Pretend She's Here(43)

When we’d been there half an hour, I checked the time. Lizzie’s parents would be finishing up with the doctors, so it was time for us to go. Jeff lingered, unable to let go of her hand. He stroked her ring with his thumb.

“You have to take it,” Lizzie said.

“The ring?” he asked, sounding shocked. “But it’s yours; it’s our wedding band.”

“My mother will see it.”

“I don’t care. I want everyone to know,” Jeff said.

Her eyes welled with tears. “You don’t understand. It will make things worse for me, for everyone. Please, just do what I ask.”

“But I need you to wear it,” Jeff whispered. “So you know I’m with you. Forever.”

“I do know that,” she said. “I love you, my husband.”

Then she looked to me, reached out her hand. I took it, and we stared at each other for a long time. “Give it to him,” she said.

Then, because Jeff was unable to do it, I gently removed the ring from her finger and pressed it into Jeff’s hand.

His face was in a knot, his shoulders tense. As big as the ring was on Lizzie, it was too small for him. He slipped it into his pocket. Then he knelt by her bed again, holding her. They stayed that way a long time, until Lizzie closed her eyes and went to sleep.

We left the white roses. Lizzie’s room was full of flowers already anyway. Who would notice two more bouquets?

That was the last time I saw Lizzie. Every time I thought about it I had to bow my head, fight away the grief and disbelief. I shuddered, remembering how I’d thought there would be another time, at least one more chance to tell her I loved her, to hug her and hug her, to hold on to her for a little longer.

Carole had said she was from Boston, and her mother was a doctor. Could her mom have worked at Williams Memorial? Could she have treated Lizzie, maybe even seen me visiting?

Ms. LeBlanc obviously couldn’t tell my mind wasn’t on my paper, because she gave me an A for the day. Roberta Alfonso and Laurel Jones told me I’d done a good job. There I’d been, standing right in front of the class the same day my face had been all over TV, but no one thought I was anyone but Lizzie Porter.

And I’d spent the whole class remembering her, my best friend.

*

I nearly didn’t go to the after-school meeting, but at the last minute, I saw Casey walk into the assembly room. He was carrying his mandolin case. I could hear the others warming up, so I followed him in.

The intricately carved wood-paneled walls reminded me of Gillette Castle. Apparently this room had been a chapel in Sarah Royston’s day. Photos of past Snow Globe Balls hung around the room. About ten kids sat at a long banquet-like table. Roberta waved and gave me a warm smile. Carole had saved me a seat.

“Thanks,” I said.

At the sound of my voice, Casey turned. “Emily?” he said.

My heart nearly stopped. “Lizzie,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “It’s just, I wrote that song, and it reminds me of you.” But he had a quizzical expression on his face, as if it was more than that.

“Oh, this lady is your inspiration for your new tune?” the bearded guy—Mark—said, walking over. The dark-haired guy who played guitar walked alongside him.

“I’ve been wanting to meet you,” the ethereal-looking girl said to me, her copper hair tumbling down the back of her long, dark red brocade dress.

“Well, you’re an exalted senior,” Mark said to the beautiful girl. “Lizzie’s a sophomore with the rest of us. Lizzie, meet Angelique Millet. You already know Casey, and here’s our guitar player, Hideki Sano.”

“Hi,” I said to the three of them. “I’m looking forward to hearing you play.”

“Casey says you already have,” Angelique said. Her gaze seemed indolent, but behind her green eyes—Lizzie-green, the color of my contacts—I thought I saw something sharp.

“Well, yes, I mean, hear you again,” I said, stammering. “You guys are great.”

“I feel massively spoiled I get to play with such dope musicians, my fam-band,” she said.

“Spoken by the legendary fiddle goddess,” Mark said.

Angelique smiled. “Well, nice to meet you, Lizzie. We’re going to whip up some magic just for you. Get ready.”

She, Mark, and Hideki headed toward the front of the room and picked up their instruments.

“Your voice,” Casey said, hanging back with me, fixing me with those turquoise eyes.

“What about it?” I asked.

“You sound different.”

“I’m the same as ever,” I said.

“I don’t know. It’s like all of a sudden you’re someone else.”

I felt a jolt. Was it possible he’d had the TV on that morning, heard me speaking on the Gillette Castle video with Iggy and Bea? I wanted it to be true, but even more, I felt terrified that it could be. Mrs. Porter saying I don’t care if I get caught echoed in my mind.

“I’m not someone else,” I said.

“Okay,” he said, sounding unconvinced.

I instantly changed the subject.

“Mark’s guitar looks so different from Hideki’s,” I said, once again noticing the big silver disc that filled the sound hole.