We crossed the road to the median strip, a grassy island in the middle of the four-lane. I stopped and adjusted my backpack again. "The lights still green." Jimmy pointed. "Should we cross? I need to be closer to the ground. "Lena?" Ninety-eight percent water. I dropped to my knees. Cars drove past in both directions. I thought about what the Grandma Therapist had told me. You learn to carry it with you. But sometimes, in the presence of someone you trust- "I was supposed to save her, Jimmy," I said. "She asked me to save her." The traffic streamed by on either side of us. Ninety-nine percent water. "I'm here with you," Jimmy said. He took my backpack, my jacket, my scarf, and my gloves and, kneeling beside me in the frozen grass, he helped me put them down. Pg 164