After lunch, Jackson appeared. I was sitting up but still feeling weak. I saw immediately that he was blaming himself.
“Hey, how ya doing?” he asked, and pulled the chair my mother had sat in all night close to the bed. He looked as depressed and tired as I felt.
“Angry at myself more than sick,” I said. “I saw those two talking to you. I should have expected it.”
“No, I should have. I had my back to Brenda, and Marsha was distracting me. I was the one who handed you the punch, an unwitting accomplice. I was such a fool.”
“It’s not your fault, Jackson. If you think that way, you make them less guilty. It’s almost like giving them an excuse.”
He nodded and then smiled. “I never thought of it like that. Even in this condition, you strike gold.”
“Hardly gold.”
We looked at each other just a little more intensely than ever. Was it because of what had happened and only that? Would this sudden new feeling pass?
“I should have paid more attention to you, Corliss. I should have looked after you.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to,” he said, and surprised me by reaching for my hand. “If I had, you probably wouldn’t be in here.”
I looked at his hand holding mine. Funny, I thought, but all this time, all the times we had been together for one thing or another, we had rarely touched. He wasn’t all that easy to read, even for me. Was he sorry because of what happened to me, or was he sorry because he had taken so long to tell me he had deeper feelings for me than mere friendship?
“Is that all right?” he asked, probably because I had yet to respond even close to the way he was hoping.
“Yes,” I said. He smiled. “Did the police question you?”
“Yes, and Dean Becker, too. I assured them that you didn’t take any drugs yourself. I told them about Brenda and Marsha, but I didn’t see it actually happen, so . . .”
“That’s all right. I’m sorry you were drawn into it.”
“I’m not.”
“Are your parents upset?”
“No,” he said quickly, maybe too quickly. “They believe me.”
I could tell from the way he said it that they weren’t one hundred percent sure. Maybe they had even warned him to stay clear of me for a while, if not forever.
He stood up and walked to the foot of the bed, put his hands on the railing, and leaned toward me. I sensed the anger in him.
“Don’t blame your parents. They’re simply worried for you, Jackson. You’re going to be the school valedictorian.”
“They believed me,” he insisted.
“Okay.”
“When you get out of here and you’re able to, of course, I’d like to take you to dinner, and not just pizza,” he said firmly. “My parents took me to a great little Italian restaurant two weeks ago, and I thought we could go there. If you like Italian food,” he quickly added.
“I do.”
“Great.” He looked at his watch. “I have to run off to do an errand for my mother. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Yes, Jackson. You don’t have to ask permission. This isn’t the Victorian age.”
He smiled widely. “I can see you’re getting better quickly.” He turned and started out, then stopped and rushed back to the side of my bed.
I looked up at him, smiling with amusement.