This Is How It Ends Read Online Free

doctor’s office after she’d come out of the exam, I wished I hadn’t gone with her. The things he’d said scared the crap out of me.
    â€œ. . . cardiomyopathy, inflammation, muscular dystrophy—”
    â€œOr it could be just strained muscles,” my mom had added, seeing my reaction. “I probably overworked them yesterday.”
    I’d wanted that to be it. My mom’s job was physical, moving things, lifting people who couldn’t walk, helping them into and out of bed. It wasn’t the first time she’d come home sore, but Dr. Williams had given her a look. “There are the other symptoms to take into account,” he’d said.
    I’d thought back to every incriminating thing, my heart sinking as I realized there were plenty: headaches, dizziness, days when she’d dropped dishes and blamed tiredness, days when she’d had trouble driving because her eyes were bothering her. Stretching back months, at least.
    â€œWe’ve done some tests,” he’d said. “The results should tell us what we’re dealing with.”
    Only, the tests had been inconclusive, and we were taking the “wait and see” approach. It was years later, and none of us liked what we were seeing.
    â€œShe went to the hospital last night,” I told Trip now as we sat in his car. “They did more tests. She’s home today. I don’t want to talk about it.” Which was the God’s honest truth, because just thinking about it was like suffocating under a thick wet blanket of worry.
    I pinched the underside of my forearm, focusing on the pain instead of all the other crap. Finally Trip nodded and faced forward. “Sorry, man.” He pulled back onto the road. “Let me know if I can help.”
    ***
    We split in the parking lot, Trip stopping to talk to his football teammates while I jogged toward homeroom. I had a sudden weird certainty that Natalie wouldn’t be there. She’d called off work Sunday at the ski shop, Trip had told me on the drive to school, and hadn’t answered his texts or calls either.
    â€œBecause of Saturday night?” I’d asked. I’d managed to put aside most of my anxiety about those binoculars. We must have been hallucinating, I’d decided. It had been weird, but I was okay.
    Trip had shrugged. “I guess so.”
    With anyone else, you’d swing by their house or maybe call their parents to check in. But, of course, we couldn’t do that with Nat.
    I held my breath crossing the threshold to homeroom, expecting an empty chair, but there she was: second seat by the window, as usual. I tried to catch her eye, but she stared outside through announcements, not talking to friends or looking my way.
    I waited by the door when the bell rang.
    â€œHow’re you feeling, Nat?” I asked, trailing her toward the music room.
    â€œFine.” Natalie kept her head down, but I didn’t need to see her face to know something was wrong. She walked in long, stiff strides like she couldn’t wait to get away from me. I didn’t take it personally, but it cranked my nerves up a notch.
    â€œWe were worried about you,” I told her. “After Saturday. Trip said you missed work yesterday.”
    She still didn’t look at me, her long hair swinging as she walked. Nat usually wore a braid so her hair wouldn’t tangle—lots of the skiers did—but today it was loose, hiding her face.
    â€œI’m okay, Riley,” she said. “Thanks.”
    â€œIt was really weird, wasn’t it?” I asked quietly when we’d gotten to the stairs without another word. “What happened up there?”
    She gave me a quick, hard look. “I saw my dad dead. It was beyond weird.”
    I felt a lump in my throat, but not because of what she’d said. “Nat.” I reached out, held her arm gently, the hallucinations forgotten.
    Natalie stopped, staring at her