I’m sitting on my bed, looking at my cast. I don’t know why I kept it, but there it is on the floor, over in the corner.

I remember Beth telling me I’d have it for six weeks. I actually had it for nine, and I think I reminded her about that every single day past six weeks until it came off. She laughed, I think, every single time I did, too.

I don’t know how I’ll ever pay her back for everything she did – for helping me around for nine weeks. For all of it. It’s funny, but I think the responsibility she took on in taking care of me really agrees with her. She must have thought so too, because she applied to be an RA next year.

She wasn’t the only one who helped me, either. There was poor George, although that wasn’t really by choice. A week after – well, after “it” happened, he slipped on an icy patch of sidewalk and broke his leg in two places. Somehow hobbling around with a cast felt just a little bit easier knowing someone else in the dorm was going through it with me. And we became physical therapy buddies – three times a week right up until the semester ended.

Then there was Mona, who took time out of her insanely busy schedule to help me study for the MCATs when it was – quite literally – painfully obvious that I wasn’t going to be able to make it to the official review sessions. Melanie and Janet joined me, in a very touching show of solidarity. Melanie and I buried the hatchet, too.

Even so, I guess I should be honest and admit that I took great pleasure in scoring higher than Melanie. For the record, I did really well – a 73, which put me in the 96^th percentile. Which means I’ll probably have my choice of where to go for medical school, and I’ve got a great shot at the Livingston scholarship, too.

Jackie and her father helped by not pushing me about exactly what happened or how I knew what I knew. I think, after Dr. Walters was caught, she finally understood how lucky she was just to be alive, and she took that to heart. Her father did, too; he also did everything in his power to get the police to accept the story Beth cooked up at face value.

That was much easier after Dr. Walters pled guilty. According to the newspaper, he did it as part of a deal so that he would “only” get life plus fifty years in prison rather than the electric chair, or however they execute people these days. He’ll never, ever get out of prison, and that’s good enough for me.

Beth and Brian and I all got harassed quite a bit by reporters, for a little while at least. Until another friend came to our aid. John convinced his friend Natalie the law student to try and get the reporters off our backs. I don’t know what she did or said – I think she might have gotten one of her professors to help, too – but it worked.

It turns out I was right about the two of them, as well. Diana broke up with John, and he finally noticed that Natalie liked him. I’m glad, for her even more than for him – us older women with an eye for younger men have to stick together!

Over and above everyone else, every single day, there was Brian. He was so patient, so kind. He was everything I needed – everything I still need.

Life is pretty much back to normal. I’m just barely limping now; on good days you can’t even tell. On really good days, sometimes even I forget that I’ve got two metal screws in my foot and another one in my ankle.

I still haven’t seen the other physical reminder of what happened – my new scar. Beth offered, repeatedly, to take a picture of it for me. Brian says it’s hardly noticeable at all; if you didn’t know it was there you wouldn’t even see it. I’m not really worried about that; nobody besides him is going to be seeing it anyway!

I still think about it all, obviously. But it’s just memories now. They don’t have any power anymore. I don’t wake up screaming, I don’t walk around in terror. And most importantly, my nights belong to me again. I haven’t had a dream that’s not my own since that last night before we saved Rebecca…

…Sara is in a backyard. The sun is shining, the grass is green. There’s a grill, with smoke issuing from it; there’s a little fountain gurgling away. There’s a big round metal table with an umbrella over it.

She knows this place – it’s Brian’s backyard. And there he is, with his father, and Sara’s father.

“I know how old I am!” Brian says. “And I know how old she is, too. She’s almost twenty two, and that’s the same age her Mom was when…” he says to Sara’s father.

Sara’s father holds up a hand, interrupting him. “We’re not going to talk you out of it, I know better than that,” he says.

“There’s no point,” he then says to Brian’s father. “Even if we did, she’d probably just go ahead and ask him.” Sara’s father produces a small box from his pocket. “As long as you’re going to do it, you may as well do it properly. This was my mother’s – her grandmother’s.”

He hands the box to Brian…

I wake up completely refreshed, completely relaxed. I shower and dress and the smell of bacon leads me down to the kitchen. Mom is just sitting down to her breakfast; Dad and Bob must have eaten already.

I go to her and give her a hug. “What’s that for?” she asks, a hint of suspicion in her voice.

“Nothing,” I say. “Just – could you take me over to the salon this morning? If you ask them, they’ll fit me in today, right?”

She’s very suspicious now. “The salon? Why?”

“No reason,” I answer. “Brian’s just coming over later, and – well, I want to look my best, that’s all.” It’s very important that I do. It’s time to let Gretchen out for a little while. “Oh, and can I borrow your diamond earrings again?”

“Sara Katarina Barnes, you tell me what’s going on!” She already knows, I think. She just can’t quite wrap her mind around it. I don’t blame her. It is kind of a big deal. It’s six months to the day that we met, and what more appropriate time is there than that?

“There’s nothing going on, Mom. I want to look nice for my boyfriend, that’s all. And I guess I’m just in a good mood today. You know, I had the most wonderful dream last night…”