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I lick at it and the numbness there spreads to my chest.
“Sit back.” My father strides over, his loafers clicking on the shiny tile floor. He puts his hands on my shoulders and looks into my eyes. “You know you’re not supposed to get excited, Gwen.” He steps back, giving me some space, and again, his eyes catch Mom’s.
She looks at me and her spine stiffens. “The Wessons wanted to see you, sweetheart. They flew out on their own. Jamie told us what you told her last night. About not wanting guests. So they’re going home. They’ll visit later, when they can.”
I blink a few times, and the pinkish walls behind my dad’s face shift a little. “What about Elvie?”
I look from Mom to Dad, alarmed to see his jaw tighten. “He couldn’t make it.”
“Why not?”
My mother scoots up closer to me. “He had school,” she says.
“Has spring break passed?” Tears pool in my eyes, because I realize I have no idea. I feel like an alien dropped here from Mars. One look down at my left leg, suspended in metal and casting, makes me feel like throwing up.
“It hasn’t happened quite yet,” Mom says.
My heart seems to lose its rhythm as sweat beads along my neck and hairline. “When did Elvie come?”
“He—” Dad starts.
“You were asleep,” my mother says firmly.
Again, the pinkish-tinted ceiling seems to spin.
“Did…Jamie said… Dad, Elvie came here, right?” I draw a breath. My lungs can’t seem to hold the right amount of air. My heart throbs as I struggle with my words. “He…came out those first few days,” I say. I inhale. Exhale. My ribs ache. “He sat in the waiting room. They wouldn’t let him in because…we aren’t engaged.”
“Yes.” My mother’s nod is emphatic.
My father blinks and casts his eyes down.
And I know. I know, I know, I fucking know.
“He hasn’t come…”
“Gwenna, are you coming?”
I blink up at Barrett’s tight-jawed face.
My eyes sting. “Oh,” I murmur. “Right…” I step down off the last stair as he turns away from me.
“Italy,” I murmur.
He turns. “What?”
I blink. “What?” I echo.
“You said something?”
I arch my eyebrows. “Nope.”
But I’m acting. I realize now…I said that out loud.
Perfect.
Hello, PTSD. Nice to see you.
Next time I blink, Barrett’s turning back toward me again. His eyes meet mine; they’re hard and strangely urgent. He steps into the woods before me, and when I scamper to catch up, hand wraps around my wrist and tugs—as if he can’t wait to get me home.
