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“And then what?”
“And then…I’ll have to go. I don’t know how to be part of Black Rock now. To be honest, I never really did. I’ll find a place in Oregon—somewhere close enough for me to see my mom when she’s allowed to have visitors. It’s been such a long time.”
“That sounds really nice, Ally,” he says. “You’re not getting rid of me, though. You realize that, right? It’s us, Ally. Us against the world.”
“Carved in scars.”
He nods. “You know it.”
“Can I see it?”
He turns, and I lift the hospital gown. I count the stitches running across the angry, bruised skin.
“How bad is it?” he asks.
“Not that bad,” I tell him. “Devon? You know what’s been bothering me?”
He turns toward me again and props his head up on his elbow.
“What’s that?”
“I keep thinking about Darci—now that we kind of know what happened to her. I keep thinking about what I could have done differently and how that might have saved her. What if I told her about Mark and Grace? Or what if I had told her the truth about us and you two never had that fight? Would she still have left that night?”
“Ally, we could do that all day long—all day, every day even, until the day we die. There are maybe a million things we could have done differently, and maybe they would have changed the outcome, and maybe they wouldn’t have. But you were a victim, too. You have to let go of that guilt. You didn’t kill Darci—Mark did. He was a predator, and he groomed her.”
“I know that. I can’t help it, though.”
Jeff walks back into the room with a tray of food and drinks and sets two coffees on the tray next to Devon’s bed. “I didn’t know if you wanted one, but I got you both some coffee just in case.”
I pick up the cup and take a drink. “Thank you. I was never allowed to have coffee when I lived with them. I always loved it. The only place I ever had coffee was at your house.”
“I have a really nice espresso machine back at the townhouse,” he says. “I’ll show you where the coffee pods are when we get home.”
“Thanks for letting her stay, Dad,” Devon says.
We talk for just a few minutes longer—until the nurse comes in and tells us visiting hours are over and we have to go. Jeff tellsDevon that we’ll come back and see him tomorrow, but it still physically hurts me to pull away from him.
“I love you, Ally,” he says. “You better be here when I get out. No running.”
I nod. “I’ll be here.”
“Ally, come here,” Devon says. “You got another email from one of those properties you applied for.”
Devon’s hospital stay lasted an additional four days. He’s been home for about a week now. I know his dad said I could stay for as long as I wanted, but I’m feeling a lot better now, and Devon will return to school next week.
Then what am I going to do? I can’t stay. I can’t get a job here when I can barely leave the house.
I’ve been trying to find a place to rent near Eugene, Oregon. There are a lot of decent, affordable options (if I can just get approved), and it’s still a big enough city that I shouldn’t have too much trouble finding a job waiting tables and an apprenticeship with a tattoo artist.
“Which one is it?” I ask.
“The one-bedroom duplex,” he says. “The little blue one.”
“Oh, god. I love that one. Whatdoes it say?”
“It says…you can have it. You have to wire them the first two months’ rent when you sign, and you can move in as early as Monday.”
“Monday? Really?” That’s only two days from now. “That’s so soon.”
