Long Live the Queen (19 page)

Read Long Live the Queen Online

Authors: Ellen Emerson White

BOOK: Long Live the Queen
7.26Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“Do you think she would have—” Meg stopped, since saying “blown them off the map” lacked a certain—“I mean—”
“Your mother is a very prudent woman. I like to think—” He grinned. “Well, you know me, kid, I'm big on economic sanctions.”
None of this was funny, but she laughed anyway. “Can you imagine my father's reaction if that's all she did?”
Preston laughed, too. “I'd rather
not
imagine it.”
Picturing her father signing on with the Delta Force or HRT
or something was kind of amusing, but everything was starting to hurt again, so she closed her eyes.
“You okay, Meg?” Preston asked, sounding worried.
“I'm just tired.” She opened them. “What time is it?”
He looked at his watch. “Almost six.”
She nodded. Not that it really made any difference.
“Feel up for some dinner?” he asked.
“I guess,” she said, without enthusiasm.
“Couldn't hurt,” he said.
She shrugged, and looked in the direction of the door. “Does everyone think I'm going to be psycho from this?”
He shook his head. “I think people are probably just going to be afraid of saying the wrong thing.”
Hell, she didn't even know what the wrong thing
was
.
“My feeling,” he said, “is that you should probably just worry about getting better, then worry about how you feel about things.”
Right now, all she felt was tired. In lieu of yawning, she sipped some water. “An Army psychologist was here, when the FBI was.” At
least
one.
“I really wouldn't worry. I mean—” he glanced at her—“later on, you may want to talk to someone, but—”
“
You
think I'm going to be psycho?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “Just don't rule it out—it might be something you'll want to do.”
“Thomas Eagleton,” Meg said grimly.
He laughed. “I think we've come pretty far past that—but, I dig your sense of history.”
Well, yeah—
decades
had passed. She smiled a little.
He reached over, touching her cheek. “I'm just going to give you one piece of advice. Do whatever the hell
you
feel comfortable doing, okay? Don't put on an act, don't be a sport, don't do
anything
that isn't the way you really feel.”
Must be nice, to live in whatever galaxy he was apparently
from. “That's not exactly
realistic
advice, Preston,” she said, sort of amused. “I mean—well, Christ.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I know. Just thought I'd throw it out there.”
Even though it had fallen quite flat. “Can I be straight around
you?
” she asked. “If no one else is around, I mean?”
“Absolutely,” he said.
VEGETABLE SOUP, CUSTARD, milk. None of which she really liked, but she was too shy to say so.
“Is there anything else you want, Meg?” her father asked. “Anything you'd like better?”
She couldn't really think—even about something that basic, so she shook her head, lifting the spoon. Her hand trembled, the same way it had at lunch, and she glanced around to see if anyone—her whole family was in the room; although her mother kept going out to the hall to take phone calls and have conferences with people—had noticed. Since they were all carefully not paying attention, she knew that they had. So, she took as deep a breath as her ribs would allow, and tried again, getting a small spoonful down.
“I'm in the mood for a milkshake,” her mother said, unexpectedly. She looked at Meg. “Anyone else? Boys?”
“Okay,” Neal said in a very small voice, and Steven shrugged.
“Okay,” Meg said. “I mean, please.”
Neal looked guilty. “Please,” he said, his voice even smaller.
Her mother glanced at Meg's father, who shook his head. “All right, then.” She got up, Meg unnerved by how—fluttery—she was. “I'll be right back.”
The room seemed very quiet as she left, and Meg focused on her brothers. “So,” she said. “How was school?”
They looked at her father uneasily before shrugging.
Oh. Right. It was—sometime in June, and their school must have already let out for the year. Then, something else occurred to her, and she looked at Steven. “Wait, did you go to your graduation?”
He checked their father's expression before answering. “What, like eighth grade's some big deal?”
Aw, hell. “What about Kings Dominion?” she asked. Which was the end-of-year class trip he'd been looking forward to for
months
.
Steven just shrugged.
Great. She hadn't been hungry, anyway, but what little appetite she'd had was now completely gone.
“Well, we'll figure out something,” their father said smoothly, “later this summer, maybe.” He stood up. “Meg, would you like some more soup?”
She shook her head, and it was very quiet for a minute. Depressingly so.
Neal gestured, tentatively, towards the television. “Can we, um, maybe—?”
“If your sister's feeling well enough,” their father said.
“Sure,” Meg said. “I mean, yeah, that would be good. Are the Red Sox on?”
