Miles came up beside her. “Hey, baby girl,” he said, and he broke.
Jude wanted to comfort him, but she couldn’t.
“The last thing I said to her was that I didn’t forgive her. Oh my God, Miles—”
“Don’t,” he said simply.
If Miles hadn’t been beside her, holding her up, she would have collapsed beside this girl who seemed to be sleeping so peacefully. Jude remembered how it had felt to carry her, to imagine and love her before she’d ever even seen her, how she used to talk to them, her unborn twins, swimming in her swollen belly like a pair of tiny fish, coiled together, always together …
Zach would be alone now. An only child.
How would they tell him this?
*
The world felt Bubble Wrapped and far away. Jude didn’t focus on anything except her daughter. In the next hour, calls were made to friends and family. Miles did all the talking. Words came at Jude, words that had had no meaning before. Organs. Heart. Corneas. Skin. Save people’s lives. She nodded and signed and looked at no one and said nothing. People pushed at her, jostled her as they ran tests on Mia. More than once Jude snapped at someone and told them to be careful with her daughter. It was all she could do now. She reminded them that Mia was ticklish, that she sang off-key and hummed all the time, that she hated to be cold.
No one seemed to listen. They looked impossibly sad and lowered their voices to whispers. At some point the chaplain sidled up to her, pulled her away from the bed, and tried to comfort her with rote words. She elbowed him hard and rushed back to Mia. “I’m here, Poppet,” she said. “You’re not alone.”
She stood there as long as they let her, perfectly still, whispering words of love and telling stories and trying to remember every single thing about Mia.
Finally—and she had no idea when it was, or how long she’d been there—Miles came up to her.
“Jude?” he said, and she had the idea that he’d said it more than once, maybe even yelled it.
She tore her gaze away from Mia and turned to her husband.
Behind Mia stood a team of people in surgical scrubs. She caught sight of someone holding a red and white cooler.
“They have to take her now, Jude,” he said, peeling her fingers from the bed rail.
She stared at him through hot tears. “I’m not ready.”
He said nothing. What was there to say? Who could ever be ready for a thing like this?
“You’re going with her?” she said, pressing a hand over his heart, feeling it beat.
“I’ll be in the viewing area.” His voice broke. “She won’t be alone.”
“I want to sit outside the OR,” she said, even though she really wanted to run away.
“Okay.”
She turned again, leaned down and kissed her daughter’s plump pink lips. “I love you, Poppet.” She pulled the blanket up to Mia’s neck. It was an instinctive gesture, a mother’s caress. Finally, she drew back, shaking, and let Miles pull her away from the bed. In a moment, Mia would be really gone …
They were wheeling her daughter out of the room when Jude remembered what they’d forgotten. How had they forgotten?
“Wait!” she screamed.
Miles looked at her. “What?”
“Zach,” was all she could say.
*
Lexi can hear Mia talking, laughing … saying something about part of your world …
She mumbled, “Huh?” to her best friend and reached over for Mia, but there was no one beside her. Lexi woke slowly, blinking. Something was wrong. Where was she?
She tried to sit up and felt a sharp pain in her chest. It hurt so badly she cried out.
“Alexa?” Eva got up. She’d been in a chair by the window, reading.
“Where am I?” Lexi asked, frowning.
Eva moved closer. “The hospital.”
The two words stopped time. Lexi remembered everything in a rush of images: the car’s white hood hurtling forward; the tree, burned white by the headlights; Mia’s screaming; smoke; the sound of shattering glass …
“We crashed,” she whispered, turning to look at her aunt. One look in Eva’s sorrow-filled eyes and she knew it was bad. Lexi threw back the covers and started to get out of bed.
Eva grabbed her good wrist and held firm. “Don’t, Lexi. You’ve got a broken rib and a fractured arm. Just be still.”
“I need to see Zach and Mia—”
“She’s gone, Lexi.”
Lexi sagged with relief. “Thank God. When did she leave? And how’s Zach?”