I hear the door open, and then silence. Mom says, “You’re sopping wet. Come in. It’s for you, Alix,” she calls.

Joss always picks the worst times, I think.

I round the corner and stop dead.

Liana’s in the foyer, drenched from head to toe.

Nothing—not a word—passes between us.

“Where’s your car?” Mom glances over Liana’s shoulder.

“It died,” Liana says. To me, she adds, “I’ve been driving around the block for hours, and it ran out of gas.”

Driving around doing what? I wonder.

“You’re shivering,” Mom says. “Alix, why don’t you take Liana upstairs and get her into some dry clothes?”

That’s not a good idea, I want to say. She might pound me into dog meat.

Mom asks her, “Do you want to stay for dinner? There’s plenty.”

“No,” I snap at Mom. Liana’s suffered enough pain at my hands.

Mom ignores me.

Liana says, “That’s okay. I don’t want to put you out. I just wanted to talk to Alix.”

About what?

“It’s no problem,” Mom says. “I always make enough to feed an army.”

Liana holds my eyes.

Why is Mom doing this? Torturing her, and me?

Once we cross the threshold of my room, Liana shuts the door behind her. She shoves me onto the bed and plops beside me, sitting on one bent leg. “True or false,” she says. “If I hadn’t met you, I never would’ve learned about Swan’s lies.”

“You might have eventually.”

“How? Who was going to tell me? You’re the only one who was even considerate enough to think I might want to know she was dead. Question two: true or false. I never would’ve gotten my ring back if it wasn’t for you.”

“Jewell might’ve found it when she was cleaning out the room.” Except I doubt Jewell knew about the ring if Joss didn’t.

“The answer’s true,” Liana says. She goes on, “If we hadn’t gone through this the way we did, I never would’ve gotten to use another forgiveness chip with God. Every one I trade in gets me closer to heaven.”

She can’t mean she forgives me.

She focuses on my face. “I wouldn’t have met you and fallen in love.”

I lower my eyes. “No. You would’ve met someone better. More honest. More trustworthy.”

“Alix!” Her tone of voice jolts my head up. “How can I forgive you if you can’t forgive yourself?”

I feel tears burning my eyes.

She scoots close, resting her forehead on mine. “I’ve missed you so much.” She holds my face between her hands and kisses me.

I can’t even speak to tell her how much I love and miss her.

It’s like time has simply been suspended while I waited for this moment. We fall back on the bed and kiss until a knock sounds. Mom says through the door, “Dinner’s ready.”

“Shit.” I bolt to a sitting position. “We’ll be there in a minute.”

“Should I set a place for you, Liana?” Mom asks.

I answer, “Yes, please.”

Not only is Liana wet, but now my front is all damp. Mom’s folded a stack of clean clothes for me to put away, so I dig out a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt for each of us. It’s going to look suspicious that I’ve changed clothes, but I don’t care. We both turn our backs to change.

Except I peek and see she’s wearing a Victoria’s Secret polka-dot bra. Goose bumps.

She’s the same height as me, but my clothes look better on her. Sexy. Probably because she has more curves.

She gathers her pile of wet clothes and asks, “What do you want me to do with these?”

I take them from her. “I’ll put them in the dryer during dinner. They should be ready by the time you leave.” She clenches my free hand and that familiar tingle zaps me. “I can’t believe this is happening. Pinch me,” I say.

So she does. Hard enough for me to yelp.

Liana’s manners are impeccable, of course. She compliments Mom on the chili and answers questions about her family. I learn that her mom works part-time at the post office and volunteers at church, and she tells them about her dad’s research at UNC.

After dinner, Liana starts rinsing chili bowls in the sink.

“You two go,” Dad says to us. “I’ll take care of this.”

Liana tells him, “I need to get a tow to a gas station. And call home, too, to let my mom and dad know where I am and that I’ll be late.” She adds, “I, uh, left my cell in the car, so would it be okay if I used your phone?”

Mom’s beeper goes off. “It’s still pouring out.” She hurries over and lifts the phone from the cradle. “You shouldn’t be driving in this weather, especially all the way to Greeley. Why don’t you ask your parents if you can stay the night?”

Did that come from my mother’s mouth? My. Mother?

Mom says, “We can take care of your car in the morning.” Then she speaks into the phone: “What’s up?”

Liana says to me, “I’m used to driving in bad weather.”

I overhear Mom say, “But she’s only at twenty-five weeks.” She listens, and then adds, “I’ll be there as fast as I can.” She races out of the room and up the stairs. Over the railing, she calls, “Alix, fix up the guest bedroom for Liana.”

“Feel free to use the phone,” Dad says at the same time.

Liana calls and explains the situation, and then says under her breath, “Papá…” She sighs. “Just a minute.” Handing the phone to Dad, she goes, “My dad wants to talk to you.”

I take Ethan from him, and Dad assures Liana’s father that she’s welcome to stay the night and tomorrow until the rain subsides, and then they talk about hydroplaning and splash back.

I say, “You want to see Ethan crawl?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “He’s getting so big. It’s amazing what a difference twenty-seven days makes.”

She’s been counting the days?

Mom rushes through the kitchen, looking panicked.

“Good luck,” I call to her back. She doesn’t acknowledge it.

The dryer buzzes and Dad comes into the living room to relieve me of Ethan. As soon as I pull Liana’s clothes out, she’s beside me, taking them. “I really appreciate this, Alix,” she says.

I’d forgotten how big her eyes are, and how lustrous her hair. If Dad wasn’t within viewing range…

“The guest room is this way.” I wedge by her, my knees wobbly.

Our so-called guest room is mostly used for storage, so I start shoving boxes against the wall to find the bed. Liana helps, of course, and I wish I could tell her to just let me do it because every time she gets near, I’m tempted to throw her on the bed.

