“Yep! You know it.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, like I’ve done dozens of times, but when I open them, she’s still there, her blond hair shining. I didn’t realize it until now, because they felt so real, but the flashes always had a fog to them. A blurriness lingering around the corners.
Now… she’s crystal clear. I can see every strand of hair on her head. The faint dark circles under her eyes.
And that tells me it’s true. She’s alive.
All of the things I wanted to say to her when I thought she was dead come rushing back to me. My throat closes around a million words.
But I don’t… understand.
Her eyes meet mine and her smile gives way to tears, spilling out from her eyes and down her cheeks. “God, Kyle, I was so scared,” she says.
“Kimberly…，” I start to say.
“I know, I know,” she says. She drops the duffel bag on the floor and runs to the bed, her arms wrapping around me. But she doesn’t know at all.
Sam motions for me to hold her, but I can’t because I am fully freaking out. I don’t know how to explain that it’s like she’s come back from the dead, when for them I’m the one who did that. That hers aren’t the arms I feel around me when I close my eyes. Marley’s are.
She lifts her head, wiping her tears away. “Look at me—I’m a hot mess.” She laughs, looking from me to Sam. “Were you guys arguing?”
“What?” Sam says, shaking his head quickly. “No way.”
“We were just—” I start to say, but Sam cuts me off.
“Kyle had a nightmare. Or something.”
Kimberly rubs my chest, smiling at me. “It’s okay. I’m right here,” she says.
I flinch, my whole body stiff, because all of this feels wrong. All I can see is Marley, her head on my chest as we lie by the fire.
I look up at Sam over Kim’s shoulder.
“That’s all it was,” he says, his eyes boring holes into me. “Just a dream.”
And of all the things Sam has ever said to me, that one hurts the most.
29
After Sam leaves, an uneasy silence settles over Kimberly and me. I want to grab my phone to look at anything else, but I can’t look away from Kim.
It’s like seeing a ghost. Again.
My eyes follow her as she sets up a cot by the window, pulling a fuzzy white blanket covered in blue butterflies out of her duffel bag.
I have a sudden memory of her sitting on the sofa, wrapped in that exact blanket, when I thought she was a ghost.
Dr. Benefield’s words come back to me. You opened your eyes a lot. Looked right at me.
“Let me see that,” I say. Kim straightens and turns, giving me a confused look. Then she holds out the blanket to me.
I take it, frowning as I feel the fabric, real and tangible in my hand.
“Did you sleep here while I was…？”
“Sometimes,” she says, brushing her blond hair out of her face as she studies mine.
“Did you say anything to me?”
She exhales, looking down at the blanket as she nods. “I’d ask you to wake up. I’d tell you, ‘Don’t—’？”
“？‘Let go,’？” I say, finishing her sentence. “You said, ‘Don’t let go.’？”
“That’s right,” she says, surprised.
I did hear her. I even saw her.
Which means all the visions I had, the things I thought were nightmares, all the strange moments I told myself were in my head… were they all real?
But then, what does that mean about the rest of my life? About Marley?
“I’m so sorry. For everything that happened,” she blurts out, her hand reaching to touch mine. “What I said, in the car—”
“No,” I say. “You were right.”
She looks taken aback. She shakes her head and opens her mouth to argue.
“Don’t. Please,” I say, looking down at the butterflies on the blanket. Memories keep rushing in. The butterfly struggling on the pond. I should be so happy, but this overwhelming sadness tugs at my chest, making it hard to breathe. I hold out the blanket to her, unable to meet her eyes. “I just… I’m sorry. Can I be alone?”
She watches me for a second. This girl I loved, one of my closest friends, brought back to life as if by magic. It’s a complete miracle, and I’m such an asshole because it also feels like I’ve lost someone all over again.
“Okay,” she says finally, taking the blanket. I can tell she’s upset, her jaw locked, her eyes narrowed. It’s a face I’ve seen hundreds of times over the course of our relationship, a silent storm brewing. She stuffs the blanket into her duffel bag, zipping it closed. Standing, she gives me a long, calculating look. “I guess I’ll just see you tomorrow?”