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“It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “I’m not much of science nut, so I have no clue why they happen or what it is I’m seeing.”
“It’s the tail end of a comet coming close to our sun. The bits that fly off hit our atmosphere and,” I nodded to the sky, “that’s the result.”
“Amazing,” she whispered.
“Yeah.”
I stared up into the sky and felt small. I felt small beneath its bigness and I wondered…
“Do you believe there’s something out there?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
Stupid. What the hell? Why was I getting all deep and shit?
“Nothing. Forget it.”
She wriggled and loosened the blanket enough so that she could look at me. “Do you mean God?”
I shrugged but didn’t answer, mostly because I didn’t know what to say. The lightness was suddenly gone, and I was pissed that it was my fault.
“I believe there’s something,” she nodded, her pale eyes shimmery, like they were filling with tears.
Which made me feel worse.
She exhaled a long, shuddery breath and tried to smile, but it didn’t really work. She looked so sad, so…broken.
“I used to think there was nothing. No one out there. No God.” Her eyes squeezed shut. “Just nothing. But then I realized when you don’t believe in anything anymore, what’s the point of living? What’s the point of breathing or water fights and summer picnics? What’s the point of…loving?”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I was silent. I stroked her hair, and she relaxed against me again.
“There has to be something out there, some greater power, don’t you think?”
“I guess so,” I answered. My family wasn’t overly religious, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to church. This kind of shit wasn’t something I thought too much about, so why the hell had I brought it up?
“There has to be,” she whispered. “I need for there to be. I need to believe that Malcolm is somewhere. That when he died, he didn’t just end.”
I wanted to know who Malcolm was. What happened? How did he die? And why did Monroe blame herself? I had so many questions, but I didn’t ask any of them because I didn’t feel as if I had the right to. I just stroked her hair and pulled her as close as I could.
“I’m sorry,” I said. They were only two words, but they were all I had.
There was a pause.
“I know.”
A heartbeat passed before she whispered, “I’m sorry too.”
And then she began to cry.
Chapter Twenty-One
Monroe
I don’t know how long I cried. I only know that when I finally stopped, I felt empty and my heart hurt.
Nate’s arms, his warmth and strength, never left me, and for that I was grateful. I hadn’t let this much emotion out since that awful day. In fact, I don’t think I’d cried since. Not even at Malcolm’s funeral.
My therapist had been trying to get me to this place—a place where denial didn’t live and some sort of acceptance did.