It developed that they were, playing Cleveland at Fenway, and the tension eased a little in the room, once they could just sit there, and watch something so very familiar and comforting.
Meg started to pick up her soup spoon again, then realized that what she should probably do, tired or not, was call Josh. Say hello, at least. She lowered the spoon, having to concentrate to come up with his number, wishing she had a pencil so she could write it down.
Boy
, was she tired.
“What is it?” her father asked, looking worried.
“I should call Josh,” she said, glancing around to see if there was a telephone anywhere—locating it on the bedside table.
“I think he's here, actually,” her father said.
What? Meg frowned. “Did I know that?”
He shook his head. “Probably not. Tonight's the first time you've seemed well enough for visitors.”
Weird to think of Josh as a
visitor
. “Can I see him?” she asked. “I mean, you know, say hi?”
Her father nodded, picking up the phone and asking whoever it was who answered—the nurses' station? the Secret Service?—to send Josh up, Meg feeling anxious in spite of herself. Shy.
Her mother, a nurse with a tray of milkshakes, and Josh all arrived at just about the same time. Josh stopped to let them go first, giving Meg a chance to get a good look at him. An upsetting look. He was as shaky and tired as her family and Preston seemed, his hair parted strangely, with a cowlick she'd never even known he had. His shirt was rumpled underneath his sweater, and he seemed unsteady on his feet, like they had just woken him up. Which, for all she knew, they
had
.
Seeing her, he smiled. Nervously. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she said. “I didn't know you were here. I mean, they just told me.”
“Well, I thought—I mean, it seemed like you might—” He blinked a few times. “I mean, um—” he handed her a small package—“here.”
“Thank you.” It was too hard to open it with one hand, but she could tell by the feel that it was a bag of orange marshmallow circus peanuts. She grinned. “My favorite.”
“Yeah,” he said. “H-how do you feel?”
Instead of saying anything negative, she shrugged. “Did they wake you up or something? You look tired.”
“Well, I—” He flushed slightly. “I guess I kind of just dozed off.”
“But, my God, son,” she indicated the television, “the night is young.” Surprisingly, she heard Steven laugh, and winked at him before looking back at Josh.
“I don't—” He was shifting his weight from one foot to the other—“should I—?”
“Pull a chair over,” she said.
“Oh.” He looked around. “Yeah.”
As he carried one over, she watched her mother jittering around with the milkshakes and handing the one she'd no doubt ordered for herself to Josh, who held it uncertainly. Then, very obviously ill-at-ease, she found a chair for herself, Neal immediately moving over to sit on her lap.
Meg couldn't think of anything to say, and Josh couldn't seem to, either, so she looked up at the baseball game. The Red Sox were losing, 5–1, in the third. Christ.
Last
week at this time, she'd been dragging herself through mud and thorns and pine needles, dizzy and confused, and—Jesus. Last week, the thought of being in a room with her family and Josh would have seemed—it
was
unbelievable.
It was hard to follow the game, and she let the sounds drift in and out of her ears as she sipped a little of her milkshake. Vanilla, pretty thick. Then, she pulled on Josh's arm.
“What?” he asked, instantly attentive.
“When's graduation?” she asked. “Did it already happen?”
He shook his head. “No, it's tomorrow night.”
Which meant that today must be—she had to think—Thursday. “You're going, right?” she asked.
“Probably not,” he said.
Oh. She glanced in her mother's direction, then lowered her voice. “Who's speaking?”
Josh shrugged. “I don't know. Jon's father, I guess.”
Which made sense. Her knee was really hurting, and she tried to slide into a more comfortable position, only finding
worse
ones. She must have groaned because, suddenly, they were all looking at her.
“Are you all right?” her father asked, already on his feet.
“I'm fine,” she said.
They were still looking at her.
“I'm
fine
,” she said, and saw her parents exchange glances. “I'm sorry,” she said, more calmly. “Can we please just watch the game?”
Slowly, they all refocused on the television.
Jesus, it was unnerving to be the focus of attention. And to think that there had been times in her life—
many
times, in all honesty—when she'd felt that her parents—well, one parent in particular—didn't pay enough attention to her. Now, she'd give just about anything to be back to those days. Back to when everything hadn't hurt so much, too. But, she had pretty much just taken a pain pill, so whining about it wasn't going to accomplish a whole lot. Only, why the hell, now that she supposed to be safe and everything in the hospital, did her knee seem to hurting
more
?
“Meg,” Josh said, looking as though he might be about to leave the room.
“I'm
fine
,” she said, again. “Let's just watch the Red Sox.”
 
