Gasp (Visions) by Lisa McMann Page B

know.
    •  •  •
    By evening, the house is starting to feel like a home, and the best part is that there are no little cousins running around. It’s a little bit bigger than our old apartment above the restaurant. Or at least, it feels that way without all the piles of junk. I worry that this place will fill up too. And Idon’t know how to prevent that from happening, but I’m sure as hell going to try.
    Sawyer returns later in his car, having taken the truck away, to see if we want him to pick up some burgers, and then he’s gone again with our orders. When he returns with the food, I watch him as he ever so slowly works his way into the good graces of my dad. And I think that makes Sawyer a good, quality guy. I will just have to keep him.
    Before Sawyer heads home for the night, he and I sit together in the dark on the front step of my new house, and he tells me that he found an updated article about the carbon monoxide poisoning. He says the old couple who died were both receiving hospice care, which means that they were already dying. And that the man’s sister is fine now, and her husband is improving and should be okay.
    I’m quiet for a moment. And then I say reluctantly, “It doesn’t excuse what Tori did, but I guess that’s a pretty good outcome under the circumstances.”
    “You know, there’s a chance that this even spared the old people from a pretty miserable ending to their lives,” Sawyer says. “I mean, I don’t know that for sure. But it’s possible. And maybe it’s okay to think of it that way.”
    “Maybe,” I say. “Is there a funeral planned?”
    “Just a private memorial service for the family.”
    “Well. I guess that’s that.” I draw in a deep breath ofthe fresh spring nighttime air in my new yard (because I have a yard!) and I blow it out, trying to get rid of all the anger that was stored up inside me. I imagine it escaping my lungs and leaving my fingertips. And it feels like all the negative crap is finally beginning to clear out.
    “It’s like a fresh start,” I say, more to myself than to Sawyer. “We have a nice new home. My dad is getting out of bed every day. The parentals are back to work with the meatball truck. I no longer smell like pizza. We experimented with sexy time.”
    Sawyer laughs. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
    “Yeah.”
    “And let’s not forget that there are no more visions to deal with.”
    I smile in the darkness. “Right on,” I say. I squeeze his hand and he squeezes back. And for the briefest of moments, I feel like all is well in the world.
    When my phone vibrates, I am reluctant to pull it out of my pocket for fear of disturbing this new perfect universe. And when I see who’s calling, I’m tempted to ignore her. But I don’t. Maybe it’s because the old people were already dying, and maybe it’s because I’m feeling fresh and full of love, and maybe it’s because I know deep down I’ve been too hard on her, but this time I decide to answer.
    “Hi, Tori,” I say.
    “I’m so sorry,” she says. She’s crying.
    “I know. I get it. It’s in the past.”
    “No,” she says. “Let me explain—”
    I sigh. She needs to say things. She needs to help herself heal. I can handle that. “Go ahead.”
    And for the second time in a month, three little words change everything. “Jules,” she says, her voice faltering, “it’s happening again.”

Twenty-Four
    My mind doesn’t compute what Tori is saying.
    “Hold on,” I say. “I’m putting you on speaker so Sawyer can listen too, okay?”
    “Okay.”
    Sawyer’s face is a question. I press the button. “Go ahead. Start from where you said ‘It’s happening again.’ ”
    “Well, it is. And I’m so sorry—”
    “I know you’re sorry,” I say impatiently. “What do you mean—are you seeing the vision again? How is that possible?”
    “It’s not the same one,” she says. “It’s a new one now. Totally different.”
    “What?” Sawyer covers