Three weeks after he woke up to find Lucy gone, Colin knows he can’t sit still anymore. He makes a show of cleaning his room, studying at Joe’s kitchen table, and volunteering to help Dot finish up dessert prep.
The sky has grown dark, and Joe raises an eyebrow when Colin settles into the couch beside him. A few distant shouts carry in from outside, as students start making their way across campus.
“It’s good to see you busy,” Joe says. He drinks from a steaming mug before setting it carefully on the table at his side.
“If feels good,” Colin answers, and they’re silent for a few minutes, Joe’s eyes on the evening paper and Colin’s on the TV. “I was actually wondering if I could get a suspended sentence tomorrow, maybe get off campus for a few hours.” There’s hope in his voice, something he knows has been noticeably absent the last few weeks.
Joe eyes him skeptically. “And what exactly would you be doing?”
“Nothing,” he says, easing off a bit and trying to sound nonchalant. “See a movie, maybe stop by one of the bike shops in town.” He shrugs for added effect. “It’d be nice to get away.”
Joe considers him. Colin can almost see the release of tension in Joe’s shoulders, his relief at hearing him talk about things that are so normal.
“Actually, I think that sounds like a great idea,” Joe says, surprising him. “Your grades are good. You haven’t been in any trouble.” He glances at Colin over the top of his paper, expression serious now. “But back here by dark. No exceptions.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, smiling. Joe shakes his head, but Colin doesn’t miss the way his lips twitch at the corners.
“I’ll get you your keys in the morning.”
Colin leans back, happy, his eyes on the game but his thoughts somewhere else completely.
Slush covers the walkway leading to the door of the infirmary, and Colin laughs quietly, realizing this is the first time he’s climbed these steps without A) the aid of someone else, or B) blood gushing from some part of his body.
He lets the door close softly behind him and wipes his feet on the rug, walking toward the sound of movement at the end of the hall. It’s too quiet, and his sneakers squeak on the linoleum, the sound bouncing off the walls around him. Colin’s been here so many times he knows exactly where he’s going, knows what each piece of equipment is for and which room has the bed with the spring that pokes you in the back. He also knows Maggie won’t be thrilled to see him and that his footprints are probably mucking up her clean floor.
Right on cue, she peeks her head out of an open doorway, scowling in his direction. “You better be bleeding,” she says, looking behind him.
He smiles. “I’m not.”
“What’re you doing here?”
He follows her into the room where she’s changing out one set of sheets for another. A kid he’s never seen before sleeps in a bed on the other side. “I need to ask you about Lucy,” he whispers.
She glances to the sleeping boy and back to him. “I don’t think so.”
Maggie picks up the basket of sheets and walks into the next room. He follows again.
“Please.” His voice cracks, begging. She won’t look at him. There’s a hardness in her expression, something that tells him she’s building a wall to keep tears from leaking out. “Please.”
After a long pause, she finally meets his eyes. “Why today?”
“Because I can’t find her.”
She watches him, eyes narrowed. “Heard you did something pretty stupid. Stupid enough it landed you in the hospital. Stupid enough you’re lucky to even be here.”
Colin tries to laugh it off. “What’s new, right?”
Maggie clearly doesn’t find it funny. “This is . . . You’ve done some stupid stuff, but this . . .”
He nods, guilt and shame warring with the unrelenting need to find Lucy. “You heard the details, huh?”
“Ain’t nobody around here who didn’t hear.”
“Maggie, you knew about Lucy. When will you tell me how?”
She keeps working, and Colin rounds the bed, taking the other side of the new sheet and fitting it over the mattress.
“Almost died and didn’t learn a damn thing. Fool-headed child,” she mutters.
Colin waits; it’s not exactly like he can argue with her.
“There’s only one way this can end, Colin. You know that, right?”
“I can’t believe that, Maggie. I don’t.”
“Of course you don’t.” She sighs, defeat written in the slump of her shoulders. Maggie straightens, looking out into the hall before closing the wide door. “You’re lucky I don’t kick your skinny butt out of here.”
Colin tastes salt water and the thick, choking tide of sobs, but pushes it down. “Thanks.”
Perched on the edge of the bed, she swallows and says, “I met Alan here when I was nineteen. I wasn’t always the person I should have been, Colin. I was young and stupid and did a lot of stuff I’m not proud of. I was on my own, trying to keep up with nursing school and homework and a full-time job. Right before I started here, a friend noticed I was having a hard time and gave me something to get me through it all.” She pulls a pillowcase into her lap, tugs on a loose thread. “Not long after, I was walking from the dorm to my car, and he was there. He was sweeping the sidewalk, and he looked up, smiled like I was a rainbow after the storm. I saw him like no one else did. Saw those crazy eyes and felt something I’d never felt before. He was mine; you know what I mean?”
