23. Laney
Cade is in the hospital for the next couple of days.
One thing I’ll say for the man is he’s a fast healer, and, thankfully, he’s not showing any signs of permanent damage from the beating. We take turns visiting him, sneaking him takeout because he’s refusing to eat the terrible hospital food.
Within the first twenty-four hours, he started getting antsy and wanted to be discharged, but we managed to convince him to stay. I’m worried about the men who beat him up. What if they’re still out there and decide to finish the job?
Cade insists the business has been settled, but that doesn’t stop me worrying.
Then again, worrying seems to be my middle name these days.
I hate how anxious I am about everything.
When I go to bed at night, I repeatedly check the door and all the windows, making sure they’re all shut and locked tight.
Even when I’m in bed, I lie there, my ears straining to pick up on any sound, and then start to worry I forgot to lock something.
I’ve just left the hospital. Reed’s taken over sitting at Cade’s bedside, though Cade is rolling his eyes and insisting he doesn’t need to be babysat.
We’re all still concerned about him, though, especially after what the doctor said about chronic traumatic brain injury.
Cade might not be showing any signs of it yet, but that doesn’t mean he won’t.
I stop by the store on the way home. My refrigerator is empty, and while I haven’t been home much to cook, I still need the basics of milk and bread.
I grab a basket at the entrance, but my thoughts aren’t on my grocery shopping. There are times I feel as though I’m sleepwalking through my life, no longer present in my own reality. A part of me is still trapped in the cabin, and it’s as though I’m reliving those days over and over in my head.
For the life of me, I can’t think of what I need, and I alternate walking aimlessly up and down the aisles, to standing and staring at a shelf. The basket hooked over my arm remains empty.
It feels crazy that, back at the cabin, I used to daydream about being in a store, being able to choose whatever I wanted and gorge myself on it.
Now I’m here, my appetite has deserted me.
Perhaps it’s because I got used to not eating much, but I keep realizing I’ve missed entire meals—getting to lunchtime and not having eaten breakfast, or going to bed, only for it to dawn on me that I never ate dinner.
I know the lack of food isn’t good for me, and that I need to put on some weight, but it’s hard to force food inside me when I rarely have any appetite.
“Excuse me?”
A female voice yanks me from my daydream, and I turn to find a woman a little older than me standing behind me.
“Oh, sorry,” I say, assuming she wants to get to the shelves, and stepping out of the way.
Her forehead furrows. “You’re Laney Flores, aren’t you?”
Do I know this woman? I don’t recognize her, but she clearly knows me. My stomach sinks. I hope she’s not another reporter. I thought they’d given up already, moved onto some other story, exploited some other poor victims.
“Who are you?” My tone is brusque.
“My name is Stephanie Hawkins.”
The way she says it is as though she expects me to recognize her. A bell rings in my head, but I still can’t quite place it.
She must see my confusion as she adds, “Kirsty Hawkins’ sister.”
Kirsty Hawkins. Shit. The flight attendant, the one whose body we’d found hanging half out of the rear part of the plane. The one who’d died in the crash.
My cheeks flare with heat. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you.”
She waves a hand dismissively. “It’s fine, honestly. I imagine you’ve had a lot to deal with.”
Now I look at her, I can see the resemblance. But her eyes are bloodshot—from crying, perhaps—and her skin is pale. She’s slender, on the verge of underweight. Has she always been this thin, or is it weight loss caused by grief?
“I wondered if I could buy you a coffee?” she asks.
I glance down at my empty basket. I still haven’t managed to get what I came in here for. “What, now?”
“If that’s okay? I’d really love to talk to you.”
I have no idea what she’d want to talk to me about, but I don’t feel as though I can say no.
Don’t I owe this woman something? We could have done more to help the authorities find her sister’s body, but we’ve kept our mouths shut to protect ourselves.
It’s an utterly selfish act, and it was one that was easier to deal with when the family was only a name or an idea.
Now she’s standing here in the flesh, the reality of what we’ve done hits me in the chest.
I wish Reed was here, or even Darius or Cade. They’d know what to do or say to avoid this situation. A part of me just wants to turn tail and run, but my social niceties prevent me from doing so.
