Morning sun peeked around the curtains on my bedroom windows. I started to stretch but was stopped short by the pain in my side.

The shock of the river accident had finally worn off, and only the tender bumps and bruises remained. My newly stern boss was not happy when I called in sick, but I knew I'd be moving as slow as molasses all day. The last thing I wanted was to answer Patty's questions. Besides, we'd be parting ways soon enough.

The moment when it struck me, when I knew for certain that I didn't want Fynn to leave without me was when I stood alone in the hot shower, reliving the horror of the day. It was more than the profound relief I felt when I was plucked from the icy waters. It was the profound relief he felt. He had been just as terrified as me. I could feel it in the way he cradled me in his arms. I knew then that Fynn would keep me safe and happy and that I couldn't be without him.

Exhausted from traveling, my parents had gone to bed early. I had been able to sneak into the house and climb in bed without waking them. It was a skill I'd perfected in high school but not one that I was necessarily proud of. But now that morning had arrived and the day had started, I knew I wouldn't be able to keep things from them. They had taken one extra day off work to recuperate from their trip. Their voices drifted up the hallway from the kitchen.

The smell of bacon helped revive me enough to step out of bed. I scooted up the hem of the long shirt I'd worn to sleep. The bruises had darkened and they looked pretty ugly. It seemed I'd be avoiding shorts for a few weeks.

Pulling on jeans took some gritty determination. As I finished getting dressed, I mentally organized everything I needed to tell my parents. It nearly made me crawl back into bed. But I was going to have to face them like an adult. I had to stop hiding behind my childhood.

I needed a few more minutes of alone time before heading down the hallway. Bacon or not. I walked over to my nightstand and pulled out the picture I kept there and sat back down on the bed. Ethan and I were standing in the backyard with our Fourth of July sparklers. Ethan was wearing what my dad liked to call his 'politician's smile', a smile that Dad insisted would one day take him straight to the White House. I rubbed my thumb over the picture and thought about those harrowing moments in the river when I'd heard Ethan yelling. Was it the twin connection that caused me to hear his voice when I faced death, or was it something else? I couldn't stop thinking about it.

I stared at the picture for a second and then stood from the bed. My gaze circled the room almost as if I was looking at it for the last time before I stepped into the hallway to face adulthood.

Dad was reading to Mom from the newspaper, some article about the real estate market or some other boring subject. And even before stepping into the kitchen, I knew my mom was listening with a thoughtful smile and pretending to be interested, even if she wasn't, because that was the kind of relationship they had. Some of the parents who lost kids had grown apart after the tragedy, some even divorcing. I figured it had to do with the pain one spouse felt when they looked at the other and how those reminders made it too hard to stay together. But my parents had only grown closer. Even though I knew Mom could see Ethan every time she looked at Dad, I knew it gave her comfort more than pain. The strength of the bond between them helped me get through it all too. I couldn't imagine what it must have been like in the houses where people dealt with the accident through strife and fighting.

I kept my back stiff and worked hard at keeping my stride smooth as I hurried through the kitchen to the basement door.

Dad peered up at me over his newspaper. "Morning, Kitten, don't you have work today?"

"I took the day off." I reached for the doorknob.

"Everything all right?"

I looked back at him. The conversation had pulled Mom's attention from the stove, and they both looked at me expectantly.

I forced a weak smile. "Not really. I'm going to head down to the basement for a second. I need a few minutes to work up my courage." I knew the last part of my statement had probably sent their worry senses into overdrive but it was the truth.

Each step downstairs reminded me of every bump and bruise. I reached the bottom and flipped on the light. It had been a few days since I had gone downstairs, and the paint fumes were unusually strong. Maybe they would help clear my head.

I walked along and looked down at the faces of my friends. Fynn had understood my art so well, almost as if he knew everything that was going on in my head as I painted each collage. I walked to the blank piece of wood, the unscarred, nearly perfect piece I had kept aside for my final painting. I carried it over to my easel and placed it on the tray. I picked up the tape dispenser and pulled off a piece. Then I taped the Fourth of July picture next to the wood. It was time. I needed to start my final piece.

