Aspen stares at Layla in disbelief. Then she brings her hands to her forehead as if she doesn’t know what to make of the last minute of her life. She shakes her head, confused. Unconvinced. “Come inside the house with me, Layla,” she says, reaching a hand out to her sister.

Layla just stares at it. Then she shakes her head. “Aspen, I know that was weird. I’m sorry. I do things I can’t explain sometimes . . . because of the brain injury. I thought it would be a funny joke. It fell flat.”

Aspen studies her sister’s face . . . looking for a sign. A silent plea for help, maybe. “This is seriously fucked up,” she says. Then she pushes past us and heads to the house.

Chad watches Aspen disappear into the house. Then he downs the rest of his beer. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You guys are strange,” he says, right before he follows after Aspen.

It’s just Layla and me outside now.

Layla covers her face with her hands. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

I pull her in for a hug. “They’ll get over it.”

Layla shakes her head adamantly. “Aspen won’t. I saw the look on her face. She doesn’t trust you now.” She presses her face against my chest. “We can’t keep doing this, Leeds. I want it to stop.”

I nod, but only because I want her to relax. I’ll momentarily agree with anything if it puts her mind at ease.

“Tonight. I want to do it tonight.”

I shake my head. “Please, no.”

“We’re doing it tonight.” Her voice is resolute. Her words final.

I feel like I’ve sunk to the bottom of the pool. My lungs feel dense with water. I clear my throat. “How are we supposed to do this tonight? Your sister is here.”

As if she’s been thinking about it the whole time, she answers immediately. “I think drowning would be the easiest way. We’d have to time it perfectly. You’d have to be sure my heart stops before you start to resuscitate me.”

I separate myself from her and begin to pace the concrete surrounding the pool. “I don’t know that I feel comfortable with that. I don’t even know how to do CPR.”

“Aspen is a nurse.”

“Aspen won’t go along with this,” I say.

Layla closes any space between us and lowers her voice. “She doesn’t have to. We’ll play it off like it isn’t planned. Like it’s an accident. As soon as my heart stops beating, you’ll yell for her. I made sure one of their bedroom windows is open, so she’ll hear you. And if she doesn’t, just run to the window and wake her up.”

That’s why she put them downstairs. “You already had this planned out?”

Layla’s eyes are firm. “Don’t judge me. You have no idea what it’s like for me.”

There’s a world of pain in her expression like I’ve never seen. I don’t even know how to argue against that pain.

She’s right. I don’t know what it’s like for her. I won’t even pretend to know. All I can do at this point is love her enough to attempt to find trust in her instincts.

“What if I can’t bring you back right away? What happens if the ambulance takes your body away before you’re able to slip back into it?”

“Don’t let them. Make sure Aspen brings me back.”

“How do you know Aspen will know what to do?”

“She’s a nurse. She saves lives every day.”

I don’t like this. “What if it works and we bring your body back? How do we know Sable won’t come back instead of you?”

“I won’t let her, Leeds.” Layla says that with such conviction I can’t help but trust her. I pull her to me and rest my chin on top of her head. For the first time since finding out ghosts are real . . . I’m terrified.

“I love you.”

Her words are muffled against my chest when she says, “I love you too. So much. That’s how I know this is going to work.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

It’s been two hours since we came upstairs to prepare for Layla’s drowning.

Two hours since it started to feel like my world might be coming to an end.

She has everything planned out. She even wrote down instructions and is making me study them like this is some kind of fucking college exit exam.

Hold me under until I’m no longer struggling for air.

Check my pulse. When it stops, call 911 immediately.

Wake up Aspen.

Start resuscitation.

You only have five minutes to save my life.

 

I let the paper fall to the bed. Five minutes. I can’t read it again.

“Do you need more time to look it over?” she asks me.

“I’m going to need years before I’m ready to do this.”

She lifts a hand and touches the side of my head. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. But the longer we let this go on, the weaker I’m going to be. We need to do it now before we have more slipups. Before Aspen becomes even more suspicious.” She grabs the sheet of paper and folds it up. Then she walks to the bathroom and flushes it in the toilet. On her way back into the bedroom, she grabs my laptop and sets it on her side of the bed. She clears her throat and then says, “I typed up a suicide note. I think it’s important to have, just in case.”

I cover my face with my hand. “A suicide note?” I can’t keep my voice down. “How are you so calm about this? You just wrote a suicide note, Layla.”

“I don’t want you to take the fall if this doesn’t work. I scheduled it to send as an email for four hours from now. You know the login to my email. If I don’t make it . . . allow the email to send. But if I do make it . . . delete it. Because it’s going to everyone, Leeds. You, Aspen, my mother . . .” Her voice is even—mechanical, almost—as if she’s completely detached from the reality of what we’re about to do.

She grabs my hand, wanting me to stand up. Wanting me to follow her.

The next several minutes feel surreal. I follow her out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and to the backyard.

She walks calmly into the pool, and so much of this moment is wrapped in the night we met. The first time we spoke was in this pool. Our first kiss was in this pool.

Why does it feel like our final goodbye might happen in the pool?

My pulse is frantic. I can’t catch a breath. The reality of what we’re about to do may not be absorbing into her, but it has taken over every part of me.

She’s standing in the middle of the pool, in the same spot where I found her floating on her back that first night we met. And by some miracle, she has the same expression on her face. Serene. “I need you in the water with me, Leeds.” I realize she’s remaining as calm as she is because she knows if she doesn’t, I’ll talk her out of this. I’ll talk myself out of this.

But she’s right. We need to do it now, before she becomes even weaker from lack of sleep.

I’m reluctant as I make my way toward the pool. The water is warm when I step into it, and it hits me that she had me turn on the pool heater yesterday—not so we could swim but for this very purpose.

We keep our eyes locked together as I make my way to her.