Rubbing my head, I see that the thing I’ve been curled up on isn’t a thing at all, but a person. Ringo to be exact. He has one eye pinched closed and is using a hand to block some of the light.
I pry myself from the nook between his arm and chest, realizing as I do that it was surprisingly comfortable and I want to go back to that cozy nest because right now my brain is swelling and contracting and in grave danger of busting out of my eye sockets.
“We’re going, we’re going.” I get myself to a fully upright position and wave the man away. “Just give us a second.”
He grumbles and shakes his head at us before lumbering back toward his gas station.
I don’t think I’ve digested even an ounce of last night’s liquor, considering I can feel it all sloshing around in the pit of my stomach and at least a portion of it crawling up my throat. I take a deep breath and try to think of things other than the dumpster overflowing with beer cans and discarded cheese nachos and anything else that may make me want to hurl.
“Hi,” I say, patting my head.
Ringo has a red, splotchy imprint of the car door pressed into the unmarked side of his face. “Morning.” He stretches his neck and I can tell that his sleeping position wasn’t nearly as snug as mine, but I’m too hungover to feel bad.
“I thought the plan was to drive me home?” I try not to sound annoyed.
“It was, but by the time I took a cab and got here, you were passed out in the backseat.” I must look confused, because he adds, “I don’t know where you live.” His left cheek dimples in an apologetic smile.
“Right.” I rub my palms into my cheeks, hoping to wipe away any runny makeup. “The details got a little fuzzy last night.”
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on or am I supposed to guess?”
I spot the puddle of my drool on his shirt. “I’ll tell you,” I say. “But do you think I could have coffee first?” The headache still pounds at my temples.
Ringo lets me wait in the car while he runs into the gas station. He comes back with two extra-large cups of coffee—of questionable quality—bottles of water, and a bag full of cookies, chips, crackers, and beef jerky sticks. I take careful sips of the water and sniff at the coffee before taking a small bite of cracker. He waits, patiently.
I wipe crumbs from my face and stare into the bag of snacks. “I know you don’t want anything to do with me,” I say.
He sighs and drops his head into his hand and rubs at his temple. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” I say. “Against your will.”
He holds out his wrists. “Do you see cuffs?”
“Do you think we could take a walk? I could probably use some fresh air.”
There’s nothing scenic to look at as we stroll side by side along the shoulder of the road. “Thank you for coming to get me,” I say, watching our shadows cross into each other as we walk. “I know you’re expecting me to say I’m sorry.” I sip the coffee in my hand. Neville’s is so much better.
“It probably couldn’t hurt.”
“But I’m not really sure I can say that, at least not exactly in the way that you want me to.”
“Oh,” he says.
“What I mean is, I’m sorry for using you for my own comfort without really being there for yours. That was…crappy of me.” I let another sip of coffee burn the roof of my mouth. “I thought…I don’t know what I thought. But jerking you around wasn’t fair.”
When we’re approaching an orange road sign that marks a dead end, I sit on a curb and am pleased when he sits next to me, close enough so our shirts are touching.
“Not a bad start,” he says.
My knees are bent up high and I rest the cup on my right one. “But then there’s the next thing. And this is the hard part because I don’t want you to hate me,” I say. “But I found out something yesterday.” I take a deep breath and blow it out. It reminds me of Penny. “The accident that turned Matt into a quadriplegic. I…died in it. He brought me back. I’m resurrected.”
Ringo turns and stares at me. He stares and stares and stares. My cheeks turn pink, like his stare is the sun. “No wonder you’re so hot.”
But when I dare to look over at him, he has the same sly smile on as when I first saw him in the waiting room at Dr. McKenna’s. “Hey!” I say. “I wasn’t exactly a monster before, if I recall.”
Ringo goes serious. “This doesn’t change anything, Lake.”
Now it’s my turn to say, “Oh.” My heart pounds in my chest, something it wouldn’t be doing if it weren’t for Matt, Matt whose body gave up hours ago at the bottom of a pool. The wave of queasiness hits me hard and fast. I sway and clutch my hand to my clammy forehead.
Ringo catches my elbow. “I still think resurrections ruined my family. I still think they’re twisted. And that people are people, not gods. I still think all of that stuff.”
I listen, but as I do I pull myself up to sit taller, because I’m glad to be alive. Sure, my head is throbbing, my heart has broken a thousand times, and I’ve drowned in the ocean and in my own tears, but I’ve also made blood promises and laughed on rooftops and jumped off cliffs. In the last few weeks alone I’ve met Margaret, Simone, Kai, Vance, and Duke Ellington and become friends with Harrison Vines. “I understand that’s how you feel,” I say, trying to speak his language by borrowing from Dr. McKenna. “When I first found out yesterday, I hated myself. I didn’t want it to be true. Especially not after visiting the commune. I was sure I had changed and that there was something fundamental about me that made Will love Penny, Matt hate me, and you want to have nothing to do with me.” I train my eyes on the ground to say that last part. “But, I don’t know, I’ve been resurrected for five years now, and the more I think about it the more I think it’s people’s reactions to being resurrected that can change a person. Your mom’s. Coyote Blue’s. Mine even. I know it’s hard to extract one from the other. Impossible for most people probably but—”
“But…I don’t wish you were dead.” Ringo wraps his fingers around my hand. I don’t dare breathe. “At all.” He holds up a finger to keep me from talking. “And, well, if I don’t wish you were dead, then that means that I must be grateful to Matt.”
“Matt’s dead,” I say. “He had a death party last night and he’s dead.” My extremities go numb as soon as I say it. It doesn’t feel real. The only thing that feels real is the pounding in my temples.
Ringo’s head droops for an instant, but he doesn’t let go of my hand. “I get it,” he says. “You need to do what you need to do.”
“And then what?”
“And then I’ll be right here waiting.” I feel my pulse in my throat. “I mean, not right here,” he says, “but like, figuratively speaking, you get what I mean, right?” But we’re moving closer and my lips fit easily into his. And finally the kiss seems to loosen the ties to Penny and Will that had been tightening painfully around my heart for nearly a month. I’m able to breathe for the first time in days, and what I breathe in is Ringo.