It’s warm out despite the hour, and still. Quiet. There’s a playground not far away, with a stone dragon diving into the earth and remerging, painted a dozen different colors. I wonder what’s going to happen, what Echo will be like, what she’ll say, where this will go. I can’t even begin to guess. I know she’s doing better. I’ve watched her and Bray’s YouTube music videos, which they post with prolific frequency. They’re more like musical video journals, though, than a typical music video. The lyrics Echo sings are painfully honest, discussing the nature of pain, the problem of addiction, discussing her mother’s death and how she’s having such a hard time dealing with it. She holds absolutely nothing back; it’s heartbreakingly courageous and breathtakingly daring. I don’t hear her approach. I feel the picnic table shift and creak, and then she’s sitting beside me. I take a deep breath, eyes closed, praying and hoping and not daring to hope. And then I look at her, and my heart stops, lurches in my chest, and I’m struck dumb.