She must be feeling the same way because she presses me against the wall and smothers me in a deep kiss. In the doorway, Dad clears his throat, and I slither out of her arms.

“Let me finish rearranging,” he says. “Alix, you go find sheets and blankets and a pillow.” Do I detect a smile on his face?

After we’re done preparing the room, Dad leaves to check on Ethan in his crib. All I want to do is shut the door, turn off the lights, and pick up where we left off.

Liana must read my mind or anticipate my move because she says, “I’m scared, Alix. I want you so badly, I don’t think I could say no. Please understand.”

I do.

“Plus, I’m exhausted,” she says. “Would it be okay if I just went to bed?”

“Yeah, of course.” I’m suddenly feeling drained, too. Pop quizzes do that to me. “Do you want some pj’s?”

“Do you have a pair with bunnies or duckies?” she asks.

“No, but I have a merry widow.”

She laughs. God, I’ve missed that laugh. “Do you have a long shirt or a nightgown?” she says.

Me, wear a nightgown? “Let me go get you a shirt.”

Without warning, we hear a sound like bullets hitting the window, like machine-gun fire. We both duck down, covering our heads. Then we realize how dumb that looks and giggle. We go over to the window and gaze out. Rain is still sluicing down the glass, but now the ground is covered with pearls of ice. “It’s hailing,” we say in unison. She slugs me. “Owe me a Coke.”

“Oh, man. I hope it doesn’t dent my new car.”

She turns to me. “You got a car?”

“For no reason, except maybe they were tired of me bugging them a hundred times a day.”

“Or they felt you deserved it.” She rests her head on my shoulder.

The hail is unrelenting. Now I really am worried about my car. “Hopefully, Dad got me denters’ insurance.”

She twists to face me. “Is there such a thing?”

I just look at her. She wraps her hands around my neck and fake strangles me. She says, “I remember a couple of years ago we got this softball-sized hail. It didn’t last too long, thank goodness, and afterward I went out and found the biggest chunk I could. It was actually a whole lot of little pieces of hail all globbed together. I put it in the freezer to keep forever. I wonder what happened to it.”

I remember that storm, too. “Hang on,” I say, and then sprint downstairs to the kitchen. At the back of the freezer is a Baggie, and I pull it out. I run back upstairs and show it to Liana.

Her eyes grow wide. She tosses me this lopsided smile and goes, “Great minds think alike.”

Chapter 25

I hear Mom come in around two AM. I haven’t been able to sleep, knowing Liana’s just down the hall. Slipping out of bed, I go over and crack open my door. It startles Mom. “What are you doing up?” she whispers.

“Can’t sleep. Is the baby okay?”

Mom’s face tells the answer. I open my door all the way.

“We tried to stop the labor, but she had a placental abruption. The baby weighed just over a pound, and we kept him alive for six hours. But his lungs were severely underdeveloped, and he had a heart defect. Then his brain began to hemorrhage. Poor little thing.”

I go over and hug Mom around the waist. It’s tragic. Dying young, at any age.

Mom says, “At least we saved the mom. I’m wiped. I need to go to bed.” She unlocks my arms from behind her and plants a kiss on my head.

I return to my room, and a minute later a soft knock sounds on the door. I get up to answer it. Liana’s there, her arms folded across her chest.

“Did the baby make it?” she asks.

I shake my head.

Her face falls. I hear Mom and Dad talking in their room, so I pull Liana into mine and shut the door.

“I can’t sleep,” she says.

“Me neither.” In the glow of my digital alarm, all I can see is her silhouette, but it brings me to full alert. “You want to watch a movie on my iPad?”

“Sure,” she goes.

She trails me to my desk, and when I stop abruptly, she runs into me. She giggles. It makes me want to laugh, too, but I suppress it.

“Did you close your door? Because if my mom or dad knows you’re in here with me…”

We both pad to the door and peek out to make sure the coast is clear.

“Be right back,” Liana whispers. She tiptoes down the hall, closes her door quietly, and then tiptoes back.

There’s only one chair at my desk, but we could sit on the floor, or the bed. She says, “I promise to keep my hands and lips to myself if you do.”

I raise a palm. “Scout’s honor.”

She asks, “Were you ever a scout?”

“Hell no.”

She laughs, and then claps a hand over her mouth.

I place the iPad between us as she hops into bed beside me. As we’re scrolling through movies, I ask her, “Do you think it’s harder to lose a baby who’s only been alive for six hours, or a person who’s a little older? Say, seventeen. Someone who’s left a mark.” Even if it was scuff marks on others’ hearts.

Liana doesn’t answer for a long time. At last she says, “I don’t think it matters. You either love your children or you don’t. They’ll always be a part of you.”

I wasn’t talking about parents. I meant me. Her.

“Let me know if you see something you like.” I’m on the third or fourth page of movies before I realize her eyes are locked on me.

“What?”

“I see something I like.” She takes the iPad, leans across me, and sets it on the nightstand. Hovering over me, she lowers her head and kisses me, gently at first, and then more passionately. I know I should turn away, tell her to stop, but I can’t. I want her.

She takes me in her arms and rolls me to the side to face her. “I lied,” she says.

“Me too.”

I close my eyes and we’re kissing again. Then, just as quickly as we started, we stop. Liana throws an arm over me and we just cuddle. Talk.

“Can I ask you a question?” I say.

“Ask me anything. I don’t want us to ever keep secrets, Alix.”

“Cross my heart and hope to—”

She grabs my hand and presses it to her heart. “Live.”

“Live.” Although that promise is up to fate.

“What’s your question?” she asks.

“It’s about your religion,” I say. “I don’t want to offend you.”

“You won’t. What do you want to know?”

“Do you ever think it’s hypocritical to be Catholic, knowing that they condemn g*y people?”