asked, speaking slowly, spacing out his words.
“Everywhere,” she answered.
“Can you be more specific?” he wanted to know.
Back in ICU, she was sweating and hallucinating. The bed was on fire. The doctor was her father. The nurse was a waitress. The IV bottle was a glass of milk.
“Where does it hurt?” he asked again.
“I don’t know,” she said.
Test after test.
Drink this chalky mixture. Pretend it’s a milk shake.
X-rays.
Handfuls of colorful pills.
That’s right, swallow them all. No, no, all of them.
Come on, Hannah.
Be a good girl.
Hold your breath.
More tests.
Stay still.
Don’t move.
Do you want to get better?
You want to get better, don’t you?
I don’t know what she wants.
• • •
Someone changed her sheets every hour. Someone dabbed at her face with a cool cloth. Her parents visited her individually, her mom during the days and her dad in the evenings, or maybe it was the other way around—she couldn’t be sure of anything. Her mom sang to her, pausing to shake pills into her palm, to tip back her head and swallow them. Her mom sighed and said, Who did this to you? Her mom said, Where is he? The pills her mom had swallowed kicked in, but her anger and resolve stayed strong. One day I’ll find him, she said, slurring her words. Her mom stared at the mute TV suspended in the air in the corner of the room. Her mom closed her eyes and curled up in a chair. Someone begged Hannah to eat, spooning salty broth into her mouth. Someone rubbed cold lotion on her shoulders and chest. Someone fanned her with a magazine. Her dad’s eyes were red. He’d gotten a haircut, his curls flat now and pressed to his scalp. He wasn’t wearing his wedding ring. He’d brought a blonde friend along. Maybe the gash on his cheek was closing up, healing as it should have been healing, or maybe time was moving backwards and the wound was opening up, big and red again, about to swallow her. Eddie Epstein and his mother stopped by or maybe they didn’t. After Penny checked her temperature, she smoothed Hannah’s hair away from her forehead. Another nurse fed her slivers of ice. Someone slinked in. Someone picked up the snow globe from the nightstand. Someone shook the snow globe in front of Hannah’s face before putting it back down. Someone called her name. Someone called her name again. Someone pulled up a chair and sat down by her bed. Someone said he was sorry. Someone was weeping. Someone was blowing his nose. Someone was holding his elbows, rocking back and forth. Someone stood up and looked at her. Someone said he was sorry one more time. Someone walked away.
12
NINA THOUGHT about him at night, but sometimes during the day too. Some days every man in every truck at every red light was the criminal . A man without a heart. She’d look over, stare into his front seat, see his hands on the steering wheel, and feel certain there was an empty space in his chest where his heart should have been. She’d look away as the light turned green, and by the time her foot hit the gas, she’d be imagining a pocket of air surrounded by red flesh, a place where he could store his cruelty.
Nina was alone in bed, thinking about him, and Asher was in bed with Christy, thinking about him too. Asher thinking, That man hit my Hannah and left her in the road to die.
Asher and Christy had probably just said a prayer. They might have just had sex. Either way, Asher would start thinking about him. He’d think about how he wanted to punish him, what he’d like to do to him if he ever found out who he was.
Asher and Nina spent an increasing amount of time wondering who he was and what he looked like. They wanted a face and a name, someone to be accountable.
Asher dreamt of a faceless man in a bathtub and he killed him with a baseball bat. He talked about the man to Christy, saying, That fucking man drove away.
“Don’t say fuck,” Christy said. “I mean, don’t say the f -word. Let’s
“Everywhere,” she answered.
“Can you be more specific?” he wanted to know.
Back in ICU, she was sweating and hallucinating. The bed was on fire. The doctor was her father. The nurse was a waitress. The IV bottle was a glass of milk.
“Where does it hurt?” he asked again.
“I don’t know,” she said.
Test after test.
Drink this chalky mixture. Pretend it’s a milk shake.
X-rays.
Handfuls of colorful pills.
That’s right, swallow them all. No, no, all of them.
Come on, Hannah.
Be a good girl.
Hold your breath.
More tests.
Stay still.
Don’t move.
Do you want to get better?
You want to get better, don’t you?
I don’t know what she wants.
• • •
Someone changed her sheets every hour. Someone dabbed at her face with a cool cloth. Her parents visited her individually, her mom during the days and her dad in the evenings, or maybe it was the other way around—she couldn’t be sure of anything. Her mom sang to her, pausing to shake pills into her palm, to tip back her head and swallow them. Her mom sighed and said, Who did this to you? Her mom said, Where is he? The pills her mom had swallowed kicked in, but her anger and resolve stayed strong. One day I’ll find him, she said, slurring her words. Her mom stared at the mute TV suspended in the air in the corner of the room. Her mom closed her eyes and curled up in a chair. Someone begged Hannah to eat, spooning salty broth into her mouth. Someone rubbed cold lotion on her shoulders and chest. Someone fanned her with a magazine. Her dad’s eyes were red. He’d gotten a haircut, his curls flat now and pressed to his scalp. He wasn’t wearing his wedding ring. He’d brought a blonde friend along. Maybe the gash on his cheek was closing up, healing as it should have been healing, or maybe time was moving backwards and the wound was opening up, big and red again, about to swallow her. Eddie Epstein and his mother stopped by or maybe they didn’t. After Penny checked her temperature, she smoothed Hannah’s hair away from her forehead. Another nurse fed her slivers of ice. Someone slinked in. Someone picked up the snow globe from the nightstand. Someone shook the snow globe in front of Hannah’s face before putting it back down. Someone called her name. Someone called her name again. Someone pulled up a chair and sat down by her bed. Someone said he was sorry. Someone was weeping. Someone was blowing his nose. Someone was holding his elbows, rocking back and forth. Someone stood up and looked at her. Someone said he was sorry one more time. Someone walked away.
12
NINA THOUGHT about him at night, but sometimes during the day too. Some days every man in every truck at every red light was the criminal . A man without a heart. She’d look over, stare into his front seat, see his hands on the steering wheel, and feel certain there was an empty space in his chest where his heart should have been. She’d look away as the light turned green, and by the time her foot hit the gas, she’d be imagining a pocket of air surrounded by red flesh, a place where he could store his cruelty.
Nina was alone in bed, thinking about him, and Asher was in bed with Christy, thinking about him too. Asher thinking, That man hit my Hannah and left her in the road to die.
Asher and Christy had probably just said a prayer. They might have just had sex. Either way, Asher would start thinking about him. He’d think about how he wanted to punish him, what he’d like to do to him if he ever found out who he was.
Asher and Nina spent an increasing amount of time wondering who he was and what he looked like. They wanted a face and a name, someone to be accountable.
Asher dreamt of a faceless man in a bathtub and he killed him with a baseball bat. He talked about the man to Christy, saying, That fucking man drove away.
“Don’t say fuck,” Christy said. “I mean, don’t say the f -word. Let’s
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