After dropping Veronica off at the airport the next day, following a full day of sightseeing and a late dinner, Yael walked into her grandmother's house on the way to work, rubbing the casino chip-sized token in the pocket of her capris. The world stopped as she glanced up and found a handful of doctors gathered in the hallway outside Miriam's room. Her heart plummeted to her feet, and her palms grew damp. The room spun, forcing her to reach out and grasp the post at the bottom of the staircase. Dorota was the first to notice her and approached with red-rimmed eyes.

"Is she?" Yael asked in a whisper.

Dorota shook her head promptly. "No, no, not yet. I'm sorry, sweetie, but the doctors say it's time. She won't last much longer. I was just getting ready to call you."

Her mouth worked, trying to form a question. The nurse guessed and answered, "Hours."

Everything inside Yael went still, painfully aware of the mocking beat of her own heart. She thought she'd be ready for this. Yesterday had been perfect, and there were still things she needed to know about her parents.

"Can I see her?"

"Of course. They made sure she'll be comfortable when it happens."

Yael drifted past the three men, not paying attention to their sympathetic stares and murmurs of consolation. Pausing next to Miriam's door, she took a few seconds to gather herself. She refused to spend their last minutes together as a sniveling mess.

"Grandmother?" she called, entering the room. Most of the machines had been moved to the corners, a sign of the inevitable end. Shuddering, Yael crept closer and stared down at the wisp of a woman. It amazed her how fast she'd deteriorated practically overnight. Her hair was so brittle it appeared translucent, revealing patches of her scalp. Her skin, bruised and sallow, gave the impression it'd break upon being touched. Bones were visible through her flesh, pointed and painful looking.

Yael cringed as her grandmother hacked, a nasty sound that seemed too energetic given her current state. Her mind betrayed her, consumed with thoughts of Miriam's coffin and her parents'. Miriam's would be full. Were theirs?

"Can I ask you a question?" she blurted, unable to hold the inquiry in.

"Anything."

Her chest tightened in anxiety. Should she do this? Did it really matter? Her parents were dead. Couldn't she just leave it be? The words left her mouth before she swallowed them.

"Did they recover any of Mom and Dad's remains?"

A short moan escaped Miriam's brittle lips. "Oh, Yael, why?"

"There are over eleven hundred bodies that have never been recovered. That's eleven hundred empty coffins. I can't stop wondering. I wasn't here for the funeral, and I feel as if, in some crazy way, this is the closure I need. I never got to mourn. Are theirs empty?"

"No."

"They found a body? Or, or part of one?"

"No. Asked friends to put in mementos." She breathed heavily, struggling with the words, and Yael felt guilty for putting her through this. "Your baby blanket. Graduation cap. Michael's booties."

"That's a wonderful idea." Yael pawed at her overflowing eyes.

"Had to make a decision. Seemed good." It appeared she lost consciousness for a minute, and Yael sobbed silently. Please, not yet. Then Miriam opened her eyes. "Doctor called. Asking for hair, things to test. I said no. Wanted to be done with it."

"I understand. I'm sorry I left you here to deal with those decisions on your own. You and Dad were the only family Mom had left, besides me. Oh, Grandmother, I was selfish."

"Past. Leave it there. You ... amazing. Thank you. For yesterday."

"I love you so much."

"Love you."

Miriam's last words came out softly, but they were the sweetest thing Yael had ever heard. She listened to the machines beside her slow and watched her grandmother's chest stop moving. Yael laid her head on the mattress and wept. Despair crashed over her in waves, a wicked undertow threatening to sweep her under and keep her there. She felt a hand on her back.

"Yael, sweetie, can I call someone for you?"

A rough voice spoke up from the dark recesses of Yael's mind, a voice she thought she'd gotten rid of. It said yes, find a dealer. You don't even need a syringe. Just snort it. Quicker that way.

No. She needed Haustin, but the thought of him didn't calm her hunger. He'd find her heroin, though. If she begged. She'd beg, and he would give in because he is still weak. She needed strength.

"Casey," she said in a strangled voice. "In my purse. Call him."

The words were jumbled within the force of her crying. Miriam was gone. Yael was alone. She remained in her position, not paying attention to the voices around her. They asked to come in and take care of her. Of the body. But Yael couldn't move. She couldn't leave her grandmother. Not again.