WHO—IT WAS only fitting, probably—lost by a final score of 9 to 8. Her mother took Neal off to get ready for bed, Steven—atypically—trailing after them.
Meg's father got up, too. “I'm going to go find Brooks, see what he can do for you.”
Her knee was throbbing so much that Meg didn't protest—at all.
Hesitantly, Josh stood up. “I should probably—”
“You don't have to leave,” Meg said. Her knee wasn't
his
fault—she could try being polite to him. “I mean—please don't.”
He sat back down, avoiding her eyes.
Christ, did she look
that
bad? “I, uh—” She touched her hair self-consciously. “I must look pretty awful.”
“You look
hurt
,” he said.
“Well—” She couldn't think of a response to that. “Well, you know.”
It was quiet.
Silent
, really.
“I, um, I hope you weren't here too long,” she said. “I mean, no one told me.”
He shook his head. “Just during visiting hours.”
Which was pretty long. She moved, trying to find a better angle for her leg, biting her lip against the instant flash of pain. She glanced over, hoping that he hadn't noticed, but, of course, he had.
He started to stand up again. “Should I get—?”
“No,” she said. “Thank you.”
The room got quiet again.
“I still can't believe you're here,” he said. “It's—I'm
really
glad.”
“I can't believe
you're
here. He kept telling me that you were—I thought—” She stopped, not wanting to think about it. About any of it.
“I ducked,” Josh said, so softly that she almost didn't hear him. “When you said to.”
Which she still had no memory whatsoever of doing. She frowned, not sure why he looked so upset. “Well—that's good, isn't it?”
He shook his head. “I should have
done
something. I should have—”
Yeah, right. “Against
machine
guns?” she said. “They just would have killed you.”
He shivered, instead of answering, and remembering the whole scene, she did, too.
“I'm sorry,” she said. “I almost got you—it's all my fault.”
“It's
my
fault,” Josh said. “I
knew
you didn't like him, and I knew you weren't going to—”
“I knew I had Secret Service for a reason—I never should have—” She sighed. “I'm sorry.” Like, big deal. Her
mother
was probably sorry, too. For all the good it was going to do any of them.
“You're the last person whose fault it was,” he said. “You're the brave one who had to go
through
all of it.”
Oh, yeah, real brave. Like, just for example, when she'd offered
to sleep with the guy, so he wouldn't—“I wasn't all that brave,” she said stiffly.
“Yeah, you were.” He shivered again. “They're shooting, and grabbing you up off the ground, and you're yelling for
me
to get down.”
“I was afraid they—” This conversation was upsetting, and her knee was hurting so badly that it was hard not to cry. Impossible, in fact. She turned her head, hoping that he wouldn't be able to tell. “Did you, um, drive here?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I—”
“It's kind of a long way back, at night,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Maybe you should—”
He was already standing. “Is it okay if I come to see you tomorrow?”
The thought of spending time with anyone—even him; maybe even
especially
him—was too hard. “I think I—” She didn't want to hurt his feelings. “I need some time alone, I think.”
“Okay,” he said, looking unhappy.
“I'll call you,” she said. “When I'm ready.”
He nodded.
“Can you make sure no one from school calls me or anything?” she asked. “I mean, you know, if they were going to?” If they could get
through
, even.
He nodded.
“Thanks.” There seemed to be tears all over her face, and she wiped at them clumsily with her good hand. “I
will
call you. I just—maybe not right away.”
She could tell he was upset, but he just nodded. “Okay. Whenever you're ready. Um, feel better.”

Other books

The Paladin's Tale by Jonathan Moeller
Ancient Hiss Story by Leighann Dobbs
I Shall Be Near to You by Erin Lindsay McCabe
Devil at Midnight by Emma Holly
Emily Goes to Exeter by M. C. Beaton
Isolation by Dan Wells
Circle of Deception by Swafford, Carla
Something Old by Dianne Christner