“What are you talking about?” I ask, my voice hoarse because I haven’t spoken for so long.
“I thought a lot about this on the plane,” Mason says. “People flock to deathbeds because they think that it’ll be better for them to say goodbye, to hold their loved one’s hand. But Daisy, sometimes it isn’t better. That image of them dying sticks with you. But still, people do it. And I’m happy to take you there if you want to go. I’m just saying that it’s okay if you want to hold on to the image of Audrey smiling and laughing and remember her that way. Because she’s not laughing right now. She’s not awake. She’s barely alive. A machine is breathing for her. Do you understand?”
I don’t speak right away. I think of Audrey in the hallway at school that day, of the perfect picture of her. Fleetingly, I consider what Mason is saying. But skipping the hard times just so I can remember the good doesn’t sound like the right thing to do. In fact, I’m not even sure Mason believes his own advice.
“I’m going,” I say flatly.
“I’m not sure that’s the right decision.”
“But it’s my decision, right?”
“Yes,” he says.
“Then I’m going.”
Walking under the arch leading into the hospital, I have knots in my stomach. I’m surprised that I’m actually afraid to see Audrey, like the permanence of her impending death might be catching or something. But I know in my heart that I need to be here.
We walk through the doors and across the vast lobby. With its muted colors and three-story wall of windows, the light, bright hospital seems to be telling me to feel hopeful. But I don’t.
We make our way to the ICU waiting room. There are tables arranged like a lounge, chairs near a TV, and couches along several of the walls. All of the furniture is either an unrecognizable shade of nothing blue—like that background color that comes standard as computer wallpaper—or something between peach and salmon. The room is bigger than our basement, but there are only five people inside: the McKeans—minus Audrey—Mason, and me.
>“Yes,” I say decisively. “That’s my theory.”
Megan’s quiet for a few moments, considering. She squints her eyes at the ceiling and bites her pinkie nail. Then finally, she speaks: “I guess it could work.”
“You’re totally annoying,” I say.
“But you love me.”
“I do.”
“What should we do now?” Megan asks. “I mean, if your theory is true and God’s killing anyone who knows about the project…”
I suck in my breath so hard I think my lungs might explode. It makes Megan jump.
“What?” she asks, wide-eyed.
“Do you think Matt could be in danger?” I say, realizing what I might have done to the guy I like.
“No,” Megan says reflexively to reassure me. But the concerned look on her face tells me otherwise. “And the difference is that if this is true, Nora was threatening to out the program. No one knows that Matt knows, and he won’t tell anyone.” She pauses. “Right?”
“No,” I say uneasily. “At least I thought he wouldn’t.”
“He won’t,” Megan says quietly, as if she knows him. “You have good instincts with people. I’m sure you can still trust him, even if he’s being a child right now.”
“I hope so,” I say, worried anyway. “But oh my god, what about Nora? If it’s true, seeing me in that mall ruined her life.”
“You can’t take all the credit,” Megan says. “People make their own decisions. Maybe she saw you. But she could have minded her own business and stayed right there in Michigan. And besides, I’m not even one hundred percent convinced.”
“Look up Nora Fitzgerald on Facebook,” I command, fed up with the back-and-forth. Megan crawls off the bed and searches for Nora.
“No account,” she reports. “But maybe she’s one of those dorks who’s taking a stand against social networks. We should totally blog about that, by the way.”
“She’s not,” I say. “But just in case, search for Gina Geiger. She’s Nora’s best friend.”
“Okay, here’s Gina,” Megan says. “Whoa, check out that red lipstick. Is she a tranny?”
“Focus,” I say. “Look through her friend list.”