Chapter 17 #2
“Oh, yeah?” I kissed her again because I could, because she was here and letting me, because the alternative was explaining that I’d been ring shopping for a proposal I hadn’t planned yet but couldn’t stop thinking about.
She laughed against my mouth. “You’re impossible.”
“You’re persistent.”
“I’m a journalist. It’s my job.”
“Not this week or next. This month you’re on vacation, remember?”
“Involuntary vacation.” She pulled back just enough to look at me, her hands on my shoulders, her expression somewhere between amused and exasperated. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”
“I don’t have secrets.”
“You have at least one secret on that laptop.”
She climbed off my lap, and I immediately missed the weight of her. “But I’ll let it go. For now.”
“Very generous of you.”
“I’m a generous person.”
She walked toward the bedroom… her damp hair leaving faint marks on the white fabric.
When I heard the door close, I opened the laptop again.
Added the ring to my favorites.
Started drafting an email to the jeweler.
That evening, my phone rang. Claudette’s name lit up the screen.
Pauline was curled against me on the couch, reading a book—some thriller about a woman who faked her own death.
“I’ll be quick,” I told Pauline, kissing her temple before sliding off the couch.
“Take your time.” She didn’t look up from her book, but her hand squeezed mine before letting go.
I walked to the window, watched the city lights blur into patterns.
“Hey, Claudia.”
“Hey! I was just thinking about you. Are you coming to dinner on Sunday? Mom’s been asking.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good. She’s been on this whole ‘family time is sacred’ kick lately.
I think she read another self-help book.
” She laughed softly. “Oh, and speaking of terrible ideas—Michael and I went furniture shopping yesterday. He’s convinced we need one of those massive sectionals that seats twelve people.
I pointed out that we don’t know twelve people we’d want in our living room at once, and he said ‘not yet.’”
“That sounds like Michael.”
“Right? He’s already planning dinner parties like we’re running a—” She stopped. “Wait. What did you just say?”
“I said that sounds like Michael.”
“No, I know, but—” There was a pause. “You didn’t do the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The jaw thing. The one you do whenever Michael comes up in conversation.” Her voice went from confused to suspicious. “You know, where you sound like you’re trying to chew glass while pretending to be civil.”
I glanced at Pauline. The book was still in her lap, a small smile playing at her mouth.
“Is that so?”
“You know it’s so. You’ve been doing it since we got together.” Claudette’s tone was warming to her theory now. “You always sound like you want to reach through the phone and strangle him.”
“I don’t have a jaw thing. And I’m civil to Michael.”
“Don’t gaslight me. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Did you have a lobotomy I don’t know about?”
I watched Pauline, and something in my chest settled.
“Something good,” I admitted.
“How good? ‘Closed a deal’ good, or ‘my entire life just changed’ good?”
“Somewhere in that range.”
“Jack.” Her voice went softer, knowing. “You sound happy.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Is it a woman?”
“Maybe.”
“Oh my God. It is. It’s absolutely a woman.” Claudette sounded delighted. “Is it someone I know?”
I wanted to tell her. The words were right there. But Pauline hadn’t told Claudette yet. And this was her best friend, her person, the relationship that predated me by years. If she wanted Claudette to know, she’d tell her when she was ready.
“Eventually,” I said.
“I think I already know who it is. Pauline has been sounding suspicious lately too,” Her voice was convincingly smug.
“I’m not telling you anything,”
“The both of you are not mysterious, you know. But I get it.” She laughed. “I’ll wait for you both to establish stability. Just… don’t mess up this time, okay?”
“Wait… I never said it was her,” I said, too defensive.
“Uh-huh.” She made a disbelieving sound, “Love you too, big brother. Treat my friend right,”
She ended the call before I could respond, and I stood there shaking my head. Smiling.
Claudette was right. I wasn’t going to mess up this time.
I turned back toward the living room, still riding the warmth of that conversation, already thinking about how I’d tease Pauline about her best friend’s detective skills.
Then I saw her.
Standing in the middle of the room, phone clutched in her hand, her face drained of all color.
The warmth drained out of me in an instant.
“Pauline?”
She didn’t respond. Didn’t even seem to hear me. Her eyes were fixed on nothing, her breathing shallow and too fast.
“Pauline.” I crossed to her in three strides, my hands on her shoulders. “What happened?”
“The hospital.” Her voice came out strangled. “They called. My grandmother—she’s—” Her breath hitched. “She’s critical. They said I need to come now. They said—” She looked up at me, and the terror in her eyes made my chest cave in. “Jack… I won’t make it in time.”
My brain shifted into the gear it used for crisis management. Calculate the problem. Find the solution. Execute.
“Yes, you will.”
“It’s forty minutes in traffic—”
“Not the way we’re going.” I was already pulling out my phone, already dialing Fletcher. “Helicopter. Ten minutes. We’ll make it.”
She stared at me like she didn’t understand the words.
“Pauline.” I cupped her face, made her look at me. “Get your shoes. Your jacket. Whatever you need. We’re leaving in two minutes.”
That broke through. She nodded, jerky and mechanical, and started moving—grabbing things, her hands shaking so badly she dropped her bag twice.
I picked it up. Helped her into her jacket because her fingers couldn’t manage the zipper. Grabbed my keys, my wallet, my phone.
“Fletcher,” I said when he answered. “I need the helicopter ready. Now.”
“Sir, it’ll take ten minutes to—”
“You have five.” I hung up.
Pauline was crying now—silent tears streaming as she tried to tie her shoes, her fingers fumbling the laces again and again.
I knelt in front of her. Did it myself.
“She’s going to die before I get there,” she whispered.
“No.” I stood, pulled her up with me. “She’s not. You’re going to make it. I promise you’re going to make it.”
She looked at me like she wanted to believe that but couldn’t quite manage it.
“Come on.” I took her hand. Pulled her toward the door. “We need to move.”
Ten minutes.
Please let it be enough.