“Sorry,” Tree mutters under her breath.
“She listened to you. She went to the campus health center and got some meds.”
“So what happened?” Tree asks. “Didn’t they work?”
“It’s my understanding that you have to take them for them to work.”
“She didn’t take them?”
“Someone talked her out of it.”
“Why would they do that? Those drugs saved my mom’s life.”
I think of all the stuff on the boards, about the drugs numbing your soul. But that wasn’t it. It was because someone convinced Meg that her life wasn’t worth saving. That death was a better option. It was because, at the very end, when it should’ve been me whispering in her ear, telling her how amazing she was, how amazing her life was and would be again, it was All_BS doing the whispering.
Tree is right about failing Meg. But it wasn’t her that did. It was me. I failed her in life. But I won’t fail her in death.
28
I’m vacuuming at Mrs. Driggs’s the next day when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and recognize the 206 area code, but the call has already gone to voice mail. A few seconds later it chimes to let me know there’s a message waiting.
I stare at my phone in my palm, the vacuum motor whining. Why did he call back? Does he even know it was me who called him? Who knows if he even saved my number, and my outgoing voice mail message is now generic in case All_BS calls.
Whatever he has to say—who is this? or something else—I don’t want to hear it. I go to delete the voice mail, but I hesitate, and in that moment the phone rings again and I’m relieved and ashamed in equal measures.
“Hey,” I say, my heart pounding.
There’s a slight pause on the line. “Repeat?” says the voice. The vacuum cleaner is still on, and it takes me a minute to understand that it’s not Ben. I flip the phone over to check the caller ID. It’s not the 206 number this time. It’s blocked. “Repeat,” the voice says again, and then I understand I’m not being asked to repeat anything.
“Yes.”
“Do you know who this is?”
“I know.”
“What’s that noise?”
“Oh. I’m at work.”
He chuckles. “As am I.”
His voice is not what I expected. It’s jovial, almost comforting. It’s like we already know each other.
The vacuum is still droning. I turn it off. “There. Is that better?”
“Yes.” He chuckles again. “If only I could turn off the noise at my work so easily. But I’ve found a quiet corner. Forgive the delay.”
I listen then; in the background, there’s an electric clang of something. Cash registers?
“One must choose the risks one takes and mitigate them.”
“Yes,” I say.
“Speaking of risks and choices, you have chosen?”
“Yes,” I say.
“That’s very brave,” he says.