“I’m sure he got you off the couch, but after that it was all you. You didn’t have to come here and face reality, but you did. And you did that on your own. As for Zach . . . where did he go anyway? I wanted to thank him for everything.”
“It was just time for him to go home.”
I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I smelled the aromas of chicken and broccoli and fried rice. As soon as we got to Josh’s new room and Dad opened the bag, my stomach growled in response.
He handed out containers to everyone, and we all gathered around Josh’s bed and listened to the story of what he went through that day in the hallway of the science building.
I had been avoiding the topic. I didn’t want to know what he went through or what he felt. The thought of it alone terrified me—I didn’t need the actual details. But with my parents on either side, I felt like I was finally ready to hear it, and Josh was ready to tell it.
The last time I saw Josh cry was when he was eight and he fell off his bike. That day in the hospital room I saw him cry again for the first time in over a decade.
He talked about the girl who died beside him as he tried to keep her conscious with words of hope. He cried when he spoke of her last breath, and how she would never see her mom again. I wondered if the lady who collapsed in the hospital was her mother. It made my tumultuous last twenty-four hours seem petty.
Tears stained his cheeks. Mom took his hand in hers as Dad and I listened to every word. I learned that day crying doesn’t show weakness. There is no weakness in emotion. There’s love and hurt and regret, but not weakness.
“Anyway.” Josh wiped at his eyes. “I’m ready to put this behind me and move forward. I think I might come home for a little bit. I don’t think I could go back to that campus.”
“And you don’t have to,” Mom said. “Your bedroom is always waiting for you.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“I think this calls for fortune cookies,” Dad said and tossed one to each of us.
I popped the plastic open and took out the yellow cookie and cracked it in two.
I listened as everyone read their fortune, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of mine.
“Liz, what does yours say?” my mom asked.
I looked up, meeting her eyes, then looked back down at the small strip of paper in my hand and read.
“May the dreams of your past be the reality of your future.”
Chapter 22
Josh was shot Monday afternoon. He went home Thursday night with an appointment for a follow-up and a scheduled time with a physical therapist. They pushed him out in a wheelchair and handed him crutches. And just like that, life started to go back to normal.
Mom fussed over Josh on every step from the hospital to the car and then from the car to the couch, which would be his bed for the next couple of weeks until he was capable of getting up the stairs.
I stayed at my parents’ the first night, not wanting to let Josh out of my sight just yet. Then it would be back to my life. I’d already missed so much school.
When I woke up tomorrow I would have to go to class and face Zach. I couldn’t sleep.
I wandered into the kitchen and looked into the cabinet farthest from the fridge. All of my baking supplies were still there. Mom never threw them out. Maybe she had hope that one day I would get over whatever held me back. Or maybe she just forgot they were there.
Not only did I bake when I was upset—I also baked when I was confused, when I was happy, when I just wanted a chocolate chip cookie. And as my hand ran across the packages of flour and brown sugar, I got the urge to bake again.
I reached for the mixing bowl Mom had gotten me for my fourteenth birthday and started adding the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. A smile began to form as I cracked the first egg, and it only continued to grow with each ingredient I added to the mix.
By the time the second batch went in the oven, the kitchen was filled with my favorite scent and Josh appeared in the doorway.
“Do you know what time it is?” He rubbed his eyes while leaning on his crutches.
“Couldn’t sleep. What about you? Why are you up?” I asked as I scooped dough out of a bowl and placed it on a cookie sheet.
“It’s kind of hard to sleep through that smell,” he said, moving into the kitchen.
“Then grab a stool. I’ll get you a plate.” I put the last dough ball on the sheet and walked over to the cabinet.
“And some milk?” Josh said.
I looked over at him, eyebrow cocked. “Now you’re pushing it.”
“What? I was shot,” he said, pointing to his leg.
“How long are you going to use that?”
“As long as I can,” he said with a smile.
I was relieved to see him smile. After seeing him cry, I wasn’t sure if what happened to him would change him forever, especially since I heard stories on the news about soldiers who came home from war suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Josh might not have gone overseas, but it didn’t mean that day in the hallway wasn’t a war zone.
“So did you talk to Zach?” My brother was never one to beat around the bush.
“No,” I said and turned to get him a glass of milk.
“Why not?”
“Honestly.” I placed the glass on the counter. “I don’t know what to say. I’m so confused. And like Zach said, I have a boyfriend.”
“Who’s an ass,” Josh kindly pointed out.
“One person’s opinion,” I said, taking out the second batch of cookies and placing the third in the oven.
“The most important opinion,” he said.
“What am I supposed to do, Josh? Break up with Joe? Go back to Zach? I can’t do that.”
“Because you’re scared.”
“Yeah. I am.” I sat down on the stool across from Josh, a plate of cookies between us, just like old times.
Josh took a bite of a cookie, clearly thinking about what to say as he chewed.
“Remember when you found out Zach and I still talked?” he finally asked.
“Yeah,” I said eyes narrowing in on him.
“Remember when you asked if he asked about you?”
I had no idea what he was getting at but I sensed there was a point to the conversation. Josh didn’t talk to just talk.
“Yeah.” My eyebrow rose.
“I lied when I said he didn’t.”
I felt like I had been kicked in the gut. My brother had lied to me when I was at my lowest point.
“Why would you do that?” I asked, my voice rising.
“I didn’t want to get involved any more than I already was.” He took another cookie and instead of taking a bite, he shoved the whole thing in his mouth.
“Than you were? What does that mean Josh?” I felt the anger burning inside of me. For so long I had wanted answers, and Josh was hinting that he’d had them all along.
“Look, Liz, you’re my sister, and I love you.”
“And?”
“Zach used to email me and ask how you were holding up. He said you would tell him you were fine, but he didn’t think you were. So he’d ask me.”
“And what did you tell him, Josh?” I braced my hands on the counter to emphasize my anger, but to also