Colin nods, knowing exactly the feeling she describes.
“He found me for a reason,” she continues. “I was alone at this big school and needed someone. He was so lonely. No family, no friends, practically invisible to everyone here. He took care of me, saw me stressed and understood why I needed something to get me through the day.”
Colin nods and isn’t even embarrassed to realize he’s crying.
“And when I realized what he was”—she laughs, shaking her head—“when I found out that he’d died? Here? That he haunted this place? I could handle that. But the disappearing? That’s what broke me,” she whispers. “How long has your Lucy been gone?”
“Twenty-four days.”
She pushes a skeptical exhale through her lips, shaking her head. “Twenty-four days you get used to. Twenty-four days you can live with.”
Bile rises in Colin’s throat at the idea of even one more day. “Did he disappear because you were unhappy?” he asks.
“Don’t know why he left. I went to rehab, and he didn’t visit me once. I started using again and he was back. Telling me it was okay, that I needed it. Almost encouraging. First time he was gone for six days. Second time, I didn’t see him for forty-three. And that wasn’t even the longest.”
Colin wants to move somehow, to release this discomfort that’s burrowed into his stomach. He paces to the other side of the room, pushing his hands into his gut, hoping something inside him untangles. “How long?”
“Two years. I had two years with him and then he was gone for two. I’d been clean for a while but going through a rough patch.” Maggie pinches her eyes closed, takes a deep breath. “I took some pills from the infirmary. When I got back to my room, there he was, sitting at the kitchen table like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like I’d gone out for a cup of coffee and he’d been waiting for me to come back. But it’d been too long, Colin. I couldn’t do it.”
“Two years?” Terror wraps a cold fist around his lungs, pulling down, and the sensation of caving in on himself takes over. He would chase Lucy anywhere. He doesn’t know how to function without her anymore. Maggie stays put in front of him, but she weaves, his vision blurry.
“He still felt the memory of the night before. Meanwhile, I’d lived two years—going to school, coming home, looking for him, trying to stay clean. Going to school, coming home, looking for him again. Every day, for two years. And there he was. My life was falling apart and he looked like he’d won the lottery. So, I left him. I wish I’d told him to stay away long before that. I wish I’d told him to leave me alone the first time he came back.”
The sky has grown dark, and Joe raises an eyebrow when Colin settles into the couch beside him. A few distant shouts carry in from outside, as students start making their way across campus.
“It’s good to see you busy,” Joe says. He drinks from a steaming mug before setting it carefully on the table at his side.
“If feels good,” Colin answers, and they’re silent for a few minutes, Joe’s eyes on the evening paper and Colin’s on the TV. “I was actually wondering if I could get a suspended sentence tomorrow, maybe get off campus for a few hours.” There’s hope in his voice, something he knows has been noticeably absent the last few weeks.
Joe eyes him skeptically. “And what exactly would you be doing?”
“Nothing,” he says, easing off a bit and trying to sound nonchalant. “See a movie, maybe stop by one of the bike shops in town.” He shrugs for added effect. “It’d be nice to get away.”
Joe considers him. Colin can almost see the release of tension in Joe’s shoulders, his relief at hearing him talk about things that are so normal.
“Actually, I think that sounds like a great idea,” Joe says, surprising him. “Your grades are good. You haven’t been in any trouble.” He glances at Colin over the top of his paper, expression serious now. “But back here by dark. No exceptions.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, smiling. Joe shakes his head, but Colin doesn’t miss the way his lips twitch at the corners.
“I’ll get you your keys in the morning.”
Colin leans back, happy, his eyes on the game but his thoughts somewhere else completely.
Slush covers the walkway leading to the door of the infirmary, and Colin laughs quietly, realizing this is the first time he’s climbed these steps without A) the aid of someone else, or B) blood gushing from some part of his body.
He lets the door close softly behind him and wipes his feet on the rug, walking toward the sound of movement at the end of the hall. It’s too quiet, and his sneakers squeak on the linoleum, the sound bouncing off the walls around him. Colin’s been here so many times he knows exactly where he’s going, knows what each piece of equipment is for and which room has the bed with the spring that pokes you in the back. He also knows Maggie won’t be thrilled to see him and that his footprints are probably mucking up her clean floor.
Right on cue, she peeks her head out of an open doorway, scowling in his direction. “You better be bleeding,” she says, looking behind him.
He smiles. “I’m not.”
“What’re you doing here?”
