The room is still for a few moments.
“Just Google Nora Fitzgerald and see if anything comes up,” I say as a last resort. I listen to Megan’s nails clicking against the keys.
“Here’s something,” she says, clicking on a link. I climb off the bed and walk up behind Megan as the page is loading. I realize that we’re looking at the Frozen Hills newspaper, then scan the rest of the page. Megan and I both gasp when we see the headline:
“I guess you were right,” Megan says quietly.
“Guess so.”
twenty-seven
An unwilling night owl, I’m not asleep when I hear a knock on the front door at five AM. I wonder whether Alicia’s expecting someone as I listen to her shuffle through the condo to answer. There’s whispered conversation, and I’m surprised to realize that one of the low voices is Mason’s. Footsteps approach and the door to Megan’s room cracks open, spilling in a stream of light.
“Daisy?” Alicia whispers. “Mason’s here to see you.”
“Okay,” I whisper before crawling over the sleeping Megan. I tiptoe across the carpet and close her door behind me. When I’ve joined Mason, Alicia leaves us alone. I’m light sensitive and squinting, with my arms over my chest and my hands in my armpits because I’m not wearing a bra.
“I’m going to take you back to Omaha,” Mason says softly. “Cassie’s going to finish up here. I’m so sorry to tell you this, but Audrey’s in a coma. It’s likely that she’ll die very soon.”
My jaw drops. I blink. I blink again.
How can he tell me this when I’m still wearing pajamas?
I’m not sure why I expected a filter from him. He deals in death: It’s clinical, not personal. I’m not sure why I expected more of a warning from Audrey. I’m not sure why I expected anything at all. This is how people with no access to Revive end their lives: inconveniently and with no buffer.
They go into comas.
And die.
twenty-eight
I’m so concerned about Audrey—playing a loop of the last few times we saw each other in my head—that I’m barely even aware of the flight home. When we land, we get our luggage and find the car, then head straight to the hospital from the airport. But even as we’re driving there, Mason tries to talk me out of going.
“Daisy, I brought you back so you could say goodbye to your friend, but I’d like you to consider something.”
I don’t speak, so he goes on.
“You don’t have to go to the hospital. Audrey would understand.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, my voice hoarse because I haven’t spoken for so long.
“I thought a lot about this on the plane,” Mason says. “People flock to deathbeds because they think that it’ll be better for them to say goodbye, to hold their loved one’s hand. But Daisy, sometimes it isn’t better. That image of them dying sticks with you. But still, people do it. And I’m happy to take you there if you want to go. I’m just saying that it’s okay if you want to hold on to the image of Audrey smiling and laughing and remember her that way. Because she’s not laughing right now. She’s not awake. She’s barely alive. A machine is breathing for her. Do you understand?”
I don’t speak right away. I think of Audrey in the hallway at school that day, of the perfect picture of her. Fleetingly, I consider what Mason is saying. But skipping the hard times just so I can remember the good doesn’t sound like the right thing to do. In fact, I’m not even sure Mason believes his own advice.
“I’m going,” I say flatly.
“I’m not sure that’s the right decision.”
“But it’s my decision, right?”
“Yes,” he says.
“Then I’m going.”
Walking under the arch leading into the hospital, I have knots in my stomach. I’m surprised that I’m actually afraid to see Audrey, like the permanence of her impending death might be catching or something. But I know in my heart that I need to be here.
We walk through the doors and across the vast lobby. With its muted colors and three-story wall of windows, the light, bright hospital seems to be telling me to feel hopeful. But I don’t.
We make our way to the ICU waiting room. There are tables arranged like a lounge, chairs near a TV, and couches along several of the walls. All of the furniture is either an unrecognizable shade of nothing blue—like that background color that comes standard as computer wallpaper—or something between peach and salmon. The room is bigger than our basement, but there are only five people inside: the McKeans—minus Audrey—Mason, and me.
When we walk in, Matt peels his eyes away from the window to look at me. The rest of his features are indifferent, but I can see wreckage in his eyes. Despite his behavior the last time I saw him, I want to run over and try my best to save him. He looks away before I finish the thought.
Mrs. McKean is stirring tea in a paper cup; Mr. McKean is pacing. I wonder who’s with Audrey until Mr. McKean explains to Mason that visiting hours are over for the afternoon.
“That’s too bad,” Mason says. He glances over at me before saying in a hushed tone, “When would be a good time for us to come back? Daisy would like to see Audrey.”
Mr. McKean looks at me sadly. He gives me a weak smile, then deals a blow to the gut. “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” he says to Mason. “Only immediate family is allowed in the ICU.”
“I see,” Mason says in his businesslike manner. Irrationally, I wonder if Mason called ahead and asked Mr. McKean to lie, but in my heart I know that Mason would never do that. He only brought up not saying goodbye in the car to protect me.
Feeling helpless, I trudge to a seat stationed against the wall farthest away from Matt and flop into it.
The men speak in hushed tones for what feels like an extremely long time. I try not to listen as Mason gently offers to help in any way he can. He even goes so far as to offer counseling to Matt, which irritates me even though I know he’s simply trying to maintain cover. I bite my thumbnail. Matt stares out the window. The men shake hands. Mrs. McKean stares at her tea. Mason walks over to me.
“I’ll take you back to the house.”
“That’s it?” I ask.
“That’s it.”
Exhausted and hating hospital policy, the second I walk inside our house, I go to my room and climb under the covers. Not long after that, Mason appears. He sits down at the end of my bed and lightly touches my foot through the comforter. Then he puts his hands in his lap.
“Daisy, would you like to go back to Seattle and spend a few more days with Megan?”
“I want to stay here, just in case they change their minds,” I say.
“That’s highly unlikely.”
“Still.”
“I thought that Megan might boost your spirits,” Mason says. “You two seemed to be having fun. And then I could help Cassie—”
“Is this really about you wanting to go back and get the test done quicker?” I interrupt.
“No, but that would be a side benefit,” Mason says honestly.
“Just go.”
“I can’t leave you here alone.”
“You’ve left me alone a million times,” I say, shaking my head at him. “Get someone to check in on me if you’re so worried.”
“I…” Mason stops. I can tell he’s considering it.
“It’s fine, Mason, really. I’ll be fine. And besides, I sort of want to be alone, anyway.”
Mason nods, understanding. Like me, he enjoys solitude.
“Well, if you really don’t mind, perhaps I’ll call James.”
Two hours later, I’m alone in an empty house on the worst day of my life.
I’m startled awake, and at first I think I slept for twenty-four hours. Then I realize it’s the same horrible day: the day that started in Seattle and ended with me alone in an empty house, forbidden to see my dying friend at the hospital.
I lie still for a minute, thinking of all that’s happened and all that’s gone wrong. I sit up and rub my eyes, growing more and more agitated. Finally, when I can sit still no longer, anger and adrenaline catapult me out of bed and down the stairs. In the middle of the open area between the kitchen and the living room, I turn around, unsure what to do.