“Katy? Katy, are you okay?”
The familiar voice pokes through the fog clouding my head, the sound of it low and familiar, although it lacks humor. And this is a voice I very much want to hear laugh. My eyelids flutter, my lashes no longer weighed down by ice.
When I open my eyes, the first thing I see is Malcolm. He’s here. He’s alive. I glance around and find the space warm, a hint of wood smoke in the air. Outside, a bird chirps. I push to sit up, and immediately he’s at my side, helping me. I inhale nutmeg and Ivory soap, and I think I might collapse again.
“It’s really you,” I say.
“It’s really me.” He gives his head a little shake as if he can’t believe he’s looking at me. “I don’t know what you did. I don’t know why, especially since—”
I press a finger against his lips. “That doe
