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This isn’t totally true, but Kathryn smiles at me gratefully, and Jack gives my hand a quick squeeze, which makes me feel like I’m doing a pretty good job of this whole ‘saintly invalid’ thing I’ve inadvertently slipped into.
“How did you know we were here, though?” he asks, looking at his parents.
“Shona,” choruses everyone in the room, me included. Well, who else would have made it their business to spread that particular piece of gossip?
“Oh, that journalist is here, too, Emerald,” puts in Rose. “The one who’s dating the hot policeman? She says she wants to interview you. And so does he, actually. For different reasons, though, I’d imagine.”
Of course Scarlett would be here, too. Of course she would.
“Dylan and Scarlett are going to have to wait,” says Jack firmly. “And so are all the rest of you, actually. Emerald needs to rest. Come on, all of you: out.”
I glance up at him, secretly enjoying the ‘masterful’ act, but worried that he’s planning to go with them.
“Are you going, too?” I ask, suddenly shy. “I expect you still have a lot of work to do with the Emerald View site and everything?”
“What? No, of course not,” Jack says, looking surprised. “I’m not leaving you here on your own. I’m not letting you out of my sight after what happened earlier. Emerald View can look after itself for a few days.”
I allow myself to relax slightly. I’m pretty sure Benisn’tgoing to burst into the hospital room and try to snatch me from under Jack’s eye — especially if he really is under arrest right now — but if thinking that helps bring out Jack’s overprotective side, then I’m not about to argue with him.
“Oh, that reminds me, Emerald,” says Bertie, as everyone lines up to take turns kissing me goodbye, like I’m a proper invalid. “I found that old map you asked me about. The one of the Emerald View site.” He looks pleased with himself. “Jack did give me it after all,” he goes on. “It was inside one of the library books I’d asked him to check out for me. I’d forgotten all about it. I’ll show you it when you get home if you like? Whenwillyou be getting home, by the way?”
So that’s why he didn’t have the map. And to think I actually believed Jack had been lying to me about it.
My cheeks burn with shame, but Jack squeezes my shoulder as if to tell me it’s okay, and I reach up and take his hand, feeling luckier than I would have believed possible.
“Tomorrow, I think,” he says, much to my relief. “They want to keep her in for tonight, just to keep an eye on her. She had quite a bump on the head, but she’s going to be just fine. Aren’t you, Emerald?”
I smile up at him, hoping someone had the sense to run a brush through my hair when they brought me in here — or at least wipe the mascara from under my eyes.
“I really am,” I agree happily. “Everything’s going to be absolutely fine.”
* * *
“Jack,” I say later that night, when everyone’s finally gone home, and he’s finally persuaded Mary to let him sleep in the chair beside my bed for the night. “Did you think I was dying? When you were talking to me in the car, I mean? Because I kind of felt like—” I pause, suddenly embarrassed. “Like you might be, I don’t know, saying goodbye to me, or something?”
I swallow nervously, wondering if my concussion might have been worse than everyone’s been letting on, because I don’t think I’m making a whole lot of sense right now.
“No,” says Jack decisively, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “No, I knew you weren’t going to die. I wouldn’t have let you.”
“You wouldn’t haveletme?” I start to laugh, stopping abruptly as my bruised ribs register their protest. “I know you’re used to people doing what you tell them, Jack, but I don’t think you can stop someonedyingjust because you don’t want them to.”
“Maybe not,” he says, shrugging. “But the thought of losing you was just… it wasunimaginableto me. So I just didn’t let myself imagine it. Well, not until we were in the ambulance, anyway, and it was out of my hands. My imagination kind of ran riot at that point.”
He rakes his hand through his hair. There are dark blue shadows under his eyes, and he looks like he hasn’t slept for days.
“Well, good,” I say, reaching up and smoothing his hair back down. “Because I’d hate to have given you the pressure of having to come up with some suitable last words for me. That would’ve been unforgivable.”
“Especially at short notice,” he agrees, smiling. “But you’ll be pleased to know I plan to never come close to losing you again, so there’ll be no need for me to come up with some last words for you.”
“At least that’s one less thing to think about,” I say, nodding. “And the same for me, too, obviously.”
“Which isalsogood,” says Jack, “Because if youhadbeen dying, your last words tomewould’ve been something to do with coffee tables.”
I chuckle painfully.
“You can put that on my grave,” I tell him. “Here lies Emerald Taylor: She Was Not a Coffee Table.”
“Very fitting,” agrees Jack, seriously. “Other than the name, I mean. I was kind of hoping you’d be Emerald Buchanan by the time you need to start thinking about epitaphs?”
