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After that, I was so irate and damn scared I blew up at Everly. I told her I was going to take her ass to jail. She neither confirmed nor denied anything but once again mentioned the fucking NDAs. After that, I went to see Wes, thinking he had something to do with it, or at the very least, that he knew and didn’t tell me. At least Everly had made it seem that way. We started fighting, not only over the murders and the natives beingfucked over, but the reason we broke up, Everly’s manipulation of me.

It was a huge blowout.

It got physical.

I slapped him.

I shoved Wes, hard.

I went to shove him again, but he moved out of the way.

I started to fall forward. I overcorrected myself so that I slipped on the rug and then started to fall backward.

Wes reached out to catch me.

But he didn’t grab me in time.

I hit my head on the corner of the table, at just the right—or wrong—spot.

And died.

Wes has asked, many times, if I wanted to see the footage because he does have the accident recorded. But I always say no. I remember now. I don’t want to see my actual death. I have a hard enough time coming to terms with what happened to me; I don’t need to see it with my own eyes.

“Here,” Wes says, handing me my coffee.

I sit up in the berth and take the coffee from him, having a long sip. Him bringing me coffee on the boat is the best part of the morning, maybe even the day. Well, aside from the sex, of course.

“Thank you,” I tell him, peering at him over the mug. He used to have a mushroom one on the boat, one that Munawar appreciated, but I made him toss out everything fungi related. Suffice to say, I’m not sure being a mycologist is the right career choice for me anymore. “You made it extra strong.”

“We have a big day ahead of us,” he explains. Once slack tide hits later and the current around the marina stops being so vicious, we’re heading back out, deciding to continue sailing tothe town of Ucluelet, then spend a few weeks bumming around the islands of Barkley Sound while we figure life out.

There’s so much to figure out.

So much to think about.

And so many things I don’t want to think about too deeply.

“Before we get ready, though, I have a present for you,” Wes says. He reaches into the bottom of one of the cupboards that surround the berth and takes out a shoebox.

“More Polaroids?” I ask. I’ve spent so much time going through the photos and jogging my memory until I’m certain the memories are there to stay. Wes thinks eventually my own neural circuits will override the mycelia, until one day my brain is completely back to normal and the mycelia are rendered moot. At least he’s the right person to help me with that.

“No,” he says, placing the box in front of me. He gives me a steady look. “Now, you don’t have to do anything with these. You can throw them away if you want. Or I can put them back, and you can decide to do something with it a few years from now. We can decide to do it together. But I wanted you to know.”

He lifts off the top of the box.

I look inside.

Papers. There are hundreds of scattered papers, some typed and printed, some in my chicken scratch handwriting. “What is this?” I ask, but as I see a few words and formulas, I realize the truth.

This is all the research onAmanita excandesco, the research needed for Alzheimer’s and other neurological diseases.

“I’m not sure if it’s complete,” he says. “And of course, we don’t have the fungi either anymore. But it’s a step in the right direction. You always kept this on the boat; I guess some part of you was worried it would be taken. So when Everly burned everything down, she didn’t burn this. If you want, if one dayyou’re ready, we can tackle this together. We can find another way towards a cure.”

My lower lip starts to tremble, a rush of emotions flushing through me.

For one, the fact that I was smart enough, good enough to actually help with this research, the very reason I wanted to join Madrona to begin with.

For two…it’s hope. Even without the ingredients for this to work, it’s the right start. And hope is such a powerful thing.