CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

2:50 P.M.

In the dim light of the hospital room, I sift through Charlie’s journal while my mom sleeps. I turn to the last filled page, curious to know what he was writing when I watched him at the laundromat. Across the top, underlined, he’d written, What I Wish I Could Say to Mom and Dad.

Dear Mom and Dad,

I want to tell you my story. In my words.

It’s a detailed account about what happened that night at the fraternity house. The words are the same ones he’d used to tell me. About Jason. The frat house. The defibrillator. The guilt.

I want you to understand that I’m scared and I’m sad and I really need my parents right now.

The words stop. Like he had more to say and didn’t know how to say it.

And then, abruptly in the middle of the page, not connected at all, but in the same color pen, it says:

More later. A cute girl just walked into the laundromat and I bet she wants me to buy her beer. We’ll see if I can restrain myself from lecturing her. She looks smart enough to know better.

So he knew why I was there all along? And he was just waiting for me to say something? I laugh out loud.

Charlie.

I close his journal and hug it to my chest.

Later, Coach tells me about what happened on the pool deck when the earthquake hit. How it was the middle of practice. How he was worried about my not being there and what he would tell my mom.

“Iris didn’t make it,” he says.

I suck in a breath. Shake my head. “No.”

“I was waiting to tell you. I wanted you to see your mom first and to know she was okay and you both had a safe place to stay.”

My eyes tear. I’ve known Iris since kindergarten. After me, Iris was the best at standing up to Mila.

Mila.

“But the rest of my friends are okay? Thea and Juliette?” What about Mila? Where is she?

Coach nods. “Thea and Juliette are fine.”

“Have you heard anything about Mila?”

“I haven’t. I wish I had, though.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we haven’t really been speaking to each other.”

“I noticed.” He leans forward in his chair.

“I tried to talk to her. I wanted her to get help, but I’m not trained in that sort of thing. For all I know, I said the wrong thing.”

“You talked to her from a place of concern. You wanted her to get help because you care about her.” He shrugs. “That sounds about right to me. Sometimes we can only do the best we know how to do at the time. And it sounds like you did that.”

“That’s good advice.” I wish Charlie were here so I could tell it to him. He did the best he knew how to do at the time with Jason.

Coach continues. “That was some pretty heavy stuff that went down with Mila. And she was probably angry at first. At you and me. Not because we are to blame for her choices, but because it was easier to blame someone else instead of herself.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Did you give me more playing time because of my mom? Did you feel like you had to?”

His brows scrunch. He looks like I slapped him in the face. “Why would you think that?”

“Mila said it.”

“Ah.” He really looks at me. “And no.”

“I wanted to quit. I didn’t want special treatment.”

“I would’ve been disappointed in you if you’d quit, but I would’ve been more disappointed in myself. I would’ve failed you as a coach.” He shakes his head. “You get game time because you’re my number one offensive player, Ruby. Period.”

“Okay. I believe you.”

“Good. And Ruby?”

“Yeah.”

“You can’t blame yourself for what happened to Mila.” Coach sounds like me talking to Charlie in the rubble. “You can’t force her to get help. She has to want it for herself. That wasn’t her first offense, you know? She was suspended for a few days in October for something similar.”

“She was?”

“Yes. She didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

But I suddenly remember those October days. She’d told us her mom was making her visit a sick aunt in Palm Springs. It was the middle of the week and it seemed weird to me that they couldn’t wait until the weekend. The sad part is they’d actually gone. And probably sat by the pool and ordered room service, thankful for the excuse to have a minivacation. One offense was suspension. A second offense gave the school no other choice but to expel her.

And still, she hadn’t wanted help.

I know how hard it is to ask for help. To admit that you need it. I hope Mila is strong enough to see it now. Because if this last week has taught me anything, it’s that I can’t do everything on my own. Asking for help got me here. It’s how I got better in the hospital and how I found my mom. Asking for help doesn’t make people weak. It makes them strong.

“I think there’s a chance Mila’s ready for help,” Coach says. “Sometimes you have to get to the worst place before you can climb back out.”

“That makes sense.” Mila lost everything. Her team. Her college water polo dreams. Her school. Her friends. “I just want her to be okay.”

“So do I.”

My mom stirs. Opens her eyes. Sees us whispering, heads close together, trying not to wake her.

“What did I miss?” she says.

“Only a little coach-and-player talk,” Coach says.

“You two. All water polo all the time.”

Coach walks to her. Squeezes her hand. “You hungry? Thirsty? What can I get you?”

“Water would be great. If you can find it.”

“I will.”

He hands me his phone as he goes. “I’ve got all my players in my contacts. Even Mila. Why don’t you go ahead and give it a try?”

“Thanks.”

“Good luck.”

My mom rolls to her side to see me better when he’s gone. She winces.

“How’s the pain?” I ask.

“It hurts enough to hurt.”

“I know what you mean. More than you know.”

“I wish you didn’t.”

In an instant I’m there again. In the cold and the dark. In the tiny coffin space of the laundromat with Charlie not breathing next to me. “Were you scared?”

“I was terrified. But not just for me. I was worried about you.” She sniffs. “There were only a few of us in the office at the time. We didn’t all make it. And my head . . . I knew something was seriously wrong. It was a concussion. I was afraid to sleep.”

“Yeah. Charlie and I tried to take turns sleeping.”

“That was smart.”

“I feel like I went through this thing that nobody else could possibly understand. But you actually do. You were trapped like I was.”

“And now I have to get better like you did.”

“That sounds mildly optimistic.”

She smiles and her eyes crinkle. “I try.”

“I know.”