In Your Dreams (Blue Heron #4)(125)

“How did you know with Tom?”

She didn’t answer right away, which was good, because unlike his other two sisters, it meant she was actually thinking. Pru would say something about the raw animal attraction between her and Carl. Faith would say something dreamy and mushy.

Honor would tell him the truth.

“I guess it was pretty simple. I pictured what I wanted in the future, and he was it. His smile, his laugh, his voice. I couldn’t see me with anyone else. We, um...we didn’t have the most typical start, but when it came down to it, he was just...the one.”

There had been a night with Emmaline...a completely unremarkable night at his house. He’d cooked dinner, and she told him about a call involving a squirrel that had somehow gotten into Barb Nelson’s china cabinet, and the subsequent rubble the rodent caused. Jack had laughed long and hard when she told him how she had to trip Everett and take his gun so he wouldn’t shoot the wee beastie, Barb snapping pictures for the newspaper. They’d watched a movie after dinner. Well, half a movie. Maybe a third, because they’d ended up doing it on the couch, Em’s skin so soft, her eyes big and dark.

An unremarkable night, except it was perfect.

“I screwed up with her,” Jack said. “I’m not sure how to fix that.”

“Well, you’re a guy. Of course you screwed up. It goes with the territory.” She straightened up. “But you’ll make things right.” She stood up. “I have to get back to the house. Tree Bark Man is on, and I don’t want to miss it. Why don’t you come watch it with us?”

At that moment, his phone rang.

Jeremy Lyon. “Hey. What’s up?” Jack asked.

“Can you get to the hospital?” Jeremy said. “Gloria Deiner wants to see you, and you should come now.”

“On my way,” he said, hanging up. “Sorry, Honor. I have to run. Another time, okay?”

“Everything all right?” she asked.

“I think so. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

THE ELEVATOR DOORS OPENED to the fourth floor. Jeremy was right there, waiting, looking oddly official in his white doctor’s coat. “Josh is winding down,” he said without preamble. “His parents are going to take him off life support, and Gloria asked to see you.”

“Okay.”

“You ready for this, Jack?”

“No. But yes.” In fact, his heart was pounding, and his T-shirt was damp with sweat.

Jeremy smiled sadly, gave his shoulder a squeeze and led the way down the dimly lit hallway. “Gloria? Jack’s here,” he said outside room 405.

There was a whispered exchange, and then Mr. Deiner came out. He nodded at Jack, his eyes wet, and went down the hall.

“Come in,” Mrs. Deiner said.

“I’ll go stay with Alan,” Jeremy said. He lowered his voice. “Good luck.”

Jack went in.

And there he was. For the first time in all these weeks, Jack saw Josh Deiner, the boy whose life he didn’t save.

What was left of Josh, that was. Weeks on a feeding tube, weeks of profound brain damage and respirators and muscle wasting had reduced Josh to near-skeletal proportions.

Jack looked at Mrs. Deiner, who was staring at her son. “Mrs. Deiner?”

She didn’t look at him. “I thought you might want to see him,” she said.

“Yes,” Jack said, then cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

“Then have a seat,” she said. Her voice was oddly calm. “You can talk to him if you want. They say hearing is the last thing to go.”

Jack sat on the hard wooden chair. Mrs. Deiner didn’t say anything else. The rhythmic wheeze of the respirator counted the seconds.

It was hard to see past the medical equipment, and the spooky, half-closed eyes. The respirator obscured much of Josh’s face. His hands curled inward, and his arms seemed too long, they were so thin.

But his eyelashes were long and blond, and he looked more like a child than the eighteen-year-old Jack had pulled from the lake. He had a freckle under his ear.

“I’m sorry,” Jack whispered. “I’m so sorry.” He put his hand over Josh’s. The skin was cool and too smooth.

And then Jack bent his head and covered his mouth with one hand so Josh’s mother wouldn’t hear him crying. But the hot tears spilled out of his eyes, and even though it had been twenty years since Jack had cried, he couldn’t now seem to stop. The best he could do was try to keep quiet, even as his shoulders shook.

This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.

“Was he scared?”

Jack straightened up and cleared his throat. “No,” he said, his voice husky. “He was unconscious.”

Mrs. Deiner adjusted the blanket, pulling it over Josh’s sunken chest. She smoothed his hair back, her hand lingering for a minute on her son’s forehead. “I don’t want him to die,” she said, then gave Jack an almost embarrassed smile. “Obviously.” Her eyes filled. “Even if he stayed like this, I’d take care of him. I wouldn’t mind. I’m his mother. That’s what I’m supposed to do.”

Jack nodded, unable to speak.

“But he’s dying anyway. He never did listen to me.” She stared at her son, petting his too-long hair. “I know you did your best, Jack,” she said without looking up. “Thank you for trying.”