“Please,” she says. “Just for five minutes. I’ve got questions no one else would be able to answer. I just want to know what my sister’s final moments were like.”
“We were in a plane crash,” I reply numbly.
What does she think they were like? It was terrifying. One of the most terrifying moments of my life.
“Just one coffee,” she pleads.
I can’t say no.
I put the basket down beside me, abandoning it. “Okay, one coffee.”
She places her palms together in a prayer motion. “Thank you so much.”
I follow her out of the store in a daze. What the hell am I doing? My stomach is sick with guilt. What if I blurt out something I shouldn’t? What if I get everyone in trouble?
We enter a coffee shop across the street.
Stephanie gestures to a small round table in the corner. “Sit down, and I’ll get the coffees. What are you drinking?”
“Iced latte for me, thanks.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own.
She offers me a small smile and goes to order. I take a seat, choosing the one facing away from the rest of the coffee shop, so I have my back to the diners. I don’t want anyone else to recognize me.
Stephanie returns with the coffees and takes the seat opposite me. She pushes my drink across the table, and I take it in both hands, glad for the distraction.
“Thanks again for speaking with me,” she says. “It must be hard, reliving what happened over and over.”
“Everyone wants me to repeat everything, like it’s going to change.”
It could change, though—maybe it even should. I’m lying with every breath.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I add.
This is something I’m supposed to say, expected to say. It’s safe ground.
“Thank you. Same to you. You lost your mom right before the crash, didn’t you?”
I nod, not wanting to speak.
She presses her lips together. “I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through.”
I just want her to get on with it. “You said you had some questions?”
“About Kirsty, yes. How was she during the flight? Did she seem happy?” Stephanie searches my eyes for the truth, desperate to be reassured. My cheeks flare with heat, and I want to shrink in my seat, to slide under the table and melt into the floor.
The truth was that I didn’t pay much attention to Stephanie’s sister. I was too busy grieving my mother, and fighting with Cade, and trying to figure out what the hell had happened to my life.
“She seemed happy. She was laughing and smiling with the other passengers. She was professional with it, though. The moment it looked like something was going wrong with the plane, she gave us all instructions, and then buckled herself in.”
Stephanie swallows and blinks a couple of times. “How much time was there between things going wrong and the actual crash?”
I take a sip of the coffee through the straw in the lid. It’s ice-cold, and sweet, but I still struggle to swallow.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I blacked out.”
“Minutes? Seconds? Do you know if she was frightened? Was she screaming?”
I remembered the screams, mine as well as her sister’s. I hear them all the time, especially at night when I’m drifting into sleep.
“I don’t think so,” I lie. “She seemed very calm and in control. A professional, right up until the end.”
“Kirsty loved her job. It was all she ever wanted to do growing up.”
“Then she died doing something she loved.” It’s a platitude.
In my head, all I can see is Kirsty’s body, punctured by the tree branch, hanging there—the smell that had been in the air. I swallow hard and try to dispel the image that is startlingly bright and clear in my mind. Time hasn’t faded it at all.
Stephanie swipes at her eyes. “Yes, she did. I just wish the authorities could locate her body. Our parents are devastated, as I’m sure you can understand.
All we want is to be able to bury her. The thought of her rotting—” Her voice breaks, and she snatches a breath.
“I’m sorry, but it’s just too awful to stand. ”
I tighten my hands around my coffee. “I’m sorry, we’ve told them everything we can.
If we’d known some coordinates of where we were, it would be easier, but it’s not as though we had a map or a compass or anything like that.
Everything looks the same out there, and we were exhausted and starving and dehydrated. ”
I’m repeating what I’d said to the authorities. This part isn’t a lie. It’s not as though we could give anyone exact directions to the cabin, and then to the plane.
Tears stream down her face. “No, I know, but you must be able to remember something . Some kind of landmark. Anything that would help bring Kirsty home.”
“Like I said, everything looks the same. It’s just trees and more trees.”
I’m growing panicky in the face of this woman’s grief. I only want to get out of here, get away, run!
“I don’t believe that.” She grows more agitated with every word. “There has to be something! A rock or a river or a goddamned hill. Something!”
I can’t deal with this anymore.
“I’m sorry, I just—”