“He didn’t used to,” I say. “But you’ve said yourself that there are upsetting changes happening to the program. Like the new lab, like God wanting you to Revive new people—”
“I did say that,” Mason interrupts. “But this is over the top. We’re testing a drug that gives people life—we don’t take it away. There’s no way Nora’s accident was at God’s hands.”
“Then how do you explain that the one thing stolen from our house was my book bag, which contained a file detailing all of this and more?”
Mason looks away and smiles a little, then says, “Maybe you left it at school?”
“I didn’t,” I say flatly.
Mason’s phone rings again. He answers and talks for so long that I think of going upstairs and giving up. But I’ve come this far. When he hangs up, I try again.
“Mason, what did the lisp remind you of?” I ask.
He sighs. “It reminded me of the bus crash,” he says. “The local news interviewed an employee at a gas station a half mile from the bridge. Police were looking for the worn red truck that eyewitnesses said ran the bus into the lake. The gas station worker claimed to have seen the truck ten minutes before the incident. He said the driver stopped in to buy a lottery ticket. Apparently, the driver said, ‘I think it’s my lucky day.’ ”
Mason pauses; I look at him expectantly.
“The guy couldn’t describe the man other than to say that he had a lisp,” Mason says. He jumps when I inhale.
“Are you serious?” I say loudly.
“Daisy, calm down.”
“It’s not a coincidence,” I say. “What if God caused the bus crash, too?”
“Stop,” he says, startling me. “If that’s true, then the work I’ve done for eleven years is all for nothing. God would never—could never—purposely kill twenty-one people. Twenty children. It didn’t happen.”
“Fine,” I say. “But will you at least do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Ask David to look for the file on Case Twenty-two,” I say. “If it exists, he’ll find it. And if he finds it…”
I let the words hang in the air.
“Promise you’ll let it go if David doesn’t find anything,” he says.
“Only if you promise to do something about it if he does.”
Mason calls David and I make my way upstairs. Once there, feeling edgy, I pull out Audrey’s letter. Something about the smooth handwriting calms me: I’ve started reading it every time I feel upset.
Daisy—
Promise you’ll do two things for me.
The first is easy: Take my clothes. ALL OF THEM. Even if you throw them away, get them out of our house (but I have pretty good taste—haha!—so you should just keep them).
You’ve seen those people who can’t let go. They sob over old T-shirts that aren’t worth anything. My mom is a pack rat; she’ll obsess. My ugliest pajamas will break her heart. Take them, Daisy. Do it for me (and for your wardrobe D).
The second thing: Take care of my brother.
He tries to be this strong, tough guy, because I think that’s what he believes is expected of him. But he and I are so close…. This is going to wreck his world. I know he cares about you; I want you to be there for him.
There are so many other things to say, but I have to go to the hospital now. I hope you’ll never read this, but just in case, I want you to know that you are unique and beautiful and funny and I’m glad to have called you my friend. My best friend.
Love,