In Her Wake (Ten Tiny Breaths 0.5)(9)

“Yes, of course. I suppose that will have to come from our fund?”

“I don’t see how we have any other choice.”

My stomach curls. “The fund” means only one thing to my parents: their retirement dream—a summer home in Cape Cod, right by the ocean. They started saving for that the day they got married. Loose change at first, neither of them able to set aside much more. Though I don’t know exactly how much they have socked away now, I have to expect it’s a good chunk. My dad’s always been good with managing their money.

Now, not only have I ruined their reality; I’ve ruined their dreams, too.

There’s a pause, and then, “What the hell was Cole thinking, handing the keys to him! The hospital report put him at 0.10. He would have been better off driving himself!”

I crack my door in time to hear my mom’s rushed hiss, “Lower your voice! And don’t you dare say that! Every time I think about it, I—” Her voice cuts out with a ragged sob. “We could have lost him in that accident, too.”

My dad’s voice lowers, but I can still hear him. “You don’t think we’ve lost him?”

Her sigh lingers in the air. “It’s only been two months. He’ll come around.”

“Does anyone ever come around from something like this, Bonnie? Six people died. That poor girl is still lying in a hospital bed because of his recklessness.”

“It wasn’t—”

“He was the damn DD!”

“Enough!” Hearing my mom scream at my dad spikes the hairs on my neck. It’s so unlike her. Unlike them, to fight like this.

An eerie silence hangs and then, “Has he even gotten out of bed yet today?”

I glance over my shoulder at the angry red numbers on my clock. Two p.m. To be fair, I didn’t fall asleep until after six this morning. Why is my dad even home at two in the afternoon? Unless . . . oh, right, it’s Saturday. I’ve lost track of the days, especially now that Madison has stopped coming over every night after work. She says it’s because she’s busy. I know she’s lying.

Secretly, I’m relieved. Those daily doses of guilt every time she sat down next to me on the couch were getting to be too much.

“Do Cyril and Susan know yet?” my mom asks.

“No. I’m going to go over and tell them now.” His shoes drag along the floor as he heads for the front door.

I shut my door and fall back into bed, glad that I didn’t bother to pull the curtains open.

■ ■ ■

Hi, my name is Tara. I’m a paramedic. Can you hear me? You were in an accident. We’re going to help you.

“I don’t need help. I’m fine,” I hear myself say. I must be, because there are no straps to hold me back from rolling onto my side, ready to get up. Until I see Sasha lying next to me, his lifeless gaze trained on me.

And I suddenly I can’t move.

I can’t shut my eyes.

I can’t even blink.

I can’t do anything to get away from Sasha and his dead stare.

■ ■ ■

The grainy newspaper print didn’t do her justice.

With its black-and-white limitations, it certainly didn’t highlight the sparkle in those pale blue irises, or her hair—the same color as the sweet red peppers my mom has growing in the backyard garden.

Kacey Cleary is pretty. Really pretty.

Or, at least she was. I have no idea what shape she was in coming out of that wreck, other than “critical.” After what we did to her, is the face I’m staring at now still the same? Or has it been horribly mangled? I wonder what she’s doing at this very moment, and that constant ball of sickness in the pit of my stomach flares with the thought.

“I thought you said Facebook was stupid?”

I jump at the sudden sound of Madison’s voice behind me, the low music playing over the stereo system masking her approach.

“I said it sounded lame.” I push the screen down, out of sight. It seems like everyone and their mothers are on Facebook nowadays. Everyone except for me. When I want to talk to my friends, I just pick up the phone. I’ve never seen the value of this social media phenomenon.

Until now.

Because Kacey has a profile on there. A profile that’s not locked down and is bursting with posts and pictures of her—with her friends, her teammates, her family.

The parents, the boyfriend, the best friend who I helped kill.

The little black-haired sister whose face is a carbon copy of hers. Who’s now an orphan.

There must be over two hundred pictures posted on here. And I’ve sat on this couch for days, laptop in hand, memorizing every last one. Kacey and her best friend, Jenny, in bikinis, holding hands and jumping off a rocky ledge into the lake below, their mouths open with exhilarated screams. Kacey, wrestling with her father in the grass and smearing what appears to be melted chocolate all over his nose. Kacey and her boyfriend, Billy, holding hands, laughing, stealing kisses.

Kacey, smiling devilishly at the camera. Always smiling.

Did that smile survive?

Along with the pictures are plenty of posts. Cute banter between her and her best friend, who apparently had a thing for Hannah Montana, while Kacey clearly did not. Hilarious one-liners between her dad and her, where her dad quotes old movies and she gives the most ridiculous answers back. Billy and her trying to outdo each other with the cheesiest “What do you call . . .?” jokes I’ve ever read.