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“But you don’t care about the people you’re protecting.”
I shouldn’t be saying any of this. Where was my head? “Not in the traditional sense, no.”
Jack nodded and thought about it.
Did he want me to care about him? What a strange expectation. “Caring about people actually makes it harder to do a good job,” I said then, in my own defense.
“I get it,” Jack said.
Anyway, he wasn’t wrong about himself. He was good at this. He knew exactly how to move through a space without being spotted. We brought him in through a delivery entrance and up the service elevator. The hallway was deserted, and Doghouse and I saw him make it to the door and disappear through it without a hitch.
That was one huge hurdle cleared. The doctors and nurses on his mom’s team had signed nondisclosure agreements. Now all Jack had to do was stay there.
But he didn’t stay there.
Just before lunch, after I’d stood at the end of the hallway long enough to know there were 207 floor tiles from edge to edge, I saw Jack walk out of the room and start meandering off down the hallway, like he was headed to the nurses’ station.
“Hey!” I shout-whispered. “What are you doing?”
But Jack didn’t turn.
What was he thinking? Hadn’t we just talked about this? He couldn’t just wander loose.
I trotted after him. “Hey! Hey! What are you doing? Hey! We talked about this! You’re not supposed to leave the—”
Right then, I caught up, and I grabbed his forearm, and he turned to look at me…
And it wasn’t Jack.
It was his brother. Hank.
“Oh!” I said, the second I saw his face—dropping his arm and stepping back.
Shit.
Now that I saw him, Hank was clearly not Jack. Hank was an inch or so shorter. And a little bit broader. And his hair was a shade or two darker. His sideburns were shorter. And none of those details should have escaped me.
If I’m honest, the smell of the hospital, and the lighting, too, reminded me of when my own mother was sick—which wasn’t all that long ago—and it had me slightly off my game.
Hank Stapleton was staring at me. “Did you just tell me I can’t leave the room?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought you were Jack.”
Hank tilted his head. “Can Jack not leave the room?”
What to say? “He wasn’t planning on it,” I said. “No.”
Hank tilted his head. “And who are you?”
“I’m Hannah,” I said, hoping we could leave it at that.
Apparently not. He shook his head and frowned, like Is that supposed to mean something?
And then I did what I had to do. I said, “I’m Jack’s girlfriend.” But I swear it felt like the biggest, fakest, most unconvincing lie in the world.
But here’s the surprise miracle: He bought it.
“Oh, sure,” Hank said, looking me over, remembering. “The one who’s afraid of cows.”
