Chapter 7

By midday the next day, Kate had already made herself comfortable in my bedroom. After the obligatory questions—how I was feeling, how much it hurt, what the doctors had said—she fell silent, studying me with that calculating expression that always meant something was coming. Finally, she broke the silence.

“So?”

“So what?” I feigned indifference. “I already told you all the details.”

“Oh, don’t play dumb, Cams. We all saw the same thing.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Jacob, picking you up—nothing more, nothing less— with your legs wrapped around his waist, you were straddling him.”

“Kate! That’s not what this is about. I had an injured back, remember?”

“Oh, right. The injured back. And obviously, ‘that’ was the only possible way to get you to the car, wasn’t it?” Her sarcasm was unnecessary.

“I don’t know, Kate. I’ve never been in that situation, so I don’t exactly have a handbook of options.”

“Well, neither do I, but off the top of my head, someone could’ve carried you piggyback—or called the paramedics and asked for a wheelchair. There were options.”

“What are you trying to imply?”

“That Jacob took advantage of the moment. And you know it. You’re not as indifferent to him as you keep telling yourself. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And did you notice the face on that Nathalia girl? She was practically smoking. He didn’t even look at her after you fell—let alone say goodbye to her.”

“I think you’re seeing things that aren’t there. It was probably just the shock of the moment—there are explanations. Besides, by the end of the night, Jacob left without saying goodbye…”

“I left without saying goodbye, too,” Kate replied, casually painting my toenails. She’d insisted that if I was going to be stuck with a cast, at least my toes should look presentable. “And he left because he was dropping me off—and also because they wouldn’t let us in after you.”

That caught my attention, and I shifted slightly closer to her. Kate shot me a death glare for moving and threatening her work, so I sank back against the pillows and stayed still.

“You mean you tried after I went in?” I asked, trying to sound casual—though I’m pretty sure I failed.

“You should ask ‘him’.”

“I’m asking ‘you’.”

“That’s irrelevant. The good part had already happened,” Kate said, wiggling her eyebrows shamelessly, referring to the highlight of the night.

“Even if it’s irrelevant, I still think you’re imagining things,” I insisted, ignoring the silly faces she kept making at me.

“Uh-huh. And then there’s that tiny little detail where he lied and changed the story in front of your parents.”

That—that was where her logic hit home. Even I didn’t understand why he’d done it. So I improvised and tried to change course.

“I guess he wanted to spare the details. I mean, imagine how it would sound: ‘Yes, Susan, under my supervision, your daughter ended up buried under drunk people—just like I predicted at dinner.’ I think he’d lose my parents’ trust. Not to mention I’d never be allowed to set foot at a concert again.”

“That’s actually a good point,” Kate admitted, sitting beside me. “It doesn’t explain the way he carried you, but it does explain why he didn’t want to hang himself with the truth. Did you ask him? Have you talked to him since last night?”

“No. At least my parents haven’t said anything. I thought about calling him earlier, but since I lost my phone, I haven’t worked up the nerve to use the house phone. Did he say anything when he drove you home?”

“Of course. We had a long, meaningful conversation.”

“Really?”

I don’t know what was worse—my gullible expression or Kate’s mocking grin.

“Obviously not. He didn’t say anything substantial. I tried starting with, ‘What a night, right?’ and he just replied, ‘Sure was’. Then I added, ‘And Cami ending up in the hospital…’ and he said, ‘Yes, I’m glad it didn’t turn out worse’. And then that same man—who makes an effort to say loooong sentences during car rides—turned up the music and officially ended the conversation. Not exactly chatty, is he?”

“Welcome to my world of short sentences, courtesy of Jacob.”

Kate nodded, processing the information without offering anything else.

“So… are you going to talk to him?” she asked after a few seconds.

“Yes, I guess so. At least to thank him for what he did. But I’m not going to go over the night in detail—and I doubt he wants to either.”

“Well, if you want my advice, you could be a little more subtle. Something like, ‘Hey, thanks for carrying me straddling you and taking me to the hospital’”. Kate burst out laughing. Despite myself, I ended up laughing too.

“Fantastic plan, Kate. Very subtle. Thanks for the suggestion. I’ll keep it in mind.”

“You know me—I give top-tier advice.”

***

When Kate left, the room fell quiet. Mom had left the door open “so she could hear if I needed anything,” which gave me a strange mix of comfort and zero privacy.

The afternoon faded slowly, orange light spilling through the window. Dinner was approaching, and I knew I had to gather my courage and talk to Jacob. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

I dialed his number, and before the second ring, I heard a phone ringing downstairs.

“Camila,” he answered. Not ‘hello’—just my name, in that tone that always sent a shiver through me.

“Hi, Jacob… how are you?” I asked, instantly nervous. It wasn’t the first time I’d spoken to him on the phone, but before it had always been on Mom’s behalf. This time, it was on me.

“I’m good. And you?” His voice sounded different… amused? And at the same time, it echoed clearly through the receiver and from downstairs.

“I’m fine… a little sore, but nothing serious. Jacob, are you in the house?”

He let out a brief laugh. I hardly ever heard him like that, and the sound alone made my pulse quicken.

“Yes, I’m downstairs. I came to see you. Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

That caught me off guard. Jacob didn’t usually sound so relaxed with me.

“No, I—I mean, of course. Thank you… for coming?” I said it so uncertainly it sounded more like a question than gratitude.

«And that’s how you win the award for eloquence.»

“Are you asking me or thanking me?”

“I’m thanking you!” I blurted out.

«Great. Now I sound euphoric.»

“I’ll be down in a minute,” I added quickly. “Thank you for coming.” That time, it sounded right.

“Let me know if you need help. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve carried you.”

«Oh. God. I can’t believe he said that.»

“No! I’m fine—I can go down on my own.”

I heard his laughter echo through the house and through the phone, and I chose to hang up before I could make this conversation any more embarrassing.

Any more nervous than this, Camila—and you might actually pass out.