Darling Girl: A Novel of Peter Pan(12)

“Great,” Jack says around a mouthful of food. He gives her a thumbs-up.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you,” she says. She gets up and goes to the bench in the hall, where she’s left a package. She brings it back and hands it to Jack. “Here.”

“What is it?”

“Open it and see.”

She smiles as he tears open the box. It’s the latest model of his favorite brand of sneakers. She’d sent her assistant out this afternoon to scour the city for them, a gift to soften her leaving.

But when he opens the box, his expression falls.

“What’s the matter? Are they the wrong style?”

“No,” he says, pulling a shoe out and holding it up. “Thanks.”

“But?”

“It’s just . . . none of the guys wear this brand anymore. They’re kind of last year. But they’re great,” he says quickly. “Thanks for getting them.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, deflated. She takes a sip of wine and a deep breath. “I wanted to tell you—I need to go away for a few days. To England.” She keeps her tone light. “Nothing major. A little trouble with one of our suppliers. Sorry to spring it on you last-minute, but it came to a head today.”

“When are you leaving?”

“First thing tomorrow morning. I’ll drop you at school on my way to the airport.”

He doesn’t answer, keeps shoveling in his food. She takes another sip, watches Jack eat. When he looks up at her, his blue eyes are so like Eden’s that she stops mid-swallow.

“I may have to go to Cornwall,” she says abruptly. “Do you remember Cornwall? We lived there, for a little while.”

That catches his attention.

“We did? When?”

“Oh, it was our summer place, before.” She doesn’t need to say before what. Jack’s grown up with the shorthand, his life neatly divided into before and after the car crash. “And then for a little time while you were recovering.”

Already Holly’s regretting her slip into sentimentality. She makes it a point not to talk about the past. Her personal mantra has become something along the lines of “Face firmly forward.” Any evidence of their previous life has been exorcised with surgical precision, neatly boxed, taped shut, and left stacked in the cavernous reaches of the Darling House attic, along with the previous generations’ secrets. “There’s no reason for you to remember.”

“What was it like?”

It’s her turn to shrug. “Typical England. Rainy, cold, damp. Windy too, because it’s on the ocean. But beautiful,” she can’t help adding.

He shakes his head. “I remember London, a little bit. At least I think I do—it’s all kind of blurred together with the trips we’ve taken to see Grandma. Was it just the two of us in Cornwall?”

She freezes. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

“I dunno. I thought maybe Grandma would have been with us. I remember living in her house, a little bit. Mostly the nursery upstairs.”

“No,” she says firmly. “Cornwall was just us.”

“Huh.” He frowns for a second, as if he’s struggling to recall something. Cursing herself, Holly changes the subject.

“I’ve arranged for you to stay with Barry and his family while I’m gone. I’ll have a car pick you up tomorrow after practice and bring you to his building.”

“Why can’t I stay here? Manuela will be here,” he says. “Please?”

“No, she won’t,” she says, glad that she’s already texted the housekeeper. “I’ve given her the week off. Besides, Barry and Minerva are so excited to have you. They love you, and you’ve spent hardly any time at all with them lately. Every time they ask, you’re always busy.”

He stabs at his chicken. “I’m not a little kid, okay? I don’t need a babysitter. When Brett Pike’s parents went away last month, they left him home for a whole week with the housekeeper and a driver. It was awesome.”

“I can imagine.” She drains her glass. “Do you want dessert? I think there’s some ice cream. Black raspberry chip—your favorite.”

“No,” he says moodily. “I’m going to my room. Homework.” He stands up.

“Before you disappear, there’s one thing.” She stands and clears their plates to the sink, so that her back is to him. “I need to give you an injection.”

“I had one a few weeks ago!” he says. But it’s a half-hearted protest, uttered only because he’s already angry.

“It’s been a month,” she corrects. “You’re due next week, but I may still be away. I don’t want you to miss it. It’s important for you to keep your iron levels up.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, rolling up his sleeve. Holly cleans the area and injects his arm with quick, practiced motions. Jack’s so used to the sensation he doesn’t even wince anymore.

Even before the needle is out, she can see the change in him. There’s a slight flush to his cheeks; his skin and eyes are brighter. And she’s sure she’s not imagining it: The mark on his chin, which by itself would heal to a scar, has already begun to fade.

“You know,” she says, capping the needle, “we may be able to start weaning you off these. You’ve done so well, and it’s been a long time since you’ve had any problems.”