All This Time(60)

“You would, wouldn’t you?” I ask him. “You’d go through this for me if you could.”

Sam rolls his eyes like that’s an idiotic question, but he nods. “Of course, dude. You’d do the same for me.”

I swallow, wobbling, and Henry takes notice. He grabs on to my forearms, giving me some extra support.

“Let’s take a quick break, okay?” he says as he helps me into my wheelchair, leaving the two of us alone for a bit.

I’m trying not to live in my dreams, but I think of the day at the cemetery. There’s truth in that conversation, even if we never had it. So maybe we have to have it now.

“I’ve been a shitty friend to you,” I say.

Sam quickly shakes his head. “No—”

“You said it yourself. Kim’s tried to break up with me seven times since the ninth grade,” I say, looking up at him. “You paid close attention. Why?”

“Uh,” Sam says, frowning, his eyes narrowing as he looks back at me. “I don’t remember saying that.”

Right. Off to a great start.

“Well, either way, it’s true. You helped me see her perspective, and you helped her see mine,” I cover. “Every time, Sam, you helped me win her back.”

I think about yesterday, how he left when he saw us together. “And now you’re trying to do it again. Why?”

Sam looks away, shrugging.

“Because you’re a good friend. Too good,” I say, flexing my skinny leg. “I’ve realized a lot of things. And even though I was asleep, a lot of what my brain was processing was real. There’s a reason Kimberly and I could never quite get it right.”

Sam looks annoyed at me, but I press on.

“This isn’t about Marley. Or me. It’s about you, Sam. Things haven’t been about you for a long time. If you love her like I think you do, tell her how you feel.”

Sam swats at my water bottle as I go to drink it. “Come on, dude. This is fucked up. She’s going to Berkeley and she wants to have some space,” he says. “Besides, you’re right out of a coma and you two just broke up.”

She told him we broke up. That has to count for something.

I take another swig, carefully staying out of swatting distance this time. “She wanted space from me. She talked to you. She’s still here now. Don’t you want her to know?”

“Whether or not you’re right doesn’t matter. You can’t control everything,” he says to me, his face serious. “You gotta let people be their own person, you know? Just like you gotta be yours. Whether you’re with Kim or Marley or nobody. You can’t make someone choose you.”

A long moment passes, and eventually I launch the water bottle at him, my throwing arm still intact post-coma. “That was wise as hell,” I say to him as he catches the water bottle, smirking.

“You know I’m the brains of this team, dude.” He laughs as he mimics tucking the water bottle under his arm and running, dodging playfully around my chair.

The jokes, the no-bullshit talks. Things finally feel right between us. Like they did back in the dream world.

“You want to get some pizza?” he asks, nodding toward the double doors out of here. “I hear the cafeteria makes a mean pepperoni.”

I snort. “Is that even a question?”

I’m already unlocking the wheels of my wheelchair, knowing full well the cafeteria’s pepperoni pizza is terrible, but I need a prison break right now.

In two seconds, Sam grabs the handles and we bust through the doors into the hallway, flying out of the PT room before Henry can even realize I’m gone.





33


She’s here.

I know it immediately even though I can’t see her. I chase her shadow down a hallway of my house, the paint peeling even more than last time, but she’s always just a little bit out of reach, her hair disappearing around corners, her hand slipping through my grasp.

“I told you I wasn’t meant to be this happy,” her voice says from right next to me, but when I turn quickly to look at her, I jerk awake instead.

I sit up, gasping for air, my eyes scanning the room automatically for some trace of her that everything and everyone tells me I won’t find.

My head falls back against the pillow, and I rub my hands over my face, taking in a long, deep breath.

When I inhale, there’s… her smell. Orange blossoms. Or… I roll my eyes. Honeysuckle.

I lift my head toward the window and breathe in again, but no scent comes. It fades just as quickly as it came.

Groaning, I roll over and pull my blanket up over my head.

That’s when the scent of orange blossoms and honeysuckle overpowers me, like it’s stitched into the blanket. I breathe deeper and I know it’s not coming from the garden. It never was.

It’s Marley’s smell.

Somehow, she was here. She was actually here.

I flick on the light, grab my crutches, and struggle to climb out of bed. Once I right myself, I limp over to the open window, gazing outside, the early-morning light casting a warm glow on all of the plants in the courtyard.

Looking out, I see yellow Doris Day roses, the color jumping out at me. Smiling, I picture Marley, the yellow dress she wore that last night we had together.