Page 121 of The Sound of Him

He must have found me.

He must have cleaned up all of that mess.

He shouldn’t have to deal with me.

I bet he wishes I fully died that night. I bet he regrets whatever he did to make my ghost stick around. I bet he wishes he could escape being haunted.

Except, it’s Bryce, and Bryce is too good of a person to think things like that. I wouldn’t blame him, though. I wouldn’t blame him at all.

“Was it the juice?” he asks when he switches to cleaning my other hand.

I nod.

“It had pulp in it. Wasn’t supposed to, but it did.”

I suck in a breath that sounds as water-logged as my body is.

He doesn’t ask if it was the pulp. He just knows.

“I’ll see if the kitchen has a cheescloth or something. I bet Nolan would be all over the opportunity to make his own juice. I’ll put other kinds of juices on the grocery list, too. Ones that don’t have pulp. Do you like apple?”

I do, actually. I like apple. I really, really like the apple mixed with grape kind of juice, though. That was always my favorite.

I take a deep breath and lift my head to look at him. He’s a lot like Ace in some ways, not getting overly excited by my attention, not making it feel like a huge deal, just smiling softly in acknowledgment.

I fingerspell,A-P-P-L-E. Then I sign,Together, not sure of what other word would work better, and fingerspell,G-R-A-P-E.

His lips move as he silently keeps track of the words. Then, “You like the juice with apple and grape together better?”

My shoulders relax. I nod. I put my head back down, feeling even more tired than before.

“The white stuff?” he asks, showing me one finger. “Or the darker, reddish stuff?” He adds a second finger.

I show him one finger, then close my eyes and hope the conversation can be over.

It can be, until it’s time to get out. He doesn’t talk at first, just helping me up to my feet and handing me a towel, then using another towel to wipe at my exposed skin. When my neck is nice and dry, he carefully unwraps the towel he’d twisted around my hair.

The floor of the bathroom is clean.

There’s a pair of soft sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt on the counter that he helps me step into. I try not to think about the fact that the sweatshirt wasn’t this oversized when I first got here. I’m losing weight. Losing weight I didn’t really have to lose.

Is that how Bryce figured it out? Or has he always known?

Will he tell on me?

Even if he doesn’t, how long before others catch on? Before the doctors find out? Before everyone starts asking me questions I can’t answer?

“So, I found something for you.”

I curl the ends of my sleeves into my hands and squeeze the fabric, looking at him. He’s holding up a bright sticky note. There are words on it. I carefully accept the paper and read it. Twice.

Back in my office until morning.

Come hide?

No pressure.

A