“I didn’t mean that. Settle down, Trigger. I meant meta phorically.”

She leans back and watches him.

“You think I’m insane, don’t you? You think this is insane,” he says, suddenly made uneasy by the intensity in her swirling gray-green eyes.

“Yes,” she says, leaning back in. She sucks his ear. Tugs at his hair. “No.” She moves closer, squirming over him.

“There’s very little about us that isn’t absurd.”

“Most of it’s not absurd,” he says, for some reason prickling at this. “We aren’t absurd. It’s that . . .” He searches for the right ending and gives up, laughing. “You’re dead and I’m kind of in between right now.”

“Oh, that,” she says into his neck. “Not absurd at all.” His hands find waist, ribs, br**sts. They grow wild and impatient, itching to feel every inch.

Although part of him realizes that Lucy simply feels like girl—soft curves and skin that responds to his fingers and her half-word exhales—most of him thinks that Lucy feels like no other girl ever. She’s softer; her sounds are the best sounds. He grabs her hips, squeezes. An embarrassing groan escapes his lips at the shape of her.

But it makes her smile. “You like to squeeze.”

“What?” He lifts his head, trying to understand her meaning through her eyes. They’re honey, hungry brown. “In the picture with your ex-girlfriend?”

“The picture with Trinity from the winter formal?” She nods. “You’re gripping her hips. You’re gripping them like you knew them.”

He grins down at her. “That is such a chick thing to notice.

‘Like I knew them.’ What does that even mean?”

“Like you gripped them a lot.”

“Let’s not talk about my ex-girlfriend right now, please.” “I’m serious. Do you miss being with a girl you can grip?” “No.”

She’s skeptical.

“I want that with you, it’s true. But I don’t want sex so much that it’s worth getting it elsewhere.”

She fights a smile, though Colin doesn’t know why. “Let that smile out,” he tells her. “I’m so crazy about you and your hips that I can’t grip.”

Lucy gives him a smile that could power a small town. “You’re so hot,” he whispers.

To prove him wrong, she grabs a small handful of snow off the back of the bench and presses it to her chest. It stays there, crystalline and twinkling in the unearthly blue light.

Slowly, her skin takes it in. He imagines their bodies like this must be such scavengers, needing to steal anything solid to take form. Now his girl is made of snow and beauty. “Tell me a story,” she says.

He stares at the giant sky for a beat before an image pops into his head. “My parents used to have this huge king-size bed. At the foot of it was a wood chest my grandma had sent from Tibet or Thailand or something. I was jumping on the bed and slipped and cracked my collarbone on the edge of the chest.”

Lucy winces over him, a full-body-impact wince, and it makes him laugh because what on her could break? “So my mom rushed me to the emergency room, and I got put in the world’s most awkward cast. I was almost six and we called it the Rack. That was right before they died.” He’s run out of words. It’s not a very telling story or even that long. It was only the first of several times he’s broken a collarbone. He fiddles with the ends of her hair, tying it in knots and watching it unravel.

“Do you miss your parents?”

“Sometimes. I only sort of remember them. Sometimes I wish I knew enough to miss them more.” It feels right, somehow, that they would have the hardest conversations here when they can reassure each other with actual contact. “What do you remember?”

He can understand why Lucy seems fascinated with the possibility that a part of Colin’s life is as fragmented as the entirety of hers. Colin has particles of memories of his parents, supported by pictures and stories from Dot and Joe. “I don’t remember much. Most of it’s been filled in for me. Dad was kind of dorky. I’m sure he would be the kind of dad that embarrasses the hell out of me now.” He laughs. “But he was fun and would play on the floor. Carry me on his shoulders. Tell me way too many details about the animals at the zoo. That kind of dad. My mom was careful. Well, they both were, especially after Caroline died. And at least until she lost it, Mom was quiet and liked to read and write and overthought everything. Never wanted me to run or hurt myself. Dot says that’s why I’m so crazy now. She says I’m like them but turned inside out. I keep my careful bits on the inside. She says it’s why I’m so easy to be around but so hard to know.”

Lucy is tracing something on his chest. A spiral or letters, or a shape. Finally he realizes she’s drawing a heart. Not a heart like a valentine, but a heart. It calls his attention to his lack of pulse, of the hollow organless sensation he gets when he realizes he’s not corporeal. Suddenly he feels like his chest is sinking inward, like a crumpling empty paper bag. He stills both of her hands between his.

“Did they have a good marriage?” she asks.

“I think so. I mean, they died when I was six, so . . .” He looks out at the crystal-blue lake in the distance. “Caroline died right after we moved here. I’m sure that didn’t help their marriage.”

Colin stares at a spot over her shoulder. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately. I wasn’t very old, but I know my mom drank a little before we lost my sister. It got a lot worse after. And no one blamed her, I mean her nine-year-old kid got hit by a delivery truck. I’m pretty sure everyone understood why she went off the deep end. But what if she wasn’t crazy? What if she really did see Caroline? Is it possible she was really there?”

“It’s possible,” Lucy says. “I’m here.”

“I’ll never know, will I?”

“I don’t know. But you’ll see them again.”

He pauses, looking up to where she’s hovering above him.

“You think so?”

She studies him for a beat, searching his expression.

“Yeah, I do.”

He kisses her for that. For being so convinced his family will find each other. For knowing it’s what he needed to hear even if he didn’t know it.

Her kisses are small and sweet, little sucking lollipop kisses on his lower lip, nibbling kisses, finally the aching deeper kisses he wants.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says. She’s glad he’s here. Not that she’s back there, in his human world of flesh and bone. He finds that he feels the same.

Every word sounds so much more intimate when it’s accompanied by the sensation of flesh under fingers. Colin has never felt this close to anyone, not even in the infatuation stage, when he becomes a mindless walking erection. This feeling here is almost too intense, when he kisses her, this need to get beneath her skin with fingertips and lips and each hungry part of him.

Conversation falls away, and his touches grow desperate because he can feel a strange rhythmic pressure on his chest and knows it’s Jay, behind them, back at the lake, reviving Colin’s body. He’s warming from the inside out.

Colin rolls Lucy off the bench and onto the trail and starts to touch lower and lower, feeling her hip bones and hidden skin, beneath silky fabric, to where she melts into smooth, wet girl. Her hands dig down and wrap around him, constricting in this insane, perfect way, and in a flash he worries that they’ve wasted all this time talking, but then he looks down at her and she’s grinning the happiest, goofiest smile, and it grows wider and wider even as he starts to dissolve out of her hands.

He’s not ready to be gone, but he knows he gets to keep her anyway, and every second of today has been better than any second that came before. Colin vanishes with the vision of Lucy, rumpled and half undressed, her swirling eyes and ruby lips smiling out the word “bye.”

Chapter 27 HER

LUCY DOESN’T NEED TO REMEMBER HER ENTIRE life before to know she’s never spent so much time staring at a boy’s fingers.