Page 62 of For Your Own Good
“Nice to see you, even at a time like this.”
“Yes, well,” she says. “There’s been too much tragedy around this school, hasn’t there?”
“We were just talking about it,” James says, glancing down at his phone.
“Well,” Teddy says. “At least there hasn’t been a school shooting. I guess there’s that.”
The silence that follows is long and uncomfortable, and Teddy enjoys every second of it.
“I hope we see you again soon under more pleasant circumstances,” Pamela finally says.
Teddy watches them leave. The Wards walk in step together, Pamela’s high heels making her almost the same height as James. They really are a handsome couple. It’s unfortunate they’re such horrible people.
As Teddy starts to walk away, he catches a glimpse of someone. The profile of a girl as she passes by.
No, not a girl. A woman. Dark hair, pert nose, ruby lips.
He shakes his head, laughing at himself. Because it can’t be her.
ABOUT HALFWAY THROUGHthe memorial service, it hits Zach. Up until Mrs.B’s husband starts talking about her, he hadn’t felt much of anything about her death. Like he didn’t believe it was real.
Now he does, and the sadness is bigger and heavier than he’d expected. Mrs.B was a nice woman, a good teacher, and she was young. Not even forty. Whatever happened to her, it wasn’t fair. Just like it wasn’t fair that Courtney was sitting in jail right now.
Too much. It’s all too much.
Enough to make Zach leave the memorial before it ends. Any place would be better, including the hospital.
Zach drives straight there and walks in through the emergency room door. It smells the same, even looks the same, as far as he can tell. The last time he was here was when he broke his arm two years ago.
The ER is nothing like it is on TV. There are no gurneys rushing by with bleeding patients being wheeled into surgery. No one is screaming for a crash cart, and not a single person says “Stat.” The only one in the waiting area is an older woman who is watching a talk show while knitting.
Zach smiles and waves to the receptionist, and he keeps walking, right into the hall where the patients are. The receptionist doesn’t say anything, doesn’t stop him. Not surprising. Being white and clean-cut gets Zach into a lot of places.
And out of them, if need be.
He wanders down the hall, past drawn curtains and swinging doors, glancing around at everything. A woman asks if she can help him.
“Oh,” he says, a smile spreading across his face. “A friend of mine texted me and said he was here. I’m just trying to find him.”
“Go to the desk and give them his name,” she says. She’s a stern-looking woman, the kind who would make a scary teacher. “They can help you.”
“Thanks.” Another smile.
She walks away, and he doubles back, making another loop around the emergency area. It’s not that big in a town this size. Not too many emergencies around here.
Finally, he finds her.
She looks exactly as he remembers. Same curly hair, all tied up in an unruly mess. Same rosy cheeks. Even the same pinkish lips. A sweet woman. She took good care of him until his parents arrived.
And she’s not pregnant, or at least she doesn’t look it. Maybe those fertility treatments aren’t working.
“Aren’t you...?” he says, stepping toward her. “You were here when I broke my arm. I remember, you’re the one who wrapped it.”
She blinks at him. “Oh, I... Wait, wait. Yes, I remember. Zeke?”
“Zach,” he says. “Zach Ward.”
“Close.” She smiles at him. He remembers she smiles a lot. “I’m Allison Crutcher.”
