Emma That is Dead (FREE!)

Chapter Thirty-Three

My heartbeat floods my ears. I debate asking for help, but the nurse said Jordan was expecting me. I raise my fist and cringe before letting my knuckles rap against the wood.

"Come in," a muffled voice calls from the other side.

I twist the knob and step inside. Jordan is sitting upright, the head of the bed elevated to form an elongated L. Her mother slides a dinner tray with an assortment of cups and bowls in front of her.

A smile stretches across Mrs. Pacey's face. "Arbor, it's so good to see you again! And under much better circumstances this time."

"Um, hi. I hope I'm not interrupting?"

"Not at all. Jordan's been waiting for you, isn't that right?" she says, fluffing the pillow behind Jordan's back.

"Hey." Jordan offers me a fractured smile.

Her voice is deeper than usual, like it's scraping the side of a tin can. Purple bruises dot her lips and eyes. She flinches,  her tongue flicking over a laceration on her bottom lip.

"Would you like more petroleum jelly for that? It will help them heal." Her mom hands over a tube of ointment, but Jordan shakes her head and adjusts her left arm across her lap. It's wrapped in a cast from her fingers to her elbow. "Well, as long as you're not alone, I think I'll head down to the cafeteria," she says with the slightest hint of hesitation. "Do you need anything before I go?"

Once again, Jordan shakes her head, her auburn hair disheveled as it swishes around her face.

"I'll let you two be then." Mrs. Pacey gives Jordan's pillow one final fluff, and shuffles toward the door. "Arbor, honey, will you make sure she eats something? It's only a liquid diet, but it's better than nothing," she says, as she passes me.

I needlessly step out of her way. "Absolutely."

Mrs. Pacey lingers for a beat, worry lines spider-webbing across her forehead.

"I'll be fine, Mom," Jordan says from the bed.

"I know, it's just good to see you awake. I wasn't sure  if—" A flush rises to her cheeks. "Never mind. I'll be back soon."

Once the door closes, Jordan's eyes meet mine. "Sorry about that. She apparently turned into a helicopter parent while I was unconscious." There's a hint of humor in her tone. "Thanks for coming."

I'm not sure what to say, so I nod.

Using her right hand, Jordan fumbles with a plastic bowl on her tray, attempting to separate the lid from the rim. But the bowl tips, and a wave of amber liquid splashes onto the paper mat underneath.

I lunge toward the bed. "Here, let me help you with that," I say, grabbing paper towels from her table and dabbing them over the puddle of broth. I remove the lids from a bowl of green Jell-O and a mug filled with something that looks like watered-down coffee, and position them within her reach.

When I step back, Jordan looks up through her lashes. "Thank you."

I try to smile but my lips twitch instead. "It's no problem."

She nods toward a nearby chair. "Would you like to sit down?"

"Sure." I drag it closer to the bed and sink into a flowered cushion that's seen better days. My eyes coast along the stark white walls. "This room's a lot more cheerful than your last one," I say, taking in the Looney Tune decals, clinging to the paint.

An awkward silence stretches between us. And then, "Thank you for the roses," Jordan says. "Mom said you stopped by the other day."

A rush of heat swamps my cheeks as I glance at the flowers across the room. Several bouquets surround it now, and the mix of scents hangs in the air like perfume. Mixed with bleach. Mixed with God-only-knows-what.