Bright Before Sunrise(33)

“Hey, it’s all right. Let’s see how bad this is.” I kneel and lift her foot, carefully remove the destroyed flip-flop. The white foam is covered with gravel and spattered crimson. I wiggle each of her toes. Thank God I can handle gore, and it’s too dark for her to see what I imagine is as painful as it is ugly. “I don’t think they’re broken, but they’re pretty shredded. You okay to walk? I’ll take the dog.”

“No,” she says, and I debate whether I can carry her and manage the dog. Take the dog and come back for her? Knock at a house and ask for a ride?

She lifts her chin. The tears on her cheeks and lashes reflect in the streetlight, but she isn’t crying anymore. “If you can walk him, so can I.”

“What?” My fingers tighten on her ankle, leaving a smear of her blood across bones that feel thin and breakable. I watch her hands clench in quick fists.

Without answering me, she tugs her foot from one of my hands and the leash from the other.

“Never, heel.” Reminding the dog to “heel” and “leave it” every few inches, she limps back to where the nail polish lies on the sidewalk. I look between the drops of blood on the pavement, the dark smears on my hand, and this girl. Her ponytail is knocked crooked, and she blows a lock of hair out of her face as she walks toward me. It slides right back across her cheek, clinging to the tear tracks.

She stops in front of me. Crying has made her eyes shinier and a darker gray. Or maybe they look darker because they’re full of determination instead of passive smiles. Or maybe I’m being a moron and it’s just the streetlights.

“Can you hold this? I want two hands on the leash.”

I accept the polish, holding it in the hand that doesn’t have the remnant of her flip-flop. But before I do, I brush that piece of hair off her cheek and tuck it behind her ear.

I have to look away before I ask, “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I said I was.” She chokes up even more on the leash; Never’s flank is practically pressed against her leg. “But thanks for asking.”

While I stare at her legs, she starts walking careful steps that keep the injured toes on her bare foot from touching the ground. I wipe the feel of her skin and hair off my hand, shove the nail polish in a pocket, and catch up.





18

Brighton

9:26 P.M.


15 HOURS, 34 MINUTES LEFT


I let go of the leash as Jonah pushes open the door. Gripping it so tightly has done nothing to help my sore hands. Never bounds over to his water bowl and then to Evy. He lowers his mouth—still streaming water—into her lap. She smiles at him like he’s performed a miracle but doesn’t put down the phone until she sees me.

“Hang on a sec, Topher. Oh my God, Brighton! What’d you do?”

The words “He made me walk your dog” sound whiny, even in my head, so I leave them there. “I tripped.”

“You okay?” When I nod, she’s satisfied. “Well, don’t get blood on the rug. The AAA guys haven’t come yet, by the way.”

I turn to Jonah. “I’m going to get Band-Aids.” Then I start up the stairs, walking on my heel to keep bloody tracks off Mom’s ivory carpet.

He follows, answering before I can ask: “Let me help you clean that.” He passes me at the landing but waits outside the bathroom door. “Please? I feel bad.”

Feeling bad is a step closer to liking me. It’s almost an apology. He’s offering to help and waiting for my permission. “Thanks.”

“Where are the Band-Aids? And peroxide? And cotton balls?” he asks. “Oh, and here.” He hands me the nail polish.

The counters, which had been immaculate and organized this morning, are now covered in Evy’s shower caddy and cosmetic bags. I dig through her clutter and pull out the supplies he requests.

“Should we move down to the kitchen table?” Having him in my bathroom seems way too intimate. I get naked in that shower every morning. The way-too-flimsy-but-never-seen-in-public bathrobe Evy gave me for Christmas is hanging on a hook behind his head. “You really don’t have to do this.”

“It’s not a big deal. Sit.” He points to the lidded toilet and takes a seat opposite on the edge of the bathtub. “Do your nails and try not to flinch. This is gonna hurt.”

I pull nail polish remover from a cabinet and sit, reaching over to snag some cotton balls from the bag. Jonah props my foot on his knee, soaks a cotton ball in peroxide, and presses it to my toes.

My determination to be brave shatters with the first contact of cotton. Pain flames through my toe, and I have to grasp the side of the counter to keep myself from wrenching my foot away from his hand. I gasp and exhale a whimper.

“Your small toe’s the worst—even part of the toenail’s torn off. The rest shouldn’t be so bad.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” I repeat softly, wincing as he dabs my next toe and a new sting fires through my foot. I set my ring on the counter and concentrate on wiping off Mina’s handiwork. My fingers shake slightly as the blush of color smears and dissolves.

Jonah leans in and blows on the bubbles forming from the peroxide—like Dad used to when I skinned a knee.

“I bet you’re a great big brother.”