Darling Girl: A Novel of Peter Pan(66)

Against the office’s subdued walls, Eden’s blood takes on a rich, mesmerizing red. Holly can’t take her eyes from it. “And this is the source, so it must be even more powerful,” Jane muses. “Tell me. Have you ever tried it on yourself?”

She doesn’t so much as glance at Holly’s leg, but her scrutiny stings anyhow. No, Holly wants to say. Of course not.

And yet. In the aftermath of the car crash, it was Jane who canceled her vacations and charity dinners to sit with Holly in the hospital, to take her to physical therapy and to be fitted for a brace. Jane knows exactly how badly Holly’s leg was damaged and how hard Holly worked to recover the use of it, because she was there. She knows no amount of rehab could have made it as fit as it is now.

Holly doesn’t make a defense. She doesn’t explain that she didn’t dare test Eden’s blood directly on Jack until she knew whether it was safe, until she understood what it would do. She doesn’t talk about the hours she spent terrified that the tingling sensation that coursed through her body with the first injection meant she’d done something wrong, that she’d die when Eden and Jack needed her most. That she hasn’t taken it since those early days, although regular usage would cure the limp that plagues her when she’s tired or cold. That she’ll never use it again. And that for every hour she’s spent researching a cure for Jack, she’s spent that and more on Eden.

And she doesn’t say a word about how hard she cried the first time she took blood from her daughter.

“Yes. In the beginning,” is all she says. She reaches over and takes the vial from Jane, wraps it back in its protective casing. When it’s covered, the light in the room seems to dim a little bit.

“Well then,” Jane says, “I suppose I should leave you to it.”

“I suppose so.” Holly turns away and busies herself tidying the desk.

“Holly,” Jane says. She’s lingered by the door.

“Yes?”

“It’s quite all right to feel badly. Just not too badly.” This time, those bright blue eyes look directly at Holly. “No matter how much you used, most people—myself included—would have used more.”

And with that she is gone.



* * *





After Jane leaves, Holly finishes a few emails, checks over the marketing plan for Pixie Dust one last time. There’s a problem with the vendor for the glass bottles—they’re struggling to keep up with the advance orders—and Holly could leave it to Barry but drafts a letter anyhow. She’s stalling, she knows, but the conversation with her mother has left her unsettled. She’s done the right thing—anyone who has seen Jack run across the lacrosse field will attest to that—but she can’t help but feel the wrong of it anyhow.

The work helps steady her, as it almost always does, and when she’s calm again, she pulls the vial back out of its refrigerated box. She’s readied the needle so often over the years she could do it in her sleep, but this time she’s hyperaware of the sharp metal point beneath its cap, of the rich red color of the blood as she draws it out of the vial. It’s as if she’s under some sort of spell.

She gives herself a mental shake. She doesn’t have the time for this. She needs to find Jack and get on with it. She carries the needle in its casing with her down the hall and to his room. But when she taps on the door, he’s not there. Nor is he in the library or game room.

She hurries to the kitchen, where she asks Nan if she’s seen him. “Ed’s out of school for the summer, so I think they’d planned lunch and then maybe hitting some of the shops. Ed’s dad might meet up with them, if he’s bored enough with this week’s chippie. He’s a teacher, so he’s done as well. But they should be back early.”

Holly bites her lip in frustration. Jack’s out as well, his school having finished two days ago. He’d been elated, a mood change she would have welcomed were it not for the fear his increasingly free schedule struck in her. “Why can’t I go now?” he’d raged at her when she’d forbidden him from taking off on the Tube to explore London by himself. “There’s absolutely no reason. You just don’t want me to have any fun.” He’d stomped up the stairs in a fury, slamming the door to his room behind him, and she’d counted herself grateful that he hadn’t walked out the front door. She doesn’t know how she could have stopped him.

She hates the idea of him wandering the streets. The shadowy figure of Peter is never far from her mind. I can fix that for you . . . But today Jack is with Ed, and possibly Ed’s father. He’ll be fine.

“He said he’d already talked with you,” Nan offers. “That might be why he didn’t come up to the office.” She looks at the wrapped needle in Holly’s hand with undisguised curiosity, but before she can ask about it, the doorbell rings.

The two women look at each other. “I don’t think your mother is expecting anyone,” Nan says. “Jack probably forgot his key again.” She moves toward the hall, but Holly beats her to it.

“I’ll get it,” she says. She has a few things to say to her son. She doesn’t want to leave the syringe in the kitchen with Nan, so she takes it with her as she hurries to the door. She’ll pull Jack into the hall bathroom and inject him there.