Of course, if you ask any psych student, they’ll say that’s the first sign you’re insane—that you think you aren’t. There’s no real win in the insanity department. And I realize, as I sit here staring at Sawyer’s closed eyes, that even on the totally off chance I can get Sawyer out of that building at exactly the right time to save him, it won’t matter much, because he’ll be so traumatized about losing everything else.
And everyone else.
Who else is in those body bags?
The enormity of the task overwhelms me again, and I can feel my gut begin to twist. It makes me want to crawl back into bed and hide, pretend this isn’t happening. Instead, I crouch down on the living room floor, among the hoarded junk, and wrap my arms around my knees, rocking back and forth a little, thinking. Thinking it all through.
Wondering if there’s a way I could shut the whole restaurant down for one night so the plow crashes into a vacant building. Maybe I could somehow break the big window or cut the electricity. But I know that wouldn’t keep the family from being in the restaurant—that’s exactly where they’d all flock to so they could figure out how to fix things. So there goes that idea.
But then a brand-new wonder hits me.
Do the body bags in the snow mean it’s inevitable? Will those nine people die no matter what I do or don’t do? Is it really their time to go, or can death be prevented? I don’t know.
I just don’t know.
Twenty-Three
I’m staring at Sawyer’s dead face for the zillionth time when I hear people coming up the steps. Rowan and Trey jostle each other in the tight entrance, taking winter gear off. I push play and wonder what TV show I’m actually watching—what they’ll see and hear. To me, the crash scenes loop as usual with no sound. I guess this means I won’t get to watch anything again until this is all over.
Rowan and Trey come in and see me. Rowan glances at the TV and frowns. “You must be very sick to watch that crap,” she says. “Sheesh. Turn it down. The customers will hear.”
I shrug. Curious, but too lazy to try and figure it out, I turn the TV off. “I’m feeling a little better.”
“Good,” Trey says. He has a new, concerned look in his eyes, and he’s trying not to be obvious about monitoring me. I wonder what he’s thinking. I smile at him like we share a secret, and I think that reassures him.
“So, school tomorrow, maybe?” he asks.
“Maybe.”
“Hey, are you, like, pregnant or something?” Rowan says out of the blue.
“Oh my gosh,” I say, giving Trey a look. “Where would you possibly get that idea?”
“I heard Mom and Dad whispering last night.”
“Great. Can one of you please hurry up and assure them that I am not pregnant? I have never even kissed a boy.” I hesitate. “No, don’t tell them that. Mom’ll tell everybody who walks in the door.”
“You don’t have to be kissed to get pregnant,” Rowan says. She pulls a piece of gum out of her backpack and shoves it in her mouth.
“I’m aware of the process, thank you,” I say.
Trey laughs. “Apparently, so is Rowan.”
Rowan blushes furiously. “Shut up.”
Trey pushes her shoulder and she pretends to fall over. “I’m heading down in a minute,” he says to me. “I’ll make sure everybody in the restaurant knows you are not pregnant.”
“This is all really embarrassing, you know,” I say. Trey leaves and I call out after him, “How is it that everyone in my family thinks I’m out having sex? I don’t ever leave this place. There’s no time to get pregnant around here!” I look at Rowan.
She’s watching me, grinning.
“Go,” I say. I point to the door. “Don’t you have to work or something?”
“Somebody around here has to. Lazy butt.”
“Go!”
She leaves to change clothes, and I sit here again to stew over what to do. I look outside in the waning afternoon light on a cold, snowless day and again feel relieved that I’ve got a bit of time on my hands to work with.
I’m just not sure how to tackle the next thing on my list—convincing Sawyer that something bad is going to happen, and watching him look at me like I’m nuts, all while avoiding threats from his father that could make my father kill himself.
This is where the whole love-and-pain thing comes in, right here. But I’m newly determined, and I can’t let my heart stop me from totally alienating the boy I love . . . or soon all I’ll be loving will be the memory of him.
Before Rowan goes down to the restaurant, she peeks into the living room again, and hesitates. “Hey, Jules?” she says in an earnest voice.
“What’s up?” I say. I pat the arm of my chair, which is the only place she can sit. She comes over and perches next to me, and I put my arm around her waist like when we were younger. “You okay?”
She nods. “I guess. I just . . .” She looks at me. “What do you think about long-distance relationships?”
I stare at her and skip over the formalities. “What? Why? With who?”
“I don’t know, just in general—”
“Who?” I demand.
“A guy.”
“How did you meet this guy who doesn’t live near us?” I know my voice is getting loud, but I have a weird feeling. “Not on the Internet or anything, right?”