Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
ZACH
I ’m making my way back into the house, planning to speak to the catering staff, when I catch sight of her running down the stairs, clutching something in her hand. Jenny. I watch, hidden in the shadow of the hallway, as she dashes across the entryway, looking pale and frantic, almost as if she’s being chased by her own thoughts. She doesn’t see me, too caught up in whatever dark path she’s set her mind on, and I realize something’s wrong.
She’s holding a piece of crumpled paper in her hand…she’s gripping it like it’s her last lifeline. Her expression is twisted, almost feverish. It’s not curiosity that keeps me watching. There’s something desperate about the way she’s moving, about the determined look on her face, and it pulls me forward without a second thought.
She’s making a beeline for the garage, her steps quickening. I know she doesn’t notice me following her, but I stay close enough to see her shoulders tense, her breaths coming fast. I usually wouldn’t care but given that she’s one to fall out of trees, I’ve trained myself over the years to pay closer attention to her…if only to avoid an unfortunate accident on the estate. I cannot count how many scrapes, injuries, and near-death experiences she’s had, from encounters with wild dogs to incidents at the pool. She has always been so careless, just like a boy. And so, we all look out for her, never assuming she knows what she’s doing, for the estate’s continued peace and tranquility.
She reaches the final turn toward the garage, and then something in her snaps, and she breaks into a full run.
“Jenny,” I call out, my voice low and steady. “Jenny, stop.”
She doesn’t hear me…or pretends not to. Her hand tightens around the letter, her knuckles white, her face drawn. I pick up my pace, sure now that she’s set on something reckless. I reach her just as she whirls around the corner, heading straight toward the cars. She’s too focused, too lost in whatever dramatic exit she’s planned, to see me coming.
Before either of us can react, we collide, her body slamming into mine with a force that sends her stumbling backward. The letter slips from her fingers, fluttering to the floor as she loses her balance, her arms flailing. She reaches out as if to catch herself, but it’s too late. Her head strikes the cold tile with a sharp, sickening crack, and she goes completely still, her eyes fluttering closed.
For a moment, I just stand there, my heart pounding, staring down at her motionless form. Her face, usually so full of that intense, restless energy, is now quiet, fragile even. A part of me feels an unexpected stab of worry, something I can’t quite brush off. Especially now… that she’s just lying there, small and pale, looking like the child she still is, even if she doesn’t realize it.
I lean down, lifting her gently, cradling her close as I carry her up the stairs and into her room. The paper lies crumpled on the floor, but I ignore it for now. Her head rests against my shoulder, her breathing soft and shallow, as if she’s suspended in some kind of fevered sleep. I try not to think too much as I take her down the hall, just focus on the steady weight of her in my arms.
As I reach her room, I spot her father in the small library corner in their apartment. The place is filled with more books than furniture, and it’s the one place where I know he finds his peace.
When he sees us, though, his face goes ashen, and he rushes over, panic in his eyes.
“Jenny… what happened?” he asks, voice trembling.
“She’ll be all right,” I say, as reassuringly as I can manage. “But you should call a doctor to check her over.”
He nods, hurrying to make the call, his hands shaking slightly as he dials. I settle Jenny onto her bed, brushing a stray lock of auburn hair from her face, my expression softening despite myself.
It’s unsettling, this feeling creeping in, this strange weight in my chest as I look at her lying there, so still. Her father returns, hovering by her side, his worry palpable, and after a little while, the doctor arrives. In the meantime, I read the contents of the letter, and my blood completely runs cold.
The examination is brief, the doctor assures us that she’s only sustained a mild concussion.
“She’ll need rest,” he murmurs, glancing from Jenny to her father. “Keep her comfortable, and she should be fine.”
The doctor leaves, and her father exhales deeply, his shoulders sagging with relief as he thanks me again. I explain to him why I found her, but that’s it. I don’t mention the contents of the letter; he doesn’t need to know that I didn’t just step in to protect her. With what she had planned to do in that letter, she could have dragged our family’s name down with her. I’m stunned and furious. But in that moment, seeing her father’s gratitude, I can’t bring myself to say anything. I give him a nod and step back, lingering in the corner of the room, my gaze drifting to the letter I picked up on the way back to her room.
I smooth it out, glancing over her words again, letting them sink in. She wrote that she couldn’t live without Brett, that she’d rather die than see him with someone else. I shake my head, frustration mingling with a strange, unbidden sympathy. How could someone so young think her life is over just because she can’t get what she wants? It’s foolish. Reckless.
The faint strains of music drift up from the garden, a reminder of the party I should be overseeing, yet I find I can’t leave, can’t bring myself to move. I watch her, lying there so still, a girl caught in the whirlwind of her own feelings, her own illusions. I receive a phone call then from the party, and after it’s completed, I turn to her father, who’s still watching over her, his face softened with relief.
“During the commotion, one of the guests took notice of Jenny,” I tell him quietly. “She mentioned that Jenny would make a perfect model for her daughter’s fashion company in Paris. It’s a three-year contract…school included, if she wants it. I think it could be the best thing for her. Some distance. Some perspective.”
Her father is shocked by the sudden offer, his gaze flicking back to her, worry mingling with something else…hope, maybe. “This is good,” he says. “She hasn’t really ever mentioned wanting to be a model, but it’s what a lot of young girls love these days, right? Maybe she’ll be excited about it as well. She… she could use a fresh start. Somewhere she can find herself without all of this…” His voice trails off, but I know what he means.
“Can you leave me alone with her for a little while?” I ask.
Her father is startled by this but he seems to need the relief himself and so he nods and takes his leave.
When the room empties, I step forward, looking down at her pale face, her auburn hair spread across the pillow like flames. About ten minutes later she suddenly stirs, and her eyes slowly open, widening when she realizes I’m there. I’m just as surprised but relieved while she looks incredibly concerned and confused.
She probably has no idea what I’m doing in her room. To be honest neither do I but knowing now how unstable she is I cannot bring myself to leave just yet.
“Where were you going?” I ask. “Why were you in such a rush?”
She continues to stare up at me but doesn’t respond.
I know now that she is not going to tell me anything, but she doesn’t have to. For a moment I consider leaving the letter by her side so that she will understand that I know just how foolish she was about to act. However, at the last moment and at the pain in her eyes I decide against it.
It’s so easy to completely dismiss her frustrations and sadness because of how young she is. I understand it even though I despise it but for today, for this moment I decide to cut her some slack. She’ll be going to Paris. Perhaps she’ll get the chance from there to become more independent. To gain perspective and get rid of these nonsensical fantasies about Brett.
And so, I turn around without a further word and walk away.