Sally makes Conrad take me home, but only because I refuse to go to the hospital. What are they going to do for me that my own body can’t do in the next few hours?
“I’m surprised Sally forgave Natalie,” I say as we walk, swirls of smoky smells trailing us.
“I bet it wasn’t easy. But Sally knows Natalie has had a rough time of things lately.”
“Do you think Sally will try to get Luke to drop the charges?” I ask.
“What do you mean?” Conrad asks.
“Well, she forgave Natalie, so...”
Conrad stops in the path. “Quinn, forgiveness is a powerful thing, but it’s not necessarily the same as absolution. You can forgive someone for hurting you while still seeking justice.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and looks down at me. “You know that, right?”
I scratch my cheek and look away from him. “No, I hadn’t thought about it like that.”
He squishes my shoulder. “‘If you hold anything against anyone, forgive him.’ Mark 11:25.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, and try to twist away, but he won’t let go.
“‘Learn to do good. Seek justice, correct oppression.’ Isaiah 1:17.”
I stare at him, palms sweating. I study him for a long time, healthy irises swimming. “What are you trying to get at, Conrad?”
“What, a gay guy can’t spout bible verses?”
I tilt my head.
He sighs. “I can tell you have something, tight, in here.” He points to my heart. “Don’t let more things fester there. ‘The truth will set you free.’ John 8:—”
“I get it.” I smile. I swallow and shut my eyes to keep the moisture in. He pulls me into a hug.
“I have a feeling you’ll be okay. And if you’re not, I have a lot more bible verses stored in my noggin.”
I laugh into his shoulder. “How many do you know?”
“Enough to impress closeted Christian guys.”
I giggle. The rest of the way, he entertains me with stories of the three times his recitation of bible verses have earned him kisses. My sides hurt from laughing by the time I get home.
I text Luke: Home safe. No response.
It’s time.
I slip off my shoes and pad along the floorboards toward Mandy’s room. My fingers trace the walls as I journey farther and farther, toward the threshold. My heart beats feverishly, it pulsates against my stomach.
My feet are warm along the hardwood. Gentle moans that announce my presence. Well, they would if anyone else was here to hear them. As no one is, I might as well not exist.
I turn the corner and look into Mandy’s room. The chaos disturbs me again. Like focal points in a painting, I dart to the spray of pencils across the carpet. I see the open closet door with sweaters half torn from hangers.
I force myself to look once again at the high corner shelf. Every part of my foot clings to the ground at each step. I climb on the bed. It feels playful, despite the mood I’m in. I reach for the dusty corner shelf where Wisey used to be. Where Wisey should be. I don’t know if I really expected to find something there, but feeling the postcard doesn’t surprise me.
It seems inevitable. I know what the image will be before I see it. The girl walking along the beach. A girl who seems invincible, but wasn’t.
I flip it over. Mandy’s flowing writing is simple, succinct. “I’m sorry. I thought he’d live.”
Waves come at me from every angle.
I run a finger along the child walking down the beach. The gray sky so calm. The tumultuous ocean so endearing.
I rub the postcard against my lip. I stand there for a long time, making little noises. Danny’s frozen purple eyes slip in and out of my thoughts and shivering sweat emerges along the nape of my neck. The bottle. The night I first brought Luke home. The streaks of blood on Mandy’s arm. It wasn’t an accident. It was Mandy’s first experiment. Danny was her second.