“I don’t know, honey,” Dot answers, the relief slipping from her face. “I haven’t seen her since the night they brought you in.”

Colin is released from the hospital the next day. Joe and Dot don’t talk much to him or each other on the drive back to campus, and for a long while there’s only the sound of tires on asphalt to break the silence. It’s a strange tension and one that Colin has no idea how to reframe, even with his side of the story. Joe and Dot couldn’t understand what he has been through even if they tried. Colin’s pretty sure they both think he has some sort of a death wish by now, that he was trying to hurt himself on purpose. He’s glad Joe doesn’t ask, though; it’s almost impossible for most people to understand how much space there is between craving danger and craving death.

When Joe finally does speak, their conversation is short. Joe asks how he’s feeling, lets Colin know that he won’t be returning to school for a few days and that he’ll be staying with him until further notice. Colin grunts something resembling a response in the appropriate places. He’s disappointed, but not surprised.

He hasn’t seen Lucy since he was pulled from the ice and doesn’t hold much hope that she’s waiting for him in his room, even less that she’s at school or the shed. Somehow he knows she’s disappeared again. It’s almost like he can feel her absence in every particle of everything that they pass. The trees look emptier; the air looks bleak.

He closes his eyes and imagines her in the blackness just before she breaks the surface. He can see her on the trail beneath the mirror sky and wonders if she managed to get through the gate without him.

At first Colin tells himself that he needs to be patient and wait. She wouldn’t stay away, not now. So he does as he’s told: He goes to class and comes home right after. He spends an entire afternoon talking to a counselor because Dot says it’s important to her. He stays away from any trouble. He waits.

But the storm is always there, gathering. He feels it spread like the wind that creeps across the lake, like icy fingers that close around his lungs until he can barely breathe—until he’s nearly frantic with the need to find her.

Days turn into weeks, and the ice begins to thin, and though it sounds cliché, he feels like he’s drowning—melting into the lake right along with it. He does his best not to let his growing frustration show, not to take it out on Dot or Joe, both of whom now watch him like a hawk. Colin wonders what they’ve said to Jay, who seems to have been scared straight, immediately shooting down any discussion of going to the lake.

Three weeks after he woke up to find Lucy gone, Colin knows he can’t sit still anymore. He makes a show of cleaning his room, studying at Joe’s kitchen table, and volunteering to help Dot finish up dessert prep.

The sky has grown dark, and Joe raises an eyebrow when Colin settles into the couch beside him. A few distant shouts carry in from outside, as students start making their way across campus.

“It’s good to see you busy,” Joe says. He drinks from a steaming mug before setting it carefully on the table at his side.

“If feels good,” Colin answers, and they’re silent for a few minutes, Joe’s eyes on the evening paper and Colin’s on the TV. “I was actually wondering if I could get a suspended sentence tomorrow, maybe get off campus for a few hours.” There’s hope in his voice, something he knows has been noticeably absent the last few weeks.

Joe eyes him skeptically. “And what exactly would you be doing?”

“Nothing,” he says, easing off a bit and trying to sound nonchalant. “See a movie, maybe stop by one of the bike shops in town.” He shrugs for added effect. “It’d be nice to get away.”

Joe considers him. Colin can almost see the release of tension in Joe’s shoulders, his relief at hearing him talk about things that are so normal.

“Actually, I think that sounds like a great idea,” Joe says, surprising him. “Your grades are good. You haven’t been in any trouble.” He glances at Colin over the top of his paper, expression serious now. “But back here by dark. No exceptions.”

“Yes, sir,” he says, smiling. Joe shakes his head, but Colin doesn’t miss the way his lips twitch at the corners.

“I’ll get you your keys in the morning.”

Colin leans back, happy, his eyes on the game but his thoughts somewhere else completely.

Slush covers the walkway leading to the door of the infirmary, and Colin laughs quietly, realizing this is the first time he’s climbed these steps without A) the aid of someone else, or B) blood gushing from some part of his body.

He lets the door close softly behind him and wipes his feet on the rug, walking toward the sound of movement at the end of the hall. It’s too quiet, and his sneakers squeak on the linoleum, the sound bouncing off the walls around him. Colin’s been here so many times he knows exactly where he’s going, knows what each piece of equipment is for and which room has the bed with the spring that pokes you in the back. He also knows Maggie won’t be thrilled to see him and that his footprints are probably mucking up her clean floor.

Right on cue, she peeks her head out of an open doorway, scowling in his direction. “You better be bleeding,” she says, looking behind him.

He smiles. “I’m not.”

“What’re you doing here?”

He follows her into the room where she’s changing out one set of sheets for another. A kid he’s never seen before sleeps in a bed on the other side. “I need to ask you about Lucy,” he whispers.

She glances to the sleeping boy and back to him. “I don’t think so.”

Maggie picks up the basket of sheets and walks into the next room. He follows again.

“Please.” His voice cracks, begging. She won’t look at him. There’s a hardness in her expression, something that tells him she’s building a wall to keep tears from leaking out. “Please.”

After a long pause, she finally meets his eyes. “Why today?”