kastner house on Saturday night, with your sister and Alexa Baill?”
“And about a hundred other people.”
“And you were drinking alcohol,” the officer said, consulting a piece of paper. “I have test reports here that show your blood alcohol level at point twenty-eight,” the officer said. “That’s almost four times the legal limit.”
“Yeah,” Zach said quietly.