The arguments were so familiar that Sara could practically recite them along with Nell. She’d tortured herself with the same recriminations after Jeffrey had died. Sara should’ve stopped him from working with Lena. She should’ve put her foot down. She should’ve told him that it was too dangerous, too risky, to get involved in Lena’s life.

But his focus had always been on saving other people, never on saving himself.

Sara told Nell, “You can’t second-guess yourself.”

“Can’t I?” She indicated the waiting room. “I got all the time in the world to think about everything I’ve done wrong.”

Sara forced a change in subject. “I saw Possum in the hall.”

Nell slumped back against the couch. She didn’t speak for a few seconds. “He’s just a wreck. Keeps breaking down. I ain’t seen him cry like that in five years. Won’t listen to the doctors. Won’t go into Jared’s room. It’s not because of Lena. He always got along with her. You know how friendly he is. The man would talk to a stump about its knots. But all this stuff—” She waved her hand in the air, indicating the hospital. “It just brings it back for him. You, too, I guess.”

Sara looked past Nell at the floral painting on the wall. Unbidden, she thought about Will. Lying on the couch with him. Watching TV. His arms around her. Their dogs piled around them.

Nell said, “We all went to the hospital that night.” She didn’t have to say which night. “Drove straight through without stopping. Like there was any use him being at a hospital. Nothing could be done for him by then. Hell, if there was something to do, you woulda done it.”

Sara felt the image of Will slip away. The vulture was back with its guilt, digging its talons into her flesh.

Nell continued, “I know we lost touch with you for a reason. It’s just too painful, isn’t it? And here I dragged you back down into all of it. I’m sorry for that, Sara. I didn’t know who else to call.”

Sara nodded. All she could manage was, “Jeffrey would’ve wanted me here.”

Nell said, “I wish to God I’d told him about Jared sooner. Given him a chance to know his son.”

“He understood why you didn’t,” Sara said, thinking that was only half a lie. Jeffrey had been trying to find a way to connect with Jared before he died. It was a tricky proposition. Nell could be a hard woman, and Possum deserved better than to have some other man come in and try to be Jared’s father.

Nell asked, “Do you remember the first time I met you?”

It felt like a hundred years ago, but Sara said, “Yes.”

“You musta thought Jeffrey was crazy drivin’ you down past where Jesus lost his sandals.”

Sara smiled. Sylacauga, Alabama, was the very definition of rural, but she had been so pleased that Jeffrey wanted her to meet his family, his people. “We crashed your garden party.”

“You told me you were a stripper.”

Sara laughed. She’d forgotten that part. Nell had prompted the response, asking Sara whether she was a stewardess or a stripper. They’d all had this idea of Jeffrey in their heads—the sort of man he was, the type of woman he dated.

And they had been so wrong.

“Anyway,” Nell said. “We’re miserable enough without digging up the past. I know you still deal with it every single day.” Again, she took Sara’s hand in her own, but this time, she smoothed out the finger where Sara’s wedding ring used to be. “I’m glad you took it off, darlin’. Someday when enough time’s passed, you’ll find a way to move on.”

Sara nodded again, forcing herself not to look away.

Five years.

She had mourned her husband for five years. She had been alone for five years. She had waited and waited for the ache to go away for five long, lonely years.

“Sara?”

Sara realized she’d missed a question. “Yes?”

“I asked could you go check on him? I know it’ll be hard with Lena in there, but maybe you can do some of your doctor talk and see if you can find out anything they’re not saying?”

Sara couldn’t think of a reason not to. It was why she was here, after all. To help Nell. To help Jared. To be her husband’s proxy as his son lay in a hospital bed. Even Chief Lonnie Gray had assumed Sara would play her part.

So she did.

Sara stood from the couch and left the tiny waiting room. She was still dressed in her hospital scrubs. The nurses’ eyes passed over Sara as she pushed open the doors to the ICU and walked down the hall. The board behind the desk gave Jared’s room number, but Sara would’ve known where he was by the cop stationed outside. The officer was standing a few yards down from the nurses’ station, arm resting on his holster. There was a glass wall separating Jared’s room from the hall. The curtain was half-closed. The door was open.

The cop gave Sara a nod. “Ma’am.”

She didn’t respond, just stood in the doorway to the room, acting as if she belonged.

The overhead lights were off. The machines provided a soft glow to see by. Jared’s face was swollen. His body was still. Sara did not need to see his chart. The equipment in the room told the story. Pleur-evac connected to wall suction for the pneumothorax. Ventilator to assist breathing. Three IV pumps pushing fluids and antibiotics. NG tube to wall suction to keep the stomach empty. Pulse ox monitor. Blood-pressure monitor. Heart monitor. Urinary catheter. Surgical drains. A crash cart was pushed against the wall, the defibrillator on standby.

They weren’t expecting Jared to rally anytime soon.

With great resignation, Sara forced herself to look at the corner opposite the bed.

Lena was sleeping. Or at least her eyes were closed. She was balled up in a large chair. Her arms were wrapped around her legs, knees hugged to her chest. She was wearing hospital scrubs, probably because her clothes had been booked into evidence.

She seemed much the same. A yellowing bruise arced underneath her left eye. The bridge of her nose had a linear cut that had started to scab. Neither was unexpected. Sara could not think of a time when Lena didn’t have some visible bruise or mark that came from living her life so hard. The only thing different was her hair. It was longer than the last time Sara had seen her. At the funeral? Sara couldn’t remember. No one in the Linton family could bear to utter the woman’s name.

Sara took a deep breath, then walked into the room.

In many ways, seeing Jared was much harder than seeing Lena. He looked so much like Jeffrey—the dark hair, the tone of his skin, the delicate eyelashes. He was built like his father. He walked with the same athletic grace. Jared even had the same deep voice.

Sara put her hand to his face. She couldn’t stop herself. She stroked her thumb along his forehead, traced the arc of his eyebrow. His hair was thick and surprisingly soft, like Jeffrey’s had been. Even the scruff of his beard felt familiar, was growing back in the same pattern as Jeffrey’s.

Lena still hadn’t moved, but Sara could tell she was awake now—watching.

Slowly, Sara took her hand away from Jared’s face. She would not let herself feel ashamed for touching him, for thinking the obvious thoughts, making the obvious connections.

Lena shifted in the chair. She unfolded herself, rested her feet on the floor.