“Why are you here?” I asked, not even attempting to sound polite. I was too tired for polite.

He held up the coffee. “Well, I thought that was obvious. Bringing a friend a cup of joe and seeing just how early she gets here every day.” He glanced back at the clock on the wall. “Seven sharp. Impressive.”

I was a challenge to him. That’s what Knox had said. Maybe he was right.

The thing was, I didn’t want to be a challenge. I had Crawford to worry about.

“Thanks for the coffee,” I said, and took the one he was offering me. “Are you going to see your uncle now?”

He laughed. “No way. He’d kill me if I woke him up this early. He already bitches out the nurses for waking him up at eight to eat. Not a friendly guy.”

And Slate made those nurses feel lots better, I was sure.

I put my bag down, then took a seat two over from him. There was no reason to sit too close. I wasn’t into this challenge thing. Telling him so seemed like the best course of action.

“Knox mentioned that you like chasing girls and that I’m a challenge. Let’s just be clear—I’m not. I love Crawford. I’ll always love Crawford. No contest here. But I appreciate the coffee.”

That didn’t sound as sophisticated as I had hoped, but there it was.

When he didn’t say anything right away, I glanced over at him, and he was taking a drink of his coffee while studying the wall like there was a piece of art on it rather than a clock.

“Do you know what I used to do at five every morning?” he asked.

Weird question and completely not on topic, but I went with it.

“What?”

He turned his head to me. “I used to get up and feed the chickens and collect their eggs, clean the horses’ stalls—we had three—and then fill the water trough for the horses before feeding the dogs and going inside to get breakfast started. Uncle D drank too heavily every evening to get up and do much. So before school I handled that shit.”

None of it even sounded believable and I didn’t know why he was telling me this.

He stood up then and gave me a sincere smile. “Have a good day, Vale. I hope your boy opens his eyes.”

Then he walked away.

* * *

I SAT FOR the next hour wondering what that conversation had meant and why Slate had told me such a strange story. He never reacted to what I said, and I started wondering if I’d imagined speaking to him. Once my coffee was gone and my legs were stiff from sitting, I got up and decided to walk around the hospital some. It always scared me to get too far away from Crawford, but I needed to stretch my legs. My sleeping arrangements last night had made me sore.

I took the elevator to the children’s floor to see if they might need someone to read to the kids in the children’s activity room. I needed something to do while I waited. I could at least be helpful.

A deep voice I recognized stopped me as I opened the door. I looked in the window behind the Dr. Seuss poster that covered most of the glass and saw Slate sitting in a large red chair with a book in his hands. Three little girls and two boys sat on the floor in front of him. Four of the five kids were bald. One little girl held a teddy bear tightly to her chest as she looked up at Slate with wide eyes.

He was reading. To the kids. And he was doing a good job because he had their complete attention. I stood there and watched, letting the door close quietly. I didn’t want him to see me, but I had to be sure that what I was seeing was for real. I didn’t imagine Slate as a guy who would spend his morning reading to sick kids. But there he was, smiling and making different voices that made the kids laugh.

After a few moments, I stepped out and made my way back down to Crawford’s floor. The image of Slate reading aloud wasn’t going to leave me. He might be a player, but he was a nice guy. He had a heart. He was visiting me because I was alone, waiting for my boyfriend to wake up. Not once had he actually hit on me. I’d just assumed.

Over the next three days my coffee was waiting on me when I arrived, but there was no Slate. Not a sign of him. All day.

Finally the coffee and absent Slate got to me. When I went in to see Crawford at four, I sat my bag down and looked at him. “I’ve met this guy and he’s messed with my head. I think I hurt his feelings and his uncle is very sick and he reads to the kids on the children’s floor and I should have been more thoughtful. He didn’t do anything but bring me coffee. He still brings me coffee. But he’s never there. Doesn’t stop by. I don’t even see him in the halls making out with nurses. Yes, he makes out with the nurses in the halls. He is a player. According to Knox he’s the worst kind of player. They’re frat brothers. You know how frat boys are.” Sighing, I sat down on the chair beside him and stared at the familiar face I missed so much. He was here, but he wasn’t.

“I just need you to wake up. I’m losing it without you, Crawford.”

There was no movement. No new brain activity. Nothing.

“Maybe he would have been a good friend. I need one of those. All of ours don’t come around much. Seeing you upsets them and reminds them that life can change on a dime. I’m disappointed in them, but it’s true. Braxton left for UA this week. He stopped in last week to say good-bye. But he felt awkward. They all do. I can see it.”

Braxton had been Crawford’s best guy friend most of our lives. Of all people, I was most surprised by Braxton’s absence. In the beginning, everyone was here. Stopping by and bringing flowers, candy, balloons, and the like. Then after two weeks it slowed. Three weeks, not a soul. A month and they had all moved on to their summer thing. Vacations, packing for college, and moving.

It had gotten lonely. Slate was helping somewhat. He was a distraction. But I’d let Knox get to me and I’d been mean and run him off. Yet he still was kind enough to bring me coffee.

I should go check on his uncle. That was the nice thing to do. Show I care. I wondered if anyone other than Slate came to visit his uncle. Was he alone, too? Was that why he kept stopping by to visit me? He needed company that didn’t want to crawl in his lap and lick his face? Possibly.

Stupid Knox. I shouldn’t have listened to him.

“I think I’ll go visit his uncle tomorrow. He has cancer and he’s old. I bet he needs company. Besides, it’s lonely in that waiting room.”

Crawford didn’t say anything. But then, he still hadn’t opened his eyes.

“Ready for me to read chapter fifteen? I fell asleep before we got to it last night. Your mom had to wake me up. I’ll try to stay awake longer tonight. But, of course, if you’d wake up I would stay awake forever. It’s the silence that makes me sleepy. And possibly these machines.”

I reached into my bag and pulled out a book and my bottle of water. After taking a long drink, I got comfortable and opened the book to chapter fifteen. It was time the search party got serious. “Hope this ends good. I should have Googled it before I started reading it,” I told him.

CHAPTER EIGHT

KNOX WAS SITTING in the kitchen with a glass of milk and some brownies when I walked in the house. He always seemed to be eating lately. It was a miracle he stayed so slim.

“Where’s everyone?” I asked, setting my bag on the bar and going to the fridge for leftovers. I was starving. It had been a while since lunch.

“Mom is at Dylan’s watching the girls while they go on a date. Dad’s over at Rob’s watching baseball. I’m staying here to check on the baby”—he pointed his fork at me as if I didn’t know what baby he was talking about—“to ease everyone’s mind. It’s Friday night. You’re young and should be out enjoying life.”