throat. “ Why don ’ t we invite them all over for dinner when you ’ re doing better? ”
They ’ re trying. They really are. “ Ok, ” I write.
I shift restlessly. I hate this tube in my mouth. Hate a machine breathing for me. I want to go home. Want to feel normal again.
“ Jenna said Gil was here, ” I write. “ Did someone tell him I ’ m okay? Can he visit yet? ”
“ When your tube is out and you ’ re breathing on your own, ” Mom says. “ He can visit then. ”
“ R u ok with all the police? ” I write.
“ Why wouldn ’ t we be? ” Mom asks, then stops herself. “ Oh, honey—are you talking about that time—? ” Her voice breaks off. “ That wasn ’ t your fault. And you were right after all. ”
But I remember the hours and hours the officers spent interrogating me, and each of my parents. The suspicion and anger that resonated off the officers, and the haunted look my parents wore for months. The articles in the newspaper about the girl from my school who was abducted—the abduction I predicted. The way the cops treated us as if we were the ones who ’ d snatched her—all because I ’ d seen pieces of it before it happened. The way even our neighbors shunned us, their eyes slitted and cold.
“ U really don ’ t blame me? ” I write.
“ Honey, no! And if we ’ d understood sooner, and believed you, maybe it would have been different. ”
I look at Dad. He nods. “ Everything your mother said, sweetheart. ” He smoothes back my hair. “ You look tired. Why don ’ t you rest? ”
I nod and close my eyes, and let sleep take me.
My throat feels raw, but at least I can swallow and talk now that the tube is out. It ’ s a relief to breathe on my own. Though now I can smell that mixture of disinfectant and canned air that seems to pervade every hospital. I sigh. My chest hurts deep inside, but at least I ’ m not coughing any more. And I have my own pajamas, instead of that awful hospital gown that opens at the back.
Mom looks up at me from her seat beside me. “ Everything okay? ”
“ Yeah, ” I say hoarsely. I pick up a piece of yellow origami paper and fold yet another butterfly. Dad ’ s back at work, Jenna ’ s talking to a counselor, and I ’ m just waiting to go home. Out the window, the sky looks clear and blue and perfect.
There ’ s a rap on the doorframe, and then Gil and Inez walk in, Inez hanging on tightly to Gil ’ s arm.
“ Inez, Gil! ” I say hoarsely. “ I ’ m so glad you came! ” I smile at Inez broadly, trying to reassure her. I ’ ll bet it ’ s the first time she ’ s left the house since her rape. And she ’ s showered and dressed, her hair twisted back behind her head.
“ Hi Kate, hi Mrs. Robbins, ” Gil says.
“ Hi, ” Inez says uncertainly.
Mom smoothes her dress and stands. “ I ’ ll give you three some alone time. All right, sweetie? ”
I nod. Mom pats my knee and leaves.
Inez walks to the edge of my bed and tentatively touches my shoulder. “ How are you feeling? ”
“ Better. I can go home soon, ” I say hoarsely.
“ Are you really going to be okay now? ” Inez says. “ Gil says you almost died. ”
“ Yeah. I ’ m hanging in. Glad to see you are, too. ” I study her. Her eyes look brighter, more alive, her face less troubled than when I last saw her—in person and in my visions. There ’ s still pain behind her eyes, but it doesn ’ t look as strong. “ I hope you ’ re not thinking about a way out anymore, ” I say.
Inez shakes her head. “ No. You were right. It would hurt Gil and my nana too much. And I think I want to live now, too. The way you do. I want to change things around here. I can ’ t do that if I ’ m dead. ”
“ Exactly, ” I say and cough.
Gil leaps forward. “ You need your inhaler? Oxygen? ”
I laugh, even though it hurts to. “ I ’ m okay, Gil. My throat ’ s just a little raw. I ’ ll survive. ”
Gil laughs shakily. “ Okay. You scared the heck
They ’ re trying. They really are. “ Ok, ” I write.
I shift restlessly. I hate this tube in my mouth. Hate a machine breathing for me. I want to go home. Want to feel normal again.
“ Jenna said Gil was here, ” I write. “ Did someone tell him I ’ m okay? Can he visit yet? ”
“ When your tube is out and you ’ re breathing on your own, ” Mom says. “ He can visit then. ”
“ R u ok with all the police? ” I write.
“ Why wouldn ’ t we be? ” Mom asks, then stops herself. “ Oh, honey—are you talking about that time—? ” Her voice breaks off. “ That wasn ’ t your fault. And you were right after all. ”
But I remember the hours and hours the officers spent interrogating me, and each of my parents. The suspicion and anger that resonated off the officers, and the haunted look my parents wore for months. The articles in the newspaper about the girl from my school who was abducted—the abduction I predicted. The way the cops treated us as if we were the ones who ’ d snatched her—all because I ’ d seen pieces of it before it happened. The way even our neighbors shunned us, their eyes slitted and cold.
“ U really don ’ t blame me? ” I write.
“ Honey, no! And if we ’ d understood sooner, and believed you, maybe it would have been different. ”
I look at Dad. He nods. “ Everything your mother said, sweetheart. ” He smoothes back my hair. “ You look tired. Why don ’ t you rest? ”
I nod and close my eyes, and let sleep take me.
My throat feels raw, but at least I can swallow and talk now that the tube is out. It ’ s a relief to breathe on my own. Though now I can smell that mixture of disinfectant and canned air that seems to pervade every hospital. I sigh. My chest hurts deep inside, but at least I ’ m not coughing any more. And I have my own pajamas, instead of that awful hospital gown that opens at the back.
Mom looks up at me from her seat beside me. “ Everything okay? ”
“ Yeah, ” I say hoarsely. I pick up a piece of yellow origami paper and fold yet another butterfly. Dad ’ s back at work, Jenna ’ s talking to a counselor, and I ’ m just waiting to go home. Out the window, the sky looks clear and blue and perfect.
There ’ s a rap on the doorframe, and then Gil and Inez walk in, Inez hanging on tightly to Gil ’ s arm.
“ Inez, Gil! ” I say hoarsely. “ I ’ m so glad you came! ” I smile at Inez broadly, trying to reassure her. I ’ ll bet it ’ s the first time she ’ s left the house since her rape. And she ’ s showered and dressed, her hair twisted back behind her head.
“ Hi Kate, hi Mrs. Robbins, ” Gil says.
“ Hi, ” Inez says uncertainly.
Mom smoothes her dress and stands. “ I ’ ll give you three some alone time. All right, sweetie? ”
I nod. Mom pats my knee and leaves.
Inez walks to the edge of my bed and tentatively touches my shoulder. “ How are you feeling? ”
“ Better. I can go home soon, ” I say hoarsely.
“ Are you really going to be okay now? ” Inez says. “ Gil says you almost died. ”
“ Yeah. I ’ m hanging in. Glad to see you are, too. ” I study her. Her eyes look brighter, more alive, her face less troubled than when I last saw her—in person and in my visions. There ’ s still pain behind her eyes, but it doesn ’ t look as strong. “ I hope you ’ re not thinking about a way out anymore, ” I say.
Inez shakes her head. “ No. You were right. It would hurt Gil and my nana too much. And I think I want to live now, too. The way you do. I want to change things around here. I can ’ t do that if I ’ m dead. ”
“ Exactly, ” I say and cough.
Gil leaps forward. “ You need your inhaler? Oxygen? ”
I laugh, even though it hurts to. “ I ’ m okay, Gil. My throat ’ s just a little raw. I ’ ll survive. ”
Gil laughs shakily. “ Okay. You scared the heck
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