They walked into the brightly lit lobby and Marah came to an abrupt stop. How many trips through this lobby had she made in her life?

Too many. And none had been happy.

Sit with me during chemo, baby girl. Tell me about Tyler ...

"You don't have to do this," Pax said, sounding a little irritated. "It's your life, not theirs."

She reached for his hand, but he pulled away. She understood: he wanted her to know that he didn't want to be here. When it came to her family, he might be beside her, but she was alone.

On the fourth floor, they exited the elevator and walked down a beige, brightly lit lobby toward the ICU. A place she knew all too well.

She saw her father and grandmother in the waiting room. Dad looked up, saw her. She slowed, feeling both fragile and defiant in his presence.

He stood slowly. His movement must have alerted Grandma Margie, because she got to her feet, too. Grandma frowned-no doubt at Marah's heavy makeup and pink hair.

Marah had to force herself to keep walking. She hadn't seen her dad in so long; she was surprised by how much older he looked.

Grandma Margie limped forward and pulled Marah into a fierce hug. "It can be hard to come home. Good for you." Grandma drew back, looked at Marah through teary eyes. She looked thinner since the last time Marah had seen her, skinny enough to blow away. "Grandpa's at home, waiting for your brothers. He sends his love."

Her brothers. Marah's throat tightened at the thought of them. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed them until right now.

Dad's hair was grayer than she remembered. A day's growth of beard shadowed his jawline. He was dressed like an old rock star, in a faded Van Halen T-shirt and worn Levi's.

He came closer, moving a little awkwardly, and pulled her into a hug. When he let go and stepped back, she knew they were both thinking about the last time they'd been together. She and Dad and Tully and Paxton.

"I can't stay long," Marah said.

"Do you have something more important to do?"

"Still judging us, I see," Pax said lazily. "Big surprise."

Dad seemed determined not to look at Pax, as if ignoring her boyfriend could change the fact of his existence. "I don't want to jump into this again. You're here to see your godmother. Do you want to see her?"

"Yes," Marah said.

Behind her Paxton made a sound she knew well, that little snort of derision. How many times had he reminded her that her family didn't really accept her unless she was Good Girl Marah, who did what they wanted and looked a certain way? And hadn't Dad proved the truth of it last December?

That's not love, Pax had said. They don't love the real you, and what's the use of anything else? I'm the one who loves you for you.

"Come on," Dad said. "I'll take you to her."

Marah turned to Paxton. "Will you-"

He shook his head. Of course he didn't want to go. He hated pretense of any kind. He couldn't pretend to care about Tully's health. That would be dishonest. It was too bad; she could have used a hand to hold right now.

She and Dad walked down the hallway. There were people all around them, coming and going. Nurses and doctors and orderlies and visitors, all speaking in hushed tones. The muted conversations underscored the silence between her and her father.

Outside a glass-walled room in the ICU, he stopped and turned to her.

"She's in bad shape. You need to prepare yourself."

"You can't prepare for the shit life throws at you."

"Words of wisdom from Paxton Conrath, I'll bet."

"Dad-"

He held up his hand. "Sorry. But you can prepare yourself. She doesn't look good. The doctors have lowered her body temperature and put her into a medically induced coma in hopes that her brain swelling will go down. A shunt is supposed to help with that. They've shaved her head and she's bandaged up, so be ready. The doctors think she can hear us, though. Your grandma spent two hours today talking about when Tully and your mom were kids."

Marah nodded and reached for the door.

"Baby?"

She paused, turned.

"I'm sorry about what happened in December."

She stared up at him, seeing remorse in his eyes-and love-and it affected her so profoundly that it was all she could do to mutter, "Shit happens." She couldn't think about him-and them-now. Turning away, she went into the ICU room and closed the door behind her.

The click of the door sent her back in time. Suddenly she was sixteen again, coming into her mom's hospital room. Come here, baby girl, I won't break. You can hold my hand ...

Marah shook the memory free and approached the bed. The room was sleek and boxy and filled with machines that plunked and whooshed and beeped. But all she saw was Tully.

Her godmother looked ... ruined-crushed, almost-pierced by needles and hooked up to machines. Her face was bruised and cut and bandaged in places; her nose looked broken. Without hair, she looked small and vulnerable, and the tube going into her head was terrifying.

It's my job to love you.

Marah drew in a sharp, ragged breath. She was responsible for this; she knew it. Her betrayal of Tully had to be part of why her godmother was here, fighting for life.

"What's wrong with me?"

She'd never voiced this query before, not when she'd started smoking pot or sleeping with Pax, not when she'd cut her hair with a razor or pierced her eyebrow with a safety pin or when she'd gotten a small Celtic cross tattooed on the back of her wrist, not when she'd run away with Pax and lived on food they found in Dumpsters. Not even when she sold the story to Star magazine.

But she asked it now. She'd betrayed her godmother and run away from her family and ruined everything, broken the only hearts that mattered. Something must be wrong with her.

But what? Why had she turned her back so completely on everyone who loved her? And worse, why had she chosen to do that terrible, unforgivable thing to Tully?

"I know you'll never forgive me," she said, wishing now, for the first time, that she knew how to forgive herself.

I waken in a darkness so complete I wonder if I have been buried alive. Or maybe I am dead.

I wonder if a lot of people came to my funeral.

Oh, for God's sake.

"Katie?" This time, I think I make a sound. It is her name, but it's enough.