Little Do We Know(32)

“I have to go with him.” My voice didn’t sound like my own.

I didn’t even get to see him.

I didn’t get to talk to him.

“I already called your mom.” Mrs. J’s voice was clear and strong. “She’s going to meet us at the hospital, okay?”

I looked up, trying to make sense of what she was saying. “My mom? When did you call my mom?”

“About ten minutes ago. Right after I called nine-one-one. I called her cell and she told me she was in the city.” She led me to the curb. “She’s on her way to the hospital now. She might even beat us there.”

I only half heard her. I was still stuck on the first part. “Ten minutes ago?”

“Ten or so. Maybe a little longer. That’s about when Hannah found him and called nine-one-one.” Mrs. J handed me off to her daughter. “Take her back to her house and help her change. I’ll go get the car.”

Hannah rested her hand on my shoulder. For a heartbeat, I forgot everything that had happened over the last few months. I started to lean into her and let out the sobs that were building in my chest. “You okay?” She stepped closer, as if she was about to hug me. And it all came back to me.

“No.” I stepped back and her hand fell to her side. “It’s okay. I don’t need your help.” I walked away from her.

The neighborhood looked strange and fuzzy as I made my way to my house, like I was seeing it through dirty glasses. Inside my room, I was still in a daze. My hands were shaking as I pulled my yoga pants on, zipped up my sweatshirt, and stepped into my Uggs.

Music was playing softly in the background. When I first put it on, I wondered if Luke would recognize the playlist he’d made me; the one he said made him feel like I was in his arms. I’d been looking forward to teasing him about those words he said.

That was about thirty minutes ago.

Right after that, Mom had called to check in. I asked about her catering gig and she asked about my audition, and then we’d congratulated each other and decided we’d go out to celebrate on Saturday night, just the two of us. We exchanged I love yous.

As soon as we hung up, I’d texted Luke Goodnight.

That was about twenty minutes ago.

I looked around for my phone and found it on top of my dresser, right where I’d left it.

I’d been texting with Charlotte after I put on the black lace lingerie she dared me to buy in LA a few hours earlier. I’d been studying the way it clung to me in all the right places, feeling sexy and pretty, as I piled my hair on top of my head, then let it fall over my shoulders again.

Good call, I’d typed.

Told you! Charlotte replied.

See, this is why I never pass on a dare, I’d said, and she replied with laughing-face emojis.

That was about ten minutes ago.

Ten minutes ago.

Ten minutes ago, Luke was a hundred feet away.

Hannah and her dad were with him.

And I wasn’t.

I heard a horn honk.

Everything was still hazy as I grabbed my stuff and made my way to Mrs. J’s car. I collapsed in the passenger seat and buckled my seat belt, and then I turned to look at Hannah, expecting to find her sitting behind me. But she wasn’t there.

Back in the street, I’d pushed her away and said I didn’t need her, and she listened to me? The Hannah I’d known all my life never would have left me alone. Not like that. Not when I needed her. She would have forced her way into her mother’s car whether I wanted her there or not, and if the situation had been reversed, I would have done the same. What had happened to us? Were we that far gone?

“Do you know how to reach Luke’s parents?” Mrs. J asked.

My stomach dropped.

The Callettis.

I nodded, and as she backed out of the driveway, I dialed Addison’s cell phone number. I counted the rings. One. Two. Three. Four.

“Pick up,” I whispered as I tapped the side of my foot against the door.

“Hello?” Addison’s voice was deep and gravelly, and I could tell I’d woken her up.

My heart started pounding and my mouth went dry. “Something’s wrong with Luke.”



Hannah’s mom was kind, which was to be expected; I’d known her all my life and she’d never been anything else. As we sat side by side in the empty waiting room, she rubbed my back and handed me tissues from her purse (even though I wasn’t crying). She asked me if I wanted to find a bathroom so I could splash some water on my face. I politely thanked her and gave her a simple no. But then she held out her hands and asked, “Will you pray with me?”

I didn’t see the world the same way the Jacquard family did, but I’d always respected their beliefs. I held hands and bowed my head when we said grace at dinner, and gave Mrs. J a genuine thank you whenever she told me she’d been praying for me and my family—which seemed to happen a lot, especially over the last few years.

I didn’t feel like praying, but Mrs. J had been like a second mom to me and I couldn’t imagine saying no to her, so I let her take my hands. She squeezed them in hers. “I know it’s not your thing, but give it a chance. It might help. It always helps me.”

She bowed her head and I did the same. “Dear Heavenly Father,” she said. “We don’t always understand your will, but we know that you hold us in your strong, loving hands and comfort us when we are in pain. We need your comfort tonight, Lord. Bring peace to our heavy hearts. In Jesus’s name we pray. Amen.”