Five Feet Apart(28)

I freeze, looking between Stella’s door and my visitors.

And that’s when it hits me.

I’ve seen both of her parents come and go. I saw her friends visiting her the first day she got here.

But Abby? She hasn’t even talked about Abby.

Where has Abby been?

I walk up to Hope and Jason, grabbing the bag and nodding for them to follow me into my room. “Come with me!”

I throw open my laptop, the two of them standing behind me as it boots up, surprised expressions on their faces.

“Nice to see you, too, dude,” Jason says, peering over my shoulder.

“So, I met a girl,” I say, facing the both of them. I shake my head when Hope gives me one of those smiles, her eyes excited. Jason is completely up to date on all things Stella, but I haven’t filled Hope in yet. Mostly because I knew she’d react like this. “Not like that! Okay. Maybe like that. But it can’t be like that. Whatever.”

I swing back to my computer, opening the tab to Stella’s YouTube page and scrolling to a video from last year labeled “Polypectomy Party!” I click on it, before slamming my space bar to pause the video and spinning around to fill them in.

“She’s got CF. And she’s, like, a crazy control freak. She’s made me start doing my treatments all the way and everything.”

Relief fills Hope’s eyes and Jason is positively beaming. “You’ve started doing your treatments again? Will. That’s awesome,” Hope gushes.

I wave her praise away, even though I’m a little surprised it got this big of a reaction. Hope pestered me about it for a while, but when I told them to leave it alone, they didn’t make a big deal about it. I sort of thought we were all on the same page.

But now they both look so relieved. I frown. I don’t want to get their hopes up.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway. Get this. She has a sister named Abby.” I fast-forward to a few minutes in, pressing play so they both can watch.

Stella and Abby are sitting in a hospital room, artwork lining the walls like in her room now. Dr. Hamid is there, a stethoscope pressed to Stella’s chest as she listens to her lungs. Stella’s legs are shaking anxiously as she looks between Dr. Hamid and the camera.

“Okay. So, I’m having a nasal poly . . . ?”

“Polypectomy,” Dr. Hamid says, straightening up. “We’re removing polyps from your nasal passages.”

Stella grins at the camera. “I’m trying to talk the doc into a nose job while she’s there.”

Abby gives her a big hug, squeezing her tightly. “Stella’s nervous. But I’ll be there to sing her to sleep, just like always!” She starts to sing, her voice soft and sweet, “?‘I love you, a bushel and a peck—’?”

“Stop!” Stella says, clamping her hand down over her sister’s mouth. “You’ll jinx it!”

I hit pause on the video, swinging around to face my friends.

They both look confused, clearly not getting the realization that just came to me. They look at each other, eyebrows raised, and then Hope gives me a big smile, leaning over to squint at the sidebar.

“You watched all her videos?”

I ignore her.

“Well, she just freaked out like five minutes ago when I asked to see more of her sister’s art. That video was last year,” I say as an explanation.

“Okay, and?” Jason asks, frowning.

“Abby’s not in any of the videos after this.”

They nod, slowly catching on. Hope pulls out her phone, frowning as she taps away. “I found Abby Grant’s Instagram. It’s mostly art, and her and Stella.” She looks up at me, nodding. “But you’re right. She hasn’t posted in a year.”

I look from Jason to Hope, then back again. “I think something happened to Abby.”

*

The next afternoon my phone buzzes noisily, reminding me of an exercise session Stella programmed into my regimen. I haven’t seen her since I figured out something happened with Abby, and the thought of seeing her in just a few minutes is making me weirdly nervous. I couldn’t really enjoy the rest of the visit with Hope and Jason, even as we ate fries and talked about all the latest post-Thanksgiving school drama over the new episode of Westworld. We always wait to watch new episodes together, even if I’m on an entirely different continent in another time zone and need to Skype them.

Taking a deep breath, I head to the gym to meet Stella, pushing open the door and walking past the rows of treadmills and ellipticals and stationary bikes.

Peeking into the yoga room, I see her sitting on a green mat meditating, her legs crossed, her eyes closed.

Slowly I push open the door, walking as quietly as I can to a mat across the room from her.

Six feet away.

I sit down and watch how peaceful she looks, her face soft and calm. But her eyes slowly open to meet mine and she stiffens.

“Barb didn’t see you, did she?”

“Abby’s dead, isn’t she?” I blurt out, cutting right to the point. She stares at me, not saying anything.

Finally she swallows, shaking her head. “Real nice, Will. About as delicate as a jackhammer.”

“Who has time for delicacy, Stella? We clearly don’t—”

“Stop!” she says, cutting me off. “Stop reminding me that I’m dying. I know. I know that I’m dying.”