The Beginning of After

at my house with his enormous backpack. It was like email and real speaking were two different languages, and we were both fluent in one and sucky at the other. But I had already figured out how I was going to break the ice.
    “It smells totally gross in there,” I said.
    David exhaled, smoky. “Yeah, right? What is that?”
    “I think it’s a combination of a bunch of really disgusting things you don’t want to think about.”
    He snorted a bit, then raised the cigarette to his lips.
    “Can I have a puff?” I asked.
    “Of this?” He looked genuinely surprised, and I was glad. “You don’t smoke.”
    “I’ve done it before. With Meg and Mary Dill one night last year.” The three of us had shared one, and we’d all been completely lame at it, but suddenly it seemed like the thing to do.
    “Sure,” said David, handing me the cigarette. “But just for the record, you don’t have a puff , you have a drag . If you’re going to pick up bad habits, you should get the lingo right.”
    “Drag. Got it.” I took it from him and put my mouth on it, and said a silent prayer that I wouldn’t cough my guts out. But I breathed the smoke into my lungs and held it for a second, then blew it out. It tasted horrible but felt funny, in a good way. Like I was someone else for a second. I handed the cigarette back to him and asked, “How was it?”
    “Unbelievably weird.”
    “I bet.”
    “My dad and I . . . we were never—”
    “I know.”
    “It was easier before he woke up. Not necessarily better. Just easier.”
    “Right.”
    David took a final puff—I mean drag—and threw the cigarette butt in the fountain. We both looked at it for a moment, floating on the water. He sighed and fished it out, then walked it over to a nearby garbage can.
    “So, what happens next?” It was my chicken question. I didn’t have to bring up details like whether he was going to stay. He could fill in the blanks he wanted to, and I was sure I’d be happy with that.
    “I guess I have to stick around for a bit. The doc said it’s good for him to see me.”
    “But you’d rather not,” I pressed.
    David looked hard at me, and seemed to make a decision. It’s okay, it’s her. She knows. After a few seconds, he said, “I don’t know what I want. I just want to get on with my life. I thought I had that figured out, but now . . . I mean, am I going to have to take care of him? If he’s in a wheelchair? Is that what I’m going to be about?”
    I just shrugged. I had been waiting for my window of opportunity.
    “Does he remember what happened the night of the accident?” I tried to make my curiosity sound casual instead of raging.
    A shadow flickered across David’s face. “No. At least, not yet.” He looked sadly at me. “No answers for you there, Laurel. If that’s what you’re waiting for.”
    Was it? Maybe not, after all. Because I still wanted to go upstairs.
    “Do you mind if I see him anyway?”
    David paused, and his features tensed for a moment. “My grandmother says you already did . . . right after I told you I didn’t want you to.”
    “He’s awake now,” I said firmly but gently, resisting the urge to apologize.
    “Yeah, but he’s really out of it. He barely knows who people are.”
    “I’ll just stay for a minute. It’s just that . . . I’m here. I don’t think I’ll be back.” Then I took a deep breath, inhaling the strength to fight for what I knew I deserved. “Don’t you think I have a right?”
    David stared at the fountain for a moment and then, without looking at me, said, “Go. Just promise me you won’t ask him about the accident.”
    I nodded and slipped silently away from him, out of the garden.
    The room hadn’t changed since the last time I’d been there, except for the quiet.
    Mr. Kaufman lay in the same bed, wearing the same navy pajamas, but he was breathing on his own. I realized how comforting the sound of the respirator had been, the steady rhythm something known and predictable in a totally messed-up scenario.
    His eyes were closed, and I felt a combination of relief and disappointment. In theory, I’d wanted to see him awake. I’d wanted to talk to him and have him talk back. But the thought of that had also terrified me.
    What would he think when he saw me? What would he say? Would he apologize? I’d tried to come up with something for me to say but couldn’t.
    If he’s sleeping, I shouldn’t wake him. . . . Maybe I can come back.
    But