Page 22 of Stone Vows

“It’ll happen,” she says, encouragingly. “Probably when you least expect it.”

“I suppose,” I say. “Anyway, alcohol is not required undermyrules of the game.”

I look around the room for ideas when my eyes land on the tray table beside her bed. I stand up and walk around the room to examine the Jell-O cups. There are six different flavors. Six possible things I can learn about the girl lying in this bed. My mind starts to go over all the possible questions.

“We’ll play for Jell-O,” I tell her. “And we play until each of us has tried every one.”

“Jell-O?” she asks, like I’m off my rocker.

“Why not? Abby said you need to pick your favorite flavor; and I, as the great babysitter I am, will play the stupid, juvenile game just to make you happy.” I wink down at her.

She smiles and tucks a lock of wet hair behind her ear. “Fine,” she says, pretending to pout—but I know better. She’s happy.

She reaches over and grabs a couple of spoons encased in plastic. She hands me one. “I’ll go first, just so you’ll know how to play.”

“You better,” I say. “This medical degree I have might not qualify me to understand the rudimentary rules of a childhood game.”

“Shut up,” she says, laughing at me. “Okay, I’m going first anyway. Um . . . let me think.” She looks at me and scrunches up her nose to form a small wrinkle. “Never have I ever been a doctor.”

I roll my eyes at her. “Really?”

“Just trying to make sure you get how to play. Now pick your flavor.”

I open the tinfoil top on the yellow one and take a bite. Lemon—not my favorite.

“Okay, now it’s my turn. Never have I ever been out of the country.”

Her hand doesn’t move at all. “Back to me,” she says. “Never have I ever ridden a horse.”

I pick up the light-green cup and take a bite. It’s friggin’ gross. “Tenth grade,” I say, choking the bite down. “The horse’s name was Beauty. She bucked me off and I broke my damn leg. Alright, let’s see . . . never have I ever had stitches.”

She picks up the yellow one and takes a bite. “You must have led a sheltered life,” she says, pulling her leg out from under the blanket. She points to her ankle. “Scooter accident when I was eight.” Then she shows me her left elbow. “Softball field. Fourteen years old. Didn’t know there was a break in the fence when I dove for a ball. Ripped my elbow from here to here.” She runs her finger along the faded scar.

“And this one?” I ask, touching the faint scar on her collarbone.

She looks up at me, frozen.Damn it. I shouldn’t have touched her.

Why the hell did you touch her?

I pull my hand back as she clears her throat. “Uh, I forgot about that one. It’s not nearly as interesting, I—I fell into the corner of a table.”

“Age?”

“Huh?” she asks.

“You were eight when you fell off the scooter and fourteen when you dove for the softball. How old were you when you fell into the table?”

“Oh . . . uh, twenty-three,” she says.

“After a night of playing ‘Never have I ever’?” I joke.

She smiles morosely. “Funny, but no.” She pushes the yellow Jell-O across her tray table with her nose in the air. “Definitely not that one,” she says. “Okay, never have I ever flown in an airplane.”

I pick up the red cup and open it before dipping my spoon in. “Mmmm, pretty good,” I say, swallowing the strawberry confection. “My parents moved us from New York to California when I was fifteen. They still live there so I fly out when I can, which isn’t much these days.”

“It’s nice that you get to see them,” she says sadly. “Even if it’s only occasionally.”

The look on her face.Jesus. She really doesn’t have anyone, does she?

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