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"But Craig . ."
"I know. It's so sad. Can you remember what happened?"
I thought for a moment. Words and pictures seemed to jumble around like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle in my head. Slowly, some of them fit together.
"We were going to a house party."
"Yes, I understand," she said, nodding to urge me on. "It was after the prom."
"Craig wanted to be there first. We were crowned king and queen of the prom."
"I know," she said, smiling and rubbing my hand. "He was going too fast and something happened . . . the car just flew."
"He lost control," she said. "Alice," she began. She looked at the doorway and then turned back to me. "Did you . . . were the two of you smoking pot?"
I stared at her. That was in the puzzle Those pieces came together quickly, too. I nodded.
"He had it. I took only one puff and then he took it back."
"They found it, and I guess they could tell from the autopsy that he had been using it," she added.
"Do Grandpa and Grandma know?"
"Yes. But it's not your fault," she said quickly. "What happened is not your fault. Don't dare let anyone get you to think it was."
I studied her face. "Someone is saying it was?" She didn't reply.
"Craig's mother?"
"You can't fault a mother for trying to understand and for being angry and trying to blame someone or something other than her own child, but we all know there was no way you could have had it. He had to be the one to get it," she said, but she said it with a lift in her voice, as if she was asking and not telling.
"Yes, he had it. I didn't even know until we were in the car and on our way to the party."
"Damn. Smoking grass while driving. That's a big no-no," she said.
My grandparents came back to my room. Grandpa smiled when he saw I was awake, but my grandmother looked terribly worried. She looked to Aunt Zipporah.
"It's true about the pot," she told my
grandmother. "He had it," she emphasized.
"Oh Alice," my grandmother said.
"What could she do about it? He had it," Aunt Zipporah said.
"My God."
"There's no sense getting her more upset, Elaine," my grandfather said.
"She's blaming me? Craig's mother is blaming me?" I asked her.
"She's the sort that would never blame herself for anything, even if she were caught red-handed," my grandmother said.
"Don't think about any of that," my grandfather told me as he moved closer to the bed. "I want you to concentrate on getting better. Nothing else."
"As soon as you're well enough, they're going to fix your hip," my aunt Zipporah told me and smiled. "You'll be fine. You can't get out of working this summer, so don't even think about it."
I turned away.
