The Beginning of After

My parents didn’t think I knew but they struggled to support us, and sometimes they didn’t quite make it and needed help from Nana.
    “But I don’t want you to concern yourself with all this accident stuff,” said Nana now. “It doesn’t affect us.”
    “Of course it affects us. How can it not affect us?” I asked, not ready to drop it yet.
    Now Nana turned from sad to a little fierce, her eyes narrowing.
    “We have our own job with grieving and getting on with our lives. I won’t let them keep you from being able to do that.”
    I saw that she had tears in her eyes, and all I wanted was to take them out.
    “I’m sorry, Nana,” I said. “You’re right.”
    She nodded, then went into the kitchen and came out with a plate of brownies. “I made these to celebrate the SATs.”
    And just like that, the conversation was over.

Chapter Five

    I t rained hard the next day. “Pissing,” as my dad liked to say. It was pissing out, drumming a steady, angry rhythm onto the roof of the Volvo and the slate stones of our front terrace. Nana let me stay in bed, watching TV, eating my special SAT brownies. Masher lay on my left, stretched out alongside my body with one front leg across my arm. Elliot and Selina took turns at the foot of the bed.
    Once, toward late afternoon, I heard Nana approach my bedroom door. I quickly dropped my head to the side, closed my eyes, and opened my mouth a bit in expert pretended zzz ’s. I knew this made her happy; one more thing to check off on her mental daily list. Make sure Laurel gets enough sleep.
    But then someone knocked on the front door.
    I heard Nana open it, and a voice I couldn’t place. After a few minutes, curiosity got the better of me, and I wandered out of my room.
    David Kaufman was sitting on the bench in our foyer, taking off his boots. He was drenched, and Nana was already in the kitchen making him coffee.
    “Hi,” I said, and he looked up.
    “Hi, Laurel,” he said, and it occurred to me that he probably hadn’t said my name out loud, to anybody, in years.
    He looked bad. Dark circles pressed themselves against the skin under his eyes, which didn’t seem as round as they used to be, and he’d broken out. I couldn’t help staring at this one really big zit on his nose.
    David took off his jacket and reached up to hang it on one of the wall hooks, then noticed that Toby’s jean jacket was already there. He paused; when I didn’t react, he carefully put his jacket on top of Toby’s.
    I didn’t know what else to say to him. It seemed crazy yet perfectly sensible that he should be in my house at this moment. I could continue with “How are you?” but knew I hated the question myself.
    Then I thought of Mr. Kaufman, and the anger rose in me. Keeping my voice steady, trying to make it sound more curious than vengeful, I asked, “What’s going on with your dad?”
    “They’ve moved him out of ICU, but there’s still no change,” he said, rubbing one of his feet where the sock had soaked through. I had a quick flashback of David and me sitting on that bench when we were kids, pulling snow-encrusted mittens and hats away from our limbs and onto the floor.
    “He could wake up any day, they say,” continued David. “They say my being there might help that happen, so that’s why I’m not coming home.” This came out all practiced and mechanical, like it was a line he’d been using a lot. He said it like there was no reason why I wouldn’t want his dad to be okay.
    Nana came out of the kitchen and beckoned us over to the table.
    “Is Masher here?” said David. “I came home for some clothes, and my grandfather said you’d taken him.”
    “Yeah. Mr. Mita wasn’t—”
    “Thank you,” David said, cutting me off. Hearing David’s voice in the house must have woken Masher up, because, on cue, he came bursting down the stairs.
    David fell to his knees to hug his dog, his face in the thick ring of fur around his neck, and they stayed that way for what seemed like minutes. I put two very large spoonfuls of sugar in my coffee, slowly.
    When he finally let go of Masher, he was fighting back tears. Nana handed him a box of Kleenex—she had installed one in every room—and he turned his back to us, cleaning himself up.
    “He seems happy. Thank you,” said David when he swiveled back around. “Do you mind watching him for a little while longer?”
    Something about David’s face right then, so fragile and temporary, felt familiar. Had I