Emma That is Dead (FREE!)

Chapter Thirty

Was Jordan upset? I don't know what she was. That's what I need to find out.

I turn away from her mother's waiting gaze. Blue curtains with wispy mauve accents sway in the steady surge of air from the vent. And in the corner, way up near the ceiling, a faded border curls away from the wall. "I don't know, Mrs. Pacey. I never got to talk to her."

"I figured as much, but it was worth a try. Once Jordan's awake, I'll tell her you stopped by." Another shaky smile. "The roses are lovely, by the way. You're a good friend. Thank you."

When I make my way out of the hospital, the breeze stirs the hair around my face. I take a breath through my nose and let it out through my mouth.

You're a good friend. That's what Mrs. Pacey said, but I'm not sure I agree. I didn't come here as Jordan's friend, and now, after seeing her in that condition, I'm not sure what it makes me. A villain maybe? A cold-hearted opportunist? Disgusting and selfish, for sure. I've been so busy obsessing over Emma that I barely considered how bad off Jordan might be. That her injuries are real and not just a headline in the news.

Coming to the hospital wasn't one of my better ideas. I've only made things worse. I can't shake the thought that I'm somehow at fault for her accident, even if it's just a little. And the idea sends a slick of sweat across my palms.

I stare out at the parking lot, and the pearly-white paint of my SUV glistens in the late-morning sunlight. It was a gift from my parent's on my sixteenth birthday, something they picked out together. Whenever I see it, it reminds me that we're still a family. That even after everything, we can still work together as one. If they found out what I've done, how I snuck into the PICU and caused a scene, they'd be pissed. Especially Dad. Coming to the hospital where he works, purposely disobeying the rules.

I cross the asphalt and zip my hoodie to my chin, but the breeze still cuts through the material and sends goosebumps along my arms.

I can't go home. If Mom sees me now, she'll know something's wrong. She's an expert on decoding my body language, on reading the thoughts inside my head as if it's an open book. So, I drive around aimlessly until I find myself in front of Mey's. I park at the curb and pull out my phone.

Me: Are you home?

Mey: Nope, still at church. Everything okay?

Me: Not really. I'm sitting in front of your house as we speak

Mey: You can come over later if you want. Want me to text when we get back?

Me: Please?

Mey: Of course! Will this visit will require copious amounts of  🍫

Me: It wouldn't hurt

Mey: Shit sounds serious. I'll call as soon as I can XO

On a whim, I drive past Smith's house next but can't get myself to stop. I'm too nervous to see him. To find out if what happened last night will make things weird between us. It didn't feel weird when he left my Dad's, but now, in the harsh light of day, insecurities ransack my head, flooding my thoughts with what-ifs.

Why does it always have to be this way? Why can't I, just for once, feel confident in the choices I've made? Smith said he loves me. Doesn't that mean anything? Why does my brain want to keep me from enjoying it? From believing that it's true?

My phone lets out a ping as I wait at a streetlight. Mom's name pops up on the screen, followed by a text.

I've done something. Call me as soon as you get this, it says.

Great. That could mean anything.

Like the time she decided we'd go vegan for a month, or when she sent in our applications to be on that survivor-type reality show, knowing that we would never—in fact—survive. Thank God we didn't make the cut.

As much as I hate to, the only place left to go is home. It will only take a few minutes to get there, so there's no point in calling her back, but when I walk through the front door, something immediately feels off.

Mom's voice floats in from the kitchen as if she's talking on the phone. I follow it, making note of the forced lilt to her tone, the unnatural rise and fall of her words. Like she's pretending to enjoy the conversation, even though she's not. There's an underlying tension, a strain coiled between the consonants and vowels.

When I reach her, I come to a sudden halt. She's not alone.

Emma and her mother sit across from her at the kitchen table, their conversation stalling when I come into view.

Mom's teeth tug on her bottom lip. "Honey, we were just talking about you!" She looks guilty as hell. "Did you get my text?"

As I decide how to play this, my gaze rolls over each of their faces. "Um, yeah. But—"

She cuts me off. "I knew you'd love the idea!" Her burgundy-stained lips pull into a wide smile. "Isn't it nice that Mrs. Navarro agreed to let you and Emma hang out for a while? It's been so long!" Her words come out nervous and high-pitched, so unlike her usual tenacity.

Mom set me up on a fucking play date.

My gaze collides with Emma's. There's no way I'm getting out of this, not with everyone staring at me, waiting for a response. The best thing to do is play it cool. Pretend like I'm not surprised. That I'm just as okay with this as Mom wants me to be.

I grit my teeth. "It's a great idea."

A smirk slides over Emma's face. "I think so, too."

"Now, I don't want you girls to be gone long," Mrs. Navarro says to me, as if it's my plan to swipe up her daughter and take her out for an afternoon of debauchery. "Emma gets nervous when she's away from the house."

"Of course, Mrs. Navarro. I promise to bring her back soon." I turn to my own mother with a pointed stare. Make sure she's able to read between the lines of what I'm about to say. "Thanks for setting this up, Mom. You're the best."

Mom visibly swallows, her eyes revealing a story of their own. An apology, of sorts. But she's going to have to do better than that. "I know how much you girls miss each other. It was the least I could do."

I beg to differ. The least she could have done was stay the hell out of it.

Mrs. Navarro closes Emma in a guarded hug. "Call me if you need anything, mija. Understand?"

Emma rolls her eyes before pulling away. "Stop worrying, I'll be fine. Hayes will take good care of me. Won't you?"

Once again, their gazes fall on me. "She's in good hands," I promise them, my voice reflecting a confidence I don't feel.

Because there's something in Emma's eyes. Something hostile and dark, so much darker than they were before she disappeared and this new Emma took her place.

She may be safe, but I'm not sure the same is true for me.