Dad paid me the day before I returned to BYU. He didn’t have the

money to give what he’d promised, but it was enough to cover the half
tuition I owed. I spent my last day in Idaho with Charles. It was a
Sunday, but I didn’t go to church. I’d had an earache for two days, and
during the night it had changed from a dull twinge to a constant sharp
stab. I had a fever. My vision was distorted, sensitive to light. That’s
when Charles called. Did I want to come to his house? I said I couldn’t
see well enough to drive. He picked me up fifteen minutes later.

I cupped my ear and slouched in the passenger seat, then took off
my jacket and put it over my head to block the light. Charles asked
what medicine I’d taken.

“Lobelia,” I said. “And skullcap.”
“I don’t think they’re working,” he said.
“They will. They take a few days.”
He raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
Charles’s house was neat and spacious, with large, bright windows
and shiny floors. It reminded me of Grandma-over-in-town’s house. I
sat on a stool, my head pressed against the cold counter. I heard the
creak of a cabinet opening and the pop of a plastic lid. When I opened
my eyes, two red pills were on the counter in front of me.

“This is what people take for pain,” Charles said.
“Not us.”
“Who is this us?” Charles said. “You’re leaving tomorrow. You’re not
one of them anymore.”

I   closed  my  eyes,   hoping  he  would   drop    it.