Chapter 35: Close to Home
The doctor’s words still rang in my ears, he’s stable, no fractures, just concussion protocol; keep him for observation if you notice anything off. Then the paperwork, the nurse’s careful instructions about rest, and finally the quiet click of the hospital elevator doors as they closed behind us.
Now Raymond slouched on my sagging couch, still wrapped in the thin blanket Jennie had tossed at him, the hem smeared faintly where his blood had dried. The afternoon light came slanting through my curtains, painting the room the color of old tea. Outside, the city moved on, distant horns, the muffled thump of someone dropping a garbage bag, a siren folding into the normal noise, but inside my little living room the world felt dangerously small.
Jennie stood at the counter, elbow deep in a paper bag of groceries, humming something off-key to herself as she sorted bread, cheese, and two steaming packets from the shop. She wore a thick knitted sweater in a loud yellow that always made the room brighter; her hair was pulled into a messy bun, and she looked exactly like she always did, stubborn, alive, utterly unbothered by the fact that her best friend had nearly been dragged into the back of a car last night.
“I leave you guys for a while and you almost get yourself killed!” she shouted with mock outrage, slapping the counter with the back of her hand as she set down the groceries.
Raymond cracked one eye open and tried to grin. “I’m alive,” he rasped. “That’s the main thing, right?”
Jennie rolled her eyes and laughed. “Seriously, bad things have been happening ever since you had an accident, Isla. Are you sure you’re not a rich man’s long-lost daughter? Because fate is really into you.”
“You read too many novels, Jennie,” I said, managing a small smile though my stomach still felt like someone had tied a knot around it.
Jennie grinned and bent for the foil packets. “I’ll go get something hot from the shop nearby,” she said, hooking her keys from the bowl by the door. “Stay put. I’ll be back in ten.”
She walked out, door closing behind her with the soft click of keys, the sound hollow, too decisive. Left in our wake was the faint scent of her perfume, orange and spicy, that used to fill our dorm rooms when we pulled all-nighters.
I turned back to Raymond. He had his shirt buttoned wrong and one shoe half off; he looked like the kind of person who would apologize to furniture if it offended him. Watching him there, fragile and real, my anger and my fear braided together so tightly I couldn’t breathe.
“Raymond, you shouldn’t be here,” I said quietly, worried. “Your place is much more comfortable than this small house.”
He blinked, trying to focus. The bruise blooming along his jaw looked darker now that the light hit it. “After someone tried to kidnap you?” He sounded suddenly alert, his green eyes sharpening even as his voice remained low. “Or you think I didn’t notice those men were after you? You’re hiding something.”
My mouth tightened. He looked too tired to press harder, but his question cut like an icicle. “It was an accident,” I said, and I made the lie sound like the truth. “They mistook us for someone else. The police told us themselves.”
He let out a soft, humorless laugh. “So convenient.” His fingers curled unconsciously where they lay on the blanket. “You know, for people in accidents, you’ve got an odd number of enemies.”
I could feel the panic rising, hot and impossible to swallow. I kept my voice steady, small, flat, and practiced. “I don’t want you in danger because of me.”
He stared for a long moment, the hospital ceiling reflected in his dark pupils like a fragile map. “You kept me close all night,” he said finally. “Don’t think I can’t see when you’re holding back.”
I wanted to tell him everything, the lake, the cold bite of water, the way his voice had sounded when I pulled him out, but the memory of Lorenzo’s eyes in the hospital, the quiet command held there like a ledge, stopped me. If I said the name, if I told him how connected everything felt, Raymond would step forward. He would run, he would fight, and I couldn’t let that happen. Not to him.
“Please,” I said, my voice small. “Just rest. I’ll tell you later.”
He narrowed his eyes, but the exhaustion pulled him under and the muscles in his face relaxed. “If you’re hiding anything, I’ll find out,” he warned softly, but he sounded more like a boy reminding himself than a threat aimed at me.
We fell into a silence that hummed with all the things we weren’t saying. Outside, the city exhaled; inside, my apartment seemed to be holding its breath.
For a minute that felt too fragile, I let myself sink into the illusion that maybe for once everything could be ordinary. That humanity, stumbles home, cup of tea, messy couch and stale crackers, could hold the world at bay. Raymond’s breath evened. The soft, syncopated beep of his heart monitor, I could hear it in my bones. I prodded my leg lightly to distract myself from the ache.
Then, almost without sound, the front door clicked.
My muscles coiled.
I hadn’t expected company. Not again. Not now.
“Hello?” Jennie’s voice called from the hallway before she stepped in, carrying a paper cup of something steaming. She wore a scarf now, wool pressed into a loose knot. “Food glory delivered!” She set the cup on the coffee table, then froze.
Her cheer faded. She took in the scene, Raymond propped on the couch, my pale hands wringing at the corner of the blanket, my jaw a blade of tension, and her smile curdled into something sharp.
“Oh…” she said softly. “Oh my God, you’re alive.” Relief washed over her face and then worry reknit the expression.
“Yeah,” Raymond tried, raising a hand in a weak wave. “I’ll survive.”
Jennie snatched a chair and dropped into it as if she’d been punched by the news. “Isla, you have to tell me everything. Who were they? Did you get their plates? The cops…” Her voice sped up, a machine gun of worry.
“Jennie, it’s fine. Really,” I said, wary. I tried to smile, but my teeth felt brittle. “The police are handling it. Raymond’s okay. We’re okay.”
Jennie’s jaw twitched. She opened her mouth, then shut it, then pulled off her scarf. “Okay,” she said slowly. “But you will tell me everything. Promise?”
I nodded quickly. “Promise,” I said, knowing it was the thin kind that could snap.
She reached out and took my hand, squeezing hard. Her touch should have been comfortable. Instead it felt like another tether I couldn’t cut. A life of lies requires excellent rope.
She eyed Raymond like she wanted to tackle him, but instead she bustled to the microwave, humming, stirring the air as if to chase the dread out. For a few minutes, the house filled with small domestic noises that felt almost obscene: the hum of the microwave, paper rustling, Jennie chopping a crust of bread with exaggerated care.
“Tell me about him,” she said suddenly, voice softer, almost casual. “Raymond, I mean. He’s… good to you?”
Raymond blinked, and for a beat his tired face cleared. “Yeah. He’s good,” he said, and his voice had a kind of embarrassed pride. “I’m… I’m glad I was there.”
Jennie’s fingers drummed on the counter. She looked at me, then at Raymond, like she was fitting pieces of a puzzle together. Then she laughed, a brittle sound. “You two better get married so I can retire from worry.”
I managed a laugh. “Ha, so funny.”
For a moment, warmth flickered between us. Ordinary, fragile.
Until both Jennie and Raymond’s phones buzzed at once.
The sound sliced through the room like a warning bell.