There Will Come a Time by Carrie Arcos Page A

us all to forget her.”
    My head hurts. I want to tell Hanna to shut up, especially because I can tell she’s going to get emotional. Why can’t she see that I just want to be left alone? Why does this have to be about her?
    â€œI miss her,” Hanna says. “Do you know how hard it is to be back at school without her? I keep thinking I’m going to run into her by her locker, or see her round a corner. That she’ll walk into class. I miss her every day. We had so many plans for senior year.And now that’s all I have, just these stupid plans that we’ll never get to do together.”
    I stare at the cracks in the blacktop, at the gum stains and dirt. I imagine dried blood, my sister’s blood, smeared across the pavement. But this isn’t the spot. I know the place. It’s a few paces up ahead.
    â€œI can’t,” I say.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI can’t talk about it, about her.”
    â€œWell, I need to,” Hanna says. “And there’s her list. I don’t want to feel like that’s a bad thing. I want to remember her. Grace was my best friend. I loved Grace.”
    I bend over and hold my head in my hands, trying to steady it and my stomach. The bile rises as if I’m going to throw up. Hanna rests her hand on my back, and I want to shrug it off, but I don’t, because even though I’m mad, her touch feels good. It shouldn’t, though; nothing should ever feel good again. I hear her sniffle, and I can’t take her tears. I want to scream.
    I stand up. “Let’s go.”
    â€œMark?”
    â€œWhat, Hanna? What do you want me to say? Grace is fucking dead. Dead. Okay? You want me to say that I come here to try and what? To find her? Maybe her spirit is still here? I don’t know. The truth is, I’m here and she’s gone. Do I wantto jump? Do I want to end it now? I don’t know. I’m alive, and that’s great. That’s fucking great. But she’s dead. Grace is dead, and I know that makes you sad, and that makes you want to cry, but you can’t even imagine how I feel. I don’t want to talk about it, not with you, not with my family, not with Chris, not with anyone. So back off.”
    Her eyes, which widened when I started yelling, now narrow like the tip of an arrow. “Grace may not have been my twin sister, but she was like a sister to me.”
    We glare at each other until Hanna raises her finger and points it at me. “You don’t own the market on grief, Mark. So you’re the one who needs to back off.”
    She drops her hand and starts walking away from me. I follow her back to the car, and we drive home in an angry and sad silence.

Nine
    I peek out of my blinds at Hanna’s room across the street. Hers are closed. After sleeping off my anger, I’m now laced with guilt, which is why I have my phone in my hand to text her. Hanna shouldn’t have pressed me like that. She knows better. But I know better too. I don’t think I’ve ever used that many F-bombs with Hanna. Grace always made fun of me when I cussed, telling me it was proof that she was smarter. She said it didn’t take any creativity or intelligence to swear, until she went through a phase sophomore year when she hung out with some UK exchange students. Grace walked around saying, “Bloody hell,” all the time, and the ban on swearing was tentatively lifted as long as I used an accent.
    I need to apologize to Hanna, but don’t know how. I send out an exploratory message.
    Hey
    I wait a few minutes. Nothing. I think about sending another text, but I smell bacon. It’s enough to get me to throw on some clothes and go downstairs. Everyone’s sitting at the table in the kitchen nook. I don’t look at the empty chair in the corner, but I know it’s there.
    â€œMark, have some breakfast. Jenny’s made ricotta pancakes,” Dad says. Late Saturday-morning