Page 34 of A Thousand Second Chances

I catch Quinn’s curious gaze from the corner of my eye as she glances between Percy and me. She’s been giving us similar looks all day, but whatever suspicions she has, she doesn’t voice them. The three of us sit in awkward silence until the server returns with our sandwiches and chips, the food offering a blessed excuse not to talk.

A buzz interrupts our quiet chewing, and I glance over to see Percy checking his phone. I don’t miss his frown when he reads the message or the sudden tension that radiates down his back.

He starts to tuck his phone away, then seems to reconsider and pulls it back out with a grimace. He types out a quick response before shoving it in his pocket. I watch him as he returns to picking at his food, his expression distant.

“What was that about?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

Surprise flashes across his face. “Nothing.”

“It doesn’tseemlike nothing.”

He refuses to meet my gaze as he picks at the chip crumbs in his sandwich basket. “Just my dad. Checking in.”

Checking in on what?Given his obvious reluctance to talk about it, I’m not sure he’d respond, so instead, I ask, “Why bother answering?”

His brow scrunches in confusion. “What do you mean? He’s my dad. I can’t just ignore him.” His voice gains a hint of challenge. “Are you telling me you ignoreyourparents?”

I grimace. “That’s beside the point. This isn’t a normal day, and those aren’t normal texts. We’ve already been through Saturday once already. It’s not like anything we do right now matters.”

I crunch down a few chips and take a sip of my pop before I realize he’s staring at me. I cock an eyebrow at him, and he flushes, staring back down at his own tray.

“We don’t know for sure that today will repeat again,” he says quietly. “Besides, I’m not like you. I can’t just dismiss things like that. To me,everythingmatters.”

From the offhanded way he says them, I don’t think he intends his words as an insult. But they certainlyfeelthat way. As if there aren’t still things that are important to me? As if my emotions are somehow less valid than his? He knows what things are like with my parents. How much effort I’d put into the track team and how worried I’d been about coming out. How muchhehad meant to me.

I narrow my eyes, my jaw flexing.

Quinn must notice my expression because she hurriedly turns to Percy. “You really think visiting the hospital will help?”

He blinks at her abrupt change of topic, then nods. “At the very least, they might be able to tell us more about our condition. If they can identify an underlying cause, well, all the better.”

Shoving aside her mostly finished sandwich, Quinn hops to her feet and claps her hands together. A few of the cafe’s other patrons give her startled looks. “All right, I’m in! One trip to the hospital, coming right up.” Wariness flickers across her face as she turns to me. “Chris?”

Even my—wholly justified—anger at Percy isn’t enough to make me miss the rigid way he’s holding himself or the haunted look that remains in his eyes. Despite my own hurt feelings and reservations, despite the weight of everything that still liesbetween us, I find myself giving a terse nod. “Fine. Let’s go embrace the miracle of modern medicine.”

sixteen

Percy

I’ve only been tothe Mackinac Island Medical Center once when I was fourteen. Owen had fallen out of one of the big maple trees in the Royal Lilac’s garden and broken his arm. Most of the night is a blur. What I remember best is the sheer terror I’d felt. I’d been so convinced Owen—small and scared and only ten years old at the time—was going to die. How could he not, the way he was screaming his head off?

Thank God for the competent staff. They’d ushered us in, taken a few X-rays, and had Owen calmed down with his arm in a sling within a couple of hours. We’d both been too wired to sleep, so we’d sat up together until the sun rose, arguing about our favorite characters fromAvatar: The Last Airbender(seriously, who in their right mind picks Katara over Zuko?).

The medical center might not be as well-equipped as the full hospital over in St. Ignace, but it’s still a state-of-the-art emergency facility. Which means, hopefully, it’ll have everything we need to get to the bottom of our own crisis. The center’s onlya couple blocks away, and soon enough, we’re huddled together outside the entrance.

“It doesn’t look like much,” Chris says, squinting against the afternoon sun.

He’s right—with its white clapboard exterior lined with stones at the bottom, the facility resembles a resort or country club more than a modern hospital. Still, I feel the need to come to its defense. “It’s got everything we need inside. Trust me.”

Chris grunts and stalks up the sidewalk toward the building without another word.

I glance at Quinn, who rolls her eyes and mouths, “Moody.”

I’m not sure what happened to set Chris off, but ever since lunch, he’s been even more irritable than usual. For a moment there, things had started to seem almost normal between us—or, at least, marginally less strained. Now he’s back to acting like he wishes I didn’t exist.

Something tightens in my gut. Not that I have any illusions. I mean, he made it painfully clear where we stood last night at Casa Nostra. Still, it weighs on me, especially when I’m already fielding texts from my dad about the places I’m supposed to be visiting today to honor my mom. Even though I did it all for real yesterday, it still feels like a lie to say so since yesterday never happened. Chris might not care what his parents think, butIdo.

Quinn and I catch up to Chris inside the front lobby. Though the others don’t seem to notice it, I gag at the familiar faint whiff of antiseptic. Memories of those final days with my mom in the hospital come flooding back, one floating to the forefront.