"Ella," Dad called down to the basement. "Kitten, you should come up before I have to talk your mom down off the ceiling."

"Coming." I turned too fast, forgetting the bruise on my rib cage. I bent forward and rested my hands on my thighs to catch my breath. I hadn't heard my dad come down the stairs. He was watching me from the middle step as I took a deep breath and straightened.

"And I guess you should start by telling us why you are moving like someone who jumped from a moving train."

"Yep," I said through gritted teeth. "That's probably a good place to start." I plodded to the staircase and dragged myself up the steps.

Mom was pacing the kitchen, tapping her wooden spoon against her hand. She was nearly white with worry.

"Ella, there you are." She pulled out a chair. The wrinkles in her forehead grew more pronounced as she watched me shuffle to the seat. "What happened? Did you fall off your bike? Did you go to the doctor? Is anything broken?"

"Honey, let her answer one question at a time. She's standing here in the kitchen so we know she's alive." My dad was always the voice of reason.

I sat down and Mom pulled up a chair right next to me. She turned to face me as if she wouldn't be able to hear me unless she was looking directly at me.

"I'll start with the bad news and move to the good. And I do have good. Plus the bad news ended up good, so—"

"Ella," Dad said sharply with a head shake. "You sound just like your mom. Now get on with it."

"Well, I'm moving very slowly because I got sort of bruised up yesterday when I fell in the river."

Mom gasped and covered her mouth with a look of horror as if I had just fallen in right there in the kitchen.

I tilted my head at her. "Obviously I survived, so bring the oxygen back in your lungs, Mom, and I'll finish."

"The river? Why were you at the river?" Dad asked.

"Fynn and I decided to go on a picnic."

"I knew he was trouble. I knew that boy was trouble." Mom said it twice in case the first time didn't annoy me enough.

"As much as you'd like to blame Fynn, he had nothing to do with me jumping in the river."

"Jumping?" Dad asked. "You said you fell in. Why would you jump into a raging river?" Now his face was gray with concern like Mom's.

I placed my hand on his. "I'm not suicidal if that's what's going through your head, Dad. I threw a stick for Fynn's dog, and it went into the river. Before I could blink, Boone had jumped in after the stick. So I jumped in after Boone. And then Fynn ran ahead to a spot where he could wade in and snatch both of us from the jaws of death."

"Ella, I don't think this is funny at all," Mom said.

"Trust me, Mom, I know."

"Well, you're delivering this terrible news like a comedian up on stage." Her voice trembled.

I reached for her hand and held it. "You're right. But as you can see, it all turned out O.K.. Other than a few bruises, I'm fine. Thanks to Fynn. Which brings me to the good news." I looked at each of them. Some of the worry had drained from their expressions, and they waited for the brighter side of the conversation. It was bright for me, but I wasn't sure how they would feel about it. In fact, now I wanted to kick myself for selling it as good news.

"Mom, Dad, I've fallen in love with Fynn."

Mom waved her hand and gave one of her signature 'pish-posh' responses. "It's just a crush because he is so handsome."

"I'm not a little girl with crushes anymore, Mom. You have to let go of the twelve-year-old Ella." I patted Dad's knee. "You too, Dad. And if I'm being completely honest with myself, I need to let go of her too. As much as I don't want to leave you two, I think it's time for me to venture out on my own."

"You're not thinking straight." Mom's bottom lip quivered, and her eyes were like shiny blue glass as she looked to my dad for some kind of assistance. "Derek, say something."

Dad leaned back and a slight grin broke out on his face. "It's about damn time, Kitten."

"Derek," Mom spurted his name.

Dad sat forward and took my hand. "Susan, just like Ella said, she's twenty-three, not twelve. All I'm asking, Kitten, is that you give this all plenty of thought. You only just met Fynn, and while he seems like an upstanding guy, this is still new for you. I want to encourage your independence but independence means informed decisions."

"Why do I feel like I just shrank back to being twelve?"

Dad opened his mouth to respond but I stopped him. "I will give it more time. But I can tell you I'm about as smitten with the man as I can possibly be. It's going to take something pretty shocking to change my opinion of him."