What had been the point of Yael's suffering? Come home and made peace for what? A measly month and a half? Forgiveness? What a joke. Yael wanted to cry out, to tell Miriam she wasn't ready for this. She wasn't ready to be the last one. Alone.

A familiar voice broke through the pain. She lifted her head off the bed, averting her gaze from the body lying there, and found Casey kneeling next to her. The look in his eyes killed her, plainly showing the depth of his feelings for her, and it overwhelmed her already fragile state.

Lurching to her feet, she muttered as she swayed, "I need to go."

"Where?"

"Need to be alone."

His fingers wrapped around her wrist, preventing her from leaving through the front door. Instead, he pulled her farther down the hall and into the outdated kitchen. He tried looking her in the eye, but she avoided him.

"I know what you want, and you're not getting it," he told her gruffly.

Her pain morphed into a rage in the blink of an eye. "Get your hands off me and let me go," she growled.

"Snap out of it, Yael." Casey gripped her upper arms and shook her. "She deserves better than this."

"Don't talk to me like you know me!"

"I do," he reminded calmly. "And you told me once drugs only mask the pain. It'll still be there."

"So. I. Won't. Stop," she growled. "Maybe it's for the best."

"No. Don't you dare say things like that."

She barely heard him through the haze. "It's not worth it. None of it was. I lost them all anyway." Blearily, she focused on him, switching gears. "Help me. Just take me out. All I need is to get through this. Then I'll stop. I've done it before. I need you, Casey. I need you to help me find something, anything."

"Yael."

"Please." She whimpered. "Please!"

Casey's gaze flared with anger. "Miriam is lying dead in the next room, and all you can think about is getting high? Are you really going to piss on her memory like that?"

That hit home, and she slumped against him. "I can't take the pain."

"Yes. You can."

His faith shamed her, and violent sobs clawed up her throat. "She's gone."

He pulled her into his arms, into safety, and she let go once more. She wept for Miriam, for her parents, for everything she'd missed. She cried until there was nothing left. As she returned from the edge, she noticed somehow they were sitting on the floor, Yael in Casey's lap. His hands stroked her hair, her arms, her back. She let it calm her until she felt strong enough to face him. Her throat and mouth were dry, her eyes felt like sandpaper, and her cheeks were warm and flushed. How had she ended up in his lap?

"Thank you," she whispered, hating that he'd seen her like that.

Pressing his lips to her forehead, he said, "I didn't do anything."

"You did. You were here. If I would have left—"

"You wouldn't have done anything stupid. I believe in you."

"The things I said—"

Again, he interrupted her. "Don't worry about it."

"It's embarrassing," she grumbled.

"We all stumble, Yael, some harder than others, and I'll be here to catch you. Always."

She didn't answer him, unable to bury her humiliation. The moment she watched Miriam die, all logic had fled. Everything she'd learned about dealing with grief and her emotions vanished. In the space of a second, maybe two, she was the pathetic woman she'd once been, the one who turned to drugs to solve her problems. It terrified her. A year of sobriety, a year of struggles, as if it'd been for nothing. Then there was the fact that in her lowest moment, it was Casey she had asked for, the one she needed, and the one who'd talked her from the ledge. It spoke volumes, a sliver of reality she would have to listen to once this was over.

"I hear your wheels turning." Casey interrupted her pity party, but she still didn't reply. "Don't beat yourself up. You weren't expecting this to happen when you came over here this morning, not after how great yesterday had been. It's a shock. I don't think you would have dishonored her by running out and scoring drugs before her body was even cold."

His harsh words hit her hard "What do you know?"

"I know pain is an unstoppable force. It robs us of rationality and common sense, but you are stronger than you think, and I'm going to tell you that until it sinks in."

Yael sighed. She didn't have the energy to argue with him. Later, when she had a chance to think about it, she'd probably admit he was right. Now, she knew only numbness.

"I don't know what to do."

He touched her chin, forcing her to meet his stare again. "You do what Miriam asked and put her to rest. Dorota has already made some calls. Your grandmother left a list of instructions, and I'll be by your side the entire time."

Unbidden, guilt trickled in. Haustin would want to be by her side too, and she pulled herself from Casey's lap. One of the last things Miriam said to her was that she was amazing. Yael didn't want to ruin that impression. Reaching into her pocket, she wrapped her fingers around the chip nestled there. Feeling it hardened her resolve. Somewhere, her grandmother was watching, and Yael vowed not to disappoint her again.

Well, Miriam has passed. How are we feeling about the future for Yael?