probably true,” Emily conceded with a grin. “But you know what I mean—I don’t like slimy, wheat-germy-type things.”
“Wheat germ isn’t slimy. But look, Emily,” Amanda said and then took a deep breath. “I know you don’t like to talk about this, but ever since the promotion-Jeremy thing, you haven’t been taking very good care of yourself at all—worse than normal. All you do is work. All you talk about is work.”
Emily folded her hands neatly in front of her. “Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “Amanda, I know I’ve probably been awful to work for—”
“No, no,” Amanda said, “you are, and always have been, the best boss in the world.” She reached down, took Emily’s hand and squeezed it. “But right now I’m talking to you as your best friend. You need to pull yourself together. You need to start taking care of yourself and thinking about yourself first, before your job—before even your stepfather and your mother, and definitely before that worm Jeremy.”
Emily bobbed her head agreeably. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I’m going to. I will.”
“I’m sorry, Em, if I sound harsh, but you have no idea how worried I’ve been about you.”
Emily felt a surge of guilt well up within her. How selfish of her not to realize what Amanda had gone through, too.
“Oh, Amanda, I’m so sorry.” She reached over and enfolded Amanda’s hand in hers. “Yes, I promise I will get my act together. I will get better and healthy and eat raisins and vitamins and do yoga and become a hummus-eating vegan. And you know what? I’m thinking about starting my training for a triathlon the minute I get out of this hospital bed.”
Amanda let out a bark of laughter. “Let’s not get carried away here. It’s important not to set our expectations too high.”
“You’re right. I won’t, because I’m not eating any raisins. I’m not eating anything that looks like a dead bug. And I’m really not a strong swimmer, so that triathlon thing might be a tad unrealistic.”
“I’d settle for a brisk fifteen-or twenty-minute walk on the treadmill.” She let go of Emily’s hand and then reached into the brown paper sack sitting on the tray table and pulled something out. She placed it on a napkin and set it on Emily’s lap. “Here, try this. It’s one of the most delicious things I’ve ever eaten.”
Emily grimaced at it. It was some sort of biscuit covered with purplish-brown polka dots. “What is it? Wait, Amanda, is that a raisin?”
“Those are huckleberries. It’s a huckleberry scone. Just try it,” Amanda coaxed in a motherly tone. “Stop looking at it like that. I swear they aren’t raisins and there’s no wheat germ or anything healthy in it. I don’t even think it would fall into the ‘healthy’ category at all.”
Emily looked skeptical. “I’ll try it later, okay? I’m really not hungry right now. Now tell me exactly what happened after I passed out.”
Amanda ignored her attempt to change the subject. “Emily, you just told me you were going to do better. You promised. And the doctor says you have to eat if you’re going to get out of here today. And judging by your tray, you skipped breakfast.”
Emily crinkled her nose at the congealed cheese-and-smoked-salmon omelet and slimy canned fruit that lay untouched on the cart next to them. An apple fritter sounded good, or even a couple Oreos.
“Just try a bite,” Amanda encouraged.
“Fine, if it will make you happy.” Emily nibbled on the edge of the flaky biscuit and was immediately overwhelmed by its luscious texture. She took a real bite. Sweet, fluffy dough met tart berry in a delectable combination. Her stomach lurched painfully and then growled in anticipation of more. She took another bite and this time she savored it.
“That’s really good. I feel like I haven’t eaten in days.”
“You haffen’t” came the muffled reply as Amanda’s mouth was now also stuffed full of scone.
“What?” Emily answered. “I had that candy bar, let’s see, when was it? Yesterday morning? I guess it has been a while.”
Amanda shook her head and swallowed. “Nope, that was the day before yesterday. You’ve been asleep since Friday.”
“What?”
“Today is Sunday. You were out of it all day yesterday.”
Emily stared down at the scone in her hands and reeled over the fact that she’d lost almost two whole days out of her life and hadn’t even realized it. She thought hard for a moment. The last thing she remembered was a meeting with a Mr. James. She’d had a terrible headache, and she’d been really hot and...and he’d seemed angry with her—the memory of his deep voice reverberating in her brain made her cringe—and then she’d...
“I wouldn’t eat all of that if I were you,” that same voice suddenly called from the doorway. Emily shot a startled glance at Bering James as he strode into the room. She definitely remembered that voice. His hair was too long and rather unkempt, she thought, but he looked and smelled freshly showered, Emily decided as a few more steps delivered him right beside her bed. Her body tingled in memory of...what? Possibilities sent a shiver skittering uncomfortably across her skin.
It was just his close proximity making her feel overheated and self-conscious, she decided, pulling the sheet up to her chin. Bering ran one hand over his mouth and it looked to Emily as if he was smothering a chuckle. What was funny, she wondered irritably, and what in the world was he doing here?
“Your stomach might tell you it wants all of that,” he said, gesturing at the scone in her hands. “But if you eat that much, it might turn around and change its mind on you. It’s awfully rich.” He smiled at her, and Emily had the distinct feeling that he was going to reach out and touch her. But he didn’t.
“I’m glad to see you’re finally awake, Ms. Hollings. How are you feeling?”
“I, uh, I’m fine, I guess, Mr. James. Thank you so much for stopping by. If you want to talk to Amanda here, she can reschedule our meeting. I really have to apologize. I’m afraid I don’t remember most of our first one.”
“Emily,” Amanda began, “Bering hasn’t—”
“It’s okay, Amanda,” he said, cutting her off. “I would be happy to reschedule—but later. The doctor is going to be in to see you again in a few minutes. But first, here you go. Drink this.” He reached into a pouch on the side of the backpack he had slung over his shoulder and removed a plastic bottle filled with a thick liquid. He inserted a straw and placed it in her hands.
Emily held it up—it looked like a smoothie. She hadn’t had a smoothie in so long that the mere thought of it caused her mouth to water. But she had to ask, “It’s pink—please don’t tell me it’s some kind of liquefied salmon drink?”
“What?” Bering said with a surprised chuckle. “No, it’s peach.”
She took a sip from the straw and the taste of fresh peaches drenched her taste buds. “Mmm, oh, my goodness,” she said with a groan. “This is even better than the scone. It’s the best thing I’ve tasted since I’ve been here. Where did you get it? Because I know there is nothing even resembling a proper