He follows her into the room where she’s changing out one set of sheets for another. A kid he’s never seen before sleeps in a bed on the other side. “I need to ask you about Lucy,” he whispers.
She glances to the sleeping boy and back to him. “I don’t think so.”
Maggie picks up the basket of sheets and walks into the next room. He follows again.
“Please.” His voice cracks, begging. She won’t look at him. There’s a hardness in her expression, something that tells him she’s building a wall to keep tears from leaking out. “Please.”
After a long pause, she finally meets his eyes. “Why today?”
“Because I can’t find her.”
She watches him, eyes narrowed. “Heard you did something pretty stupid. Stupid enough it landed you in the hospital. Stupid enough you’re lucky to even be here.”
Colin tries to laugh it off. “What’s new, right?”
Maggie clearly doesn’t find it funny. “This is . . . You’ve done some stupid stuff, but this . . .”
He nods, guilt and shame warring with the unrelenting need to find Lucy. “You heard the details, huh?”
“Ain’t nobody around here who didn’t hear.”
“Maggie, you knew about Lucy. When will you tell me how?”
She keeps working, and Colin rounds the bed, taking the other side of the new sheet and fitting it over the mattress.
“Almost died and didn’t learn a damn thing. Fool-headed child,” she mutters.
Colin waits; it’s not exactly like he can argue with her.
“There’s only one way this can end, Colin. You know that, right?”
“I can’t believe that, Maggie. I don’t.”
“Of course you don’t.” She sighs, defeat written in the slump of her shoulders. Maggie straightens, looking out into the hall before closing the wide door. “You’re lucky I don’t kick your skinny butt out of here.”
Colin tastes salt water and the thick, choking tide of sobs, but pushes it down. “Thanks.”
Perched on the edge of the bed, she swallows and says, “I met Alan here when I was nineteen. I wasn’t always the person I should have been, Colin. I was young and stupid and did a lot of stuff I’m not proud of. I was on my own, trying to keep up with nursing school and homework and a full-time job. Right before I started here, a friend noticed I was having a hard time and gave me something to get me through it all.” She pulls a pillowcase into her lap, tugs on a loose thread. “Not long after, I was walking from the dorm to my car, and he was there. He was sweeping the sidewalk, and he looked up, smiled like I was a rainbow after the storm. I saw him like no one else did. Saw those crazy eyes and felt something I’d never felt before. He was mine; you know what I mean?”
Colin nods, knowing exactly the feeling she describes.
“He found me for a reason,” she continues. “I was alone at this big school and needed someone. He was so lonely. No family, no friends, practically invisible to everyone here. He took care of me, saw me stressed and understood why I needed something to get me through the day.”
Colin nods and isn’t even embarrassed to realize he’s crying.
“And when I realized what he was”—she laughs, shaking her head—“when I found out that he’d died? Here? That he haunted this place? I could handle that. But the disappearing? That’s what broke me,” she whispers. “How long has your Lucy been gone?”
“Twenty-four days.”
She pushes a skeptical exhale through her lips, shaking her head. “Twenty-four days you get used to. Twenty-four days you can live with.”
Bile rises in Colin’s throat at the idea of even one more day. “Did he disappear because you were unhappy?” he asks.
“Don’t know why he left. I went to rehab, and he didn’t visit me once. I started using again and he was back. Telling me it was okay, that I needed it. Almost encouraging. First time he was gone for six days. Second time, I didn’t see him for forty-three. And that wasn’t even the longest.”
Colin wants to move somehow, to release this discomfort that’s burrowed into his stomach. He paces to the other side of the room, pushing his hands into his gut, hoping something inside him untangles. “How long?”
“Two years. I had two years with him and then he was gone for two. I’d been clean for a while but going through a rough patch.” Maggie pinches her eyes closed, takes a deep breath. “I took some pills from the infirmary. When I got back to my room, there he was, sitting at the kitchen table like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like I’d gone out for a cup of coffee and he’d been waiting for me to come back. But it’d been too long, Colin. I couldn’t do it.”
“Two years?” Terror wraps a cold fist around his lungs, pulling down, and the sensation of caving in on himself takes over. He would chase Lucy anywhere. He doesn’t know how to function without her anymore. Maggie stays put in front of him, but she weaves, his vision blurry.
“He still felt the memory of the night before. Meanwhile, I’d lived two years—going to school, coming home, looking for him, trying to stay clean. Going to school, coming home, looking for him again. Every day, for two years. And there he was. My life was falling apart and he looked like he’d won the lottery. So, I left him. I wish I’d told him to stay away long before that. I wish I’d told him to leave me alone the first time he came back.”
