I sighed, and he gasped. Then he stumbled back, holding me at the waist as if to push me away.

“Wait! What the hell, Q?” He pulled back a couple of feet, bumping into the wall. “Fuck. You’re Q! You’re Q, of Carey and Q. We can’t do this!”

I shook my head. “I’m not Carey and Q. Not anymore. I’m just me.”

“Right,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “And tomorrow the two of you will make up, and I’ll be the asshole who made a move on his best friend’s girlfriend.”

I shook my head again. “We’re not getting back together, Blake. He has feelings for someone else.” And so do I, I thought, though I’d been slow to understand that.

“So I’m Rebound Guy?” he asked, anger vibrating through him.

What could I say? I didn’t know how to answer, so I said nothing. I swayed toward him, pressing into his resisting hands.

“Who am I kidding?” he asked under his breath. “I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.”

He began to pull me in instead of push me away. His breath was on my face when he paused, a questioning look in his hazel eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. . . .”

He kissed me for real.

I fell into him. I didn’t love him like I loved Carey, but that was kind of the point, right?

His hand slipped beneath my shirt. My heart jumped into my throat.

My fingers trailed down his chest. His breath sucked in sharply, as if I’d tickled him.

We kissed with our eyes open, really seeing each other.

Giving. Taking. Setting each other on fire. Naked.

The way it was supposed to be.

The way it had never been with Carey.

*   *   *

The next night, Carey asked me to lie for him, to pretend we were still together.

And seeing the bruises on his face, how could I not agree?

I couldn’t explain to Blake why I’d suddenly changed my mind, and he couldn’t forgive me.

I’d used him to prove I wasn’t cold and that a boy could want me as more than a friend. My feelings for him were real, but that didn’t alter my intent for going to his house. I’m not proud of myself. Maybe that’s another reason why I’ve never told anyone that Blake is the boy in the picture. Well, that, and he thinks I lied to him about Carey and me breaking up.

But I don’t regret a minute of that night.

He was my first.

My only.

*   *   *

The events at the dance and Carey’s letter leave me reeling. I’ve hardly slept, thinking about Blake and Carey. Knowing Carey planned to tell the truth makes it a little easier to bear this lie. If he came out to everyone, people would know I didn’t cheat on him. I would be free to tell Blake that I felt something for him that night and that Carey didn’t care when that picture surfaced.

Carey obviously didn’t know how bad things were if he thought I was on speaking terms with his parents. That makes me feel better. I guess his parents haven’t said much about me during their calls or in their e-mails. I feel like I should tell them about the letter, since it was his last contact before he went missing. But how?

Too tired for a confrontation, I wait until my father has left the house to run Saturday-morning errands before I leave my room.

George expects me today, so I head to the hospital.

The light hurts my eyes. Everything hurts. I feel like one big, exposed, gaping wound.

I’m heading through the lobby to George’s room when Darlene calls my name from the front desk.

“Sophie! George said to tell you he’s out having a test done. He’ll be back soon if you want to wait.”

“Thanks, Darlene.”

I stride toward the stairs to wait for George in his room. It seems like lately he’s out for more and more tests.

“Sophie?”

The trembling voice is familiar, and I turn to see who called my name.

Uncle Eddy stares at me. “Sophie Quinn, is that you?”

Chapter Fourteen

Uncle Eddy is five years younger than my father, but he’s not aging well. The years have softened him. His muscles have dissipated, leaving behind skin and bones. He is too skinny, and what’s left of his blond hair has begun to gray. It takes all of two seconds to understand that he is very sick. Maybe dying. I’ve seen too many men at the hospital look the same way.

“Sophie Quinn?” he asks again, coming closer.

I nod, unable to speak.

“I knew it! I heard that woman call you, and you’re the spitting image of your mother with all that hair.” Uncle Eddy reaches me and pulls me into a hug. My arms remain locked to my sides, and his hug transforms into an awkward pat on the back as he realizes it is unwelcome.

The whites of his eyes are yellow, I notice, when I pull away. Kidneys are shot, then. Corporal Lewis in room 308 has been on dialysis for a year, so I know the signs.

“You’re all grown up now, aren’t you?”

Six years’ll do that.

“I saw you,” I blurt out. “And my mom.”

See what happens when you open your mouth? You say things you meant to hold tight.

“Here at the hospital?”

I nod again.

“You mind if we sit? It’s hard for me to be on my feet too long.”

He’s breathing heavily as I follow him to a corner of the lobby. We sit a couple of seats away from where my mother walked past me a few weeks ago without recognizing me.