Simon clears his throat and ever so slightly fills his chest with air to increase the heft of his presence. “We’re…uh…we’re sorry about that, Lake. And about Will, of course. We’re…very, very sorry.”
And then it strikes me. They feel responsible to me, like Will’s dad said. Penny was driving. In everyone’s eyes, Penny caused the accident. And yet, they hadn’t held the funeral, they hadn’t done the burial rites.
I wish I could be anywhere but here. I look to each side, eager to feel Ringo hovering next to me like a security blanket, but he’s vanished and what I’m left with is a chill. And the initial relief I felt at first finding my mom here is evaporating.
I crane my neck back to see if I can even catch a glimpse of Maya in the room, wondering if this would be a comfort. The whole experience in all its strangeness is already taking on the quality of a dream to me. But she’s faded into the black outfits too.
“It wasn’t Penny’s fault,” I say, turning back and forcing myself to accept that what is happening right now is reality. I wish they could know how badly I want to bring their daughter back too.
“Actually,” Simon says, imposing his figure in my path so that there’s no escaping even if I want to, “we were hoping we could talk to you about something.” The strain in his voice is unmistakable. He looks nervously to my mother.
“Maybe now’s not the right time,” she says. If it’s possible, she manages to grow taller beside me.
Where is Ringo?
Penny’s parents share an “adult” look. “Lake,” says Simon, ignoring my mom’s protest. “We know how close you and Penny were—are—We never had another child, but you two were like sisters. Heck, you practically are sisters.”
“That’s enough,” my mom says. “She’s only a child.”
I stiffen and step away from her. “What?”
“You’re only a child.” She turns back to the Hightowers. “I know you’re suffering, but this isn’t fair to put on her.”
Anger hardens, scratching my throat like a ball of steel wool. “Since when has that ever stopped you?” I say.
“Lake.” Her voice is a warning. She shouldn’t worry. I’m not going to spill the big family secret. But she’s just as bad as the rest of them. “I’m only trying to help.”
I fold my arms across my chest and refuse to look at her.
“We want you to take our car,” Tessa jumps in. She’s wringing her hands together, stretching her fingers from the back knuckles out. “And we have about five thousand dollars we could offer you.”
“Tessa…” Simon warns. “We discussed how we were going to go about—”
She presses on. “We can probably get a little bit more. We’re not very what they call, I guess, liquid right now. Our assets, I mean. And I know time is of the essence, with your birthday coming up. But please, Lake. We’ll do whatever we can. You have to know we’re good for it. Just give us time. Name your terms.”
I’m bright red with shame for her. For Tessa of all people to cross the line from crass to flat-out illegal—I never would have expected that in a million years.
I hear a man yell as though it’s coming from a dream—or a nightmare. Will’s dad appears in the center of our clump of bodies. “I can’t believe you people.”
Mourners turn to stare. The rabbi puts down a deviled egg. I count the seconds between heartbeats. One…two…And then Ms. Bryan is there too. Three…four…
“This shiva is for Penny,” Simon says sternly.
Logan doesn’t hear or doesn’t care. “Jolene, they are trying to buy Lake’s resurrection off of her.”
My mom flails her hands. “No one is doing anything. Lake is leaving.” The color has returned to her cheeks. Bright-pink brushstrokes.
“Stop it, Mom,” I say, pulling my arm away from her.
Ms. Bryan spins on Tessa. “How could you lower yourself to that, Tessa? Pay her? Really? We’ll call the police on you. We will tell the bureau about this. Don’t think we won’t.”
Tessa’s eyes bug like she’s been holding her breath too long, and she bursts out, “Then Lake would lose her resurrection altogether! Then where would we all be?”
“I can’t believe you—” Ms. Bryan’s shirttail frees itself from her skirt.
Tessa bares her teeth like a cornered animal. “You think I don’t know about your little dinner with Lake?”
Ms. Bryan wraps her fingers more tightly than I’m sure she means to around my elbow. “Lake, we know your resurrection can’t be bought. You loved Will.”
“Oh, stop your manipulative bullshit, Jolene,” Tessa snaps.
Mom puts herself physically between the two women and holds out her hands. There are no more seconds between heartbeats.
“Stop,” I repeat, but this time to Penny and Will’s moms. “You two are friends. Best friends.”
No one hears me, though. No one is paying attention to me at all.
A sob escapes Tessa and it sounds like a drain coming unclogged and then there’s a lot of water. Everyone’s grief is spilling out onto me and it’s bigger and pushier than my own, and I want to scream and run until there’s space enough for all of my sorrow. These people really think that I don’t want Penny and Will and even my older brother back enough for myself? Do they think I want to be the best, if not only, option to get their kids back? It makes me sick. But no one else from our nice private school would even consider using a resurrection choice on anyone but family or close to it.
In the midst of the shouting, there’s a tug on my wrist. I look over to see a face cut in two and a pair of eyes that look comfortingly lopsided.
I let him drag me from the group of adults, who don’t seem to notice me leaving, but I don’t let him lead me away from the house and from the yelling. Instead, we wrap our fingers in each other’s and I pull him up the stairs. I wish I could pick up the phone and call Penny. I imagine her listening to how fucked up this whole week has been. Matt. Will. Her parents. She’d know what to do.
I am pretty sure that I am crying, though I don’t pull my hands away to check. I only know that my face is hot and that my nose feels stuffy. “What happened to you?” I ask with a hint of accusation.
“I was giving you space,” he says as if in echo of the exact words I was thinking moments earlier. Space for my sorrow, space for me. But I don’t think I want that space from him.
We walk down an upstairs hallway decorated with framed school pictures of Penny in chronological order from kindergarten all the way to eleventh grade. I stare at the blank place on the wall for senior year. And then I sink down to the carpeted floor and moan into my hands. “They don’t think I miss her,” I say. I rock, hugging my legs and pushing my kneecaps deep into my eye sockets until I see stars bursting in my vision. The pressure squeezes out tears that flow faster and harder. “They don’t think I’d give anything to have her back if I could.”
Ringo has sunk down next to me. He hasn’t let go of my hand. I struggle to breathe through my stuffed-up nose.
“I wish I’d gotten to meet her,” Ringo says.