Nothing would stop the nightmares.
But I didn’t let go.
A little while later, after Hugh convinced me to take a shower, I stood in the kitchen, holding his hand.
It had been so long since I came downstairs that I felt unsteady.
My legs were wobblish, like a newborn foal, and I was depending far too much on the boy standing beside me to keep me upright.
I could hear my mother wailing in a nearby room, and the sound made me want to scramble back to my bed and never come out again.
“Take a walk with me,” Hugh said, as aware of my mother’s crying as I was. He cleared his throat and quickly walked us to the back door. “It’s gorgeous outside.”
I didn’t want to take a walk.
I didn’t want to take a breath.
But Ididwant to be near Hugh, so I followed him outside without a fight.
BACK TO HER GRAVESIDE
Hugh
JUNE 9, 2000
“HUGH? IS THAT YOU, LOVE?” IHEARD MY MOTHER CALL OUT THE SECONDISTEPPEDthrough the front door after school on Tuesday.
“Yeah,” I called back, dropping my bag down in the hallway before joining her in the kitchen. “Sorry I’m late. The school bus broke down. We had to switch onto another bus. It took forever to arrive.”
“No, Catherine, the school bus broke down,” Mam relayed into the landline, visibly concerned. “Try not to panic.” Mam gave me the usual once-over with her eyes before adding, “I’m sure Lizzie hasn’t gone far.”
Hasn’t gone far?
My stomach bottomed out when I heard that.
Jesus Christ!
“Mam,” I tried to interrupt, but she had her back to me now, coaxing Catherine Young into not worrying about her daughter when she absolutelyshouldbe worrying.
It had to be bad for Catherine to call my mother.
They weren’t exactly on speaking terms.
My next decision was one rooted in instinct, and turning on my heels, I bolted outside to grab my bike.
Pedaling like a demon, I rounded the familiar narrow path in the graveyard and almost fell off my bike in relief when I spotted her blond head up ahead.
Hopping off the saddle, I let the bike go and moved straight for her, ignoring the sound of metal clanking onto the ground when it crashed behind me.
“Goddammit, Liz,” I strangled out, breathing ragged, when I found her fast asleep on top of her sister’s grave. “Your mam is looking for you.”
She wasn’t even dozing—no, she was in a deep sleep because she didn’t even twitch when I spoke.
All she had on was a pair of denim jean shorts, a plain white T-shirt, and an old pair of scuffed, red high-tops.
With her hands tucked under her left cheek and her long, blond hair splayed over her shoulders like a golden blanket, it physically hurt to look at her.
Because I didn’t know how to ease the pain she was drowning in.
