Jacque Beaufort and I just shared an actual moment.
My body unfreezes from shock and I start moving, while Jacque bolts toward me holding a water bottle out in front of her. She comes to a stop, grabs my hand, and places the cold bottle in it. If the sparks I feel were true electricity, we’d both be smoldering piles of flesh on the carpet.
“For your m-mouth,” she pants.
I look down and she’s still touching me.
She jerks her hand away. “Sorry.”
“Thank you.” I have never looked at another human being with more intensity than I’m doing right now. Red-hot laser beams must be shooting from my eyes.
“You’re welcome.” A nervous smile dances across her face. “Do you guys need anything? Can I get either of you anything?”
I shake my head and try my best to catch my breath. I’m not entirely certain this whole thing isn’t taking place in an alternate universe, and the real me is still sitting on that toilet waiting for the right time to emerge and face the dark clouds.
“I think someone may be here to see you and Vance,” she says. “I saw him talking to a woman in the Common Room. Do you have a curly-haired aunt?”
The social worker.
I don’t want to move from this spot. Moving means facing my father’s death head on.
Before I can answer her, Jacque says, “I wish I could say something to make you feel better. I’m so sorry. I know I already said that, but I mean it.”
We stare, our gazes locked.
She breaks the silence. “I gotta go. The nurses get mad if I’m in one place for too long.” She rocks on her heels once before walking away.
“Thank you,” I say after she’s gone, wishing I’d said it to her face. I twist open the water and guzzle half of it. The cold feels glorious on my tongue. As soon as I swallow, the stinging registers in my brain. “Owww.”
A terrible yet simple thought forms: My father will never sip cool water again.
Sorrow erupts in my heart, melting me from the inside.