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He’s alive.
He’s holding my hand.
I shake my head and try to drive the nonsense out, and suddenly, everything is clear for the first time in a long long time. I can think without murk, without voices.
What the hell?
Sabine’s words come back to me You have to choose, You have to choose.
Last night before bed, I’d chosen Finn, over anything, over my own life.
Did I do this?
It’s not possible.
Did I do this?
Finn looks at me. “Why aren’t you dressed? You’ve got
to go get ready.”
“For?” I arch an eyebrow.
He’s quiet and still, I remember the accident, and a heavy sense of foreboding slams into me right before he answers.
“For mom’s funeral.”
Oh.
God.
My mother is dead and my memory has holes.
I somehow trip down to my room and put on a black dress, and I somehow trip down the stairs with my brother and sit in the family section of the chapel, and my dad holds my hand.
The casket is white and there are star-gazers on it, and the lid is closed.
Someone reads a poem, then another.
Someone else speaks about angels and Heaven.
My dad cries silently.
Finn is stoic, and grips my arm.
I’m numb.
Because I thought mom was in the hospital and Finn was dead.
Only Finn is here and mom is dead.
You
Have
To
Choose.
