62
The hospital room was dim, the blinds drawn. Jacob hesitated in the doorway, scared. His father seemed to be lost in a mass of white sheets and pillows, with tubes coming out everywhere. But then he saw his father’s face, and his face looked good, and he was beckoning to Jacob with a feeble movement of his hand, and smiling.
“Come on in, partner.”
“Hi, Dad.” He hesitated, his heart beating so hard it might burst, and then, with a rush of emotion, he came in and embraced his father and found himself sobbing.
“It’s okay,” his father said, holding him. “I’m going to be just fine. I was lucky.”
They held each other for a few moments, until Jacob managed to get his crying under control. His mother, standing behind him, gave him a tissue, and he mopped his face.
“You’re a brave boy,” his father said. His voice was quiet and weak. “I’m so proud of you.”
Jacob blew his nose, wiped his eyes. “They said the bullets missed your heart by an inch.”
“Less than an inch,” said his father, with a touch of pride. “But, Jacob, your experience was far worse than mine.”
“I wasn’t shot like you,” Jacob said. “I keep telling that to the therapist. She acts as if I was shot, like, twenty times.”
Jacob’s father gave his shoulder a feeble squeeze. “I couldn’t be prouder of you.” He paused to take a few breaths. “Jacob, there’s something crazy about all this. There’s so much about it they won’t tell me. I can’t seem to find out why those men wanted Charlie when they could’ve taken any one of a dozen identical robots. And then the involvement of the FBI and, it seems, the Defense Intelligence Agency. Not to mention that NASA scientist who shot one of the men chasing you. Everything’s been hushed up. The whole thing is … really puzzling.” He looked at Jacob questioningly, as if he might have an answer.
Jacob said nothing, shrugged his shoulders. He hadn’t told anyone about Dorothy, except for that man Wyman Ford and Melissa Shepherd, the two who had saved him. And he never would.
“Dan,” said his mother, “I’m not sure right now’s the time.”
“Right, okay. How is your therapy going, Jacob?”
“Dumb, as usual.”
“It’s essential. You keep it up. You went through hell. You’ve had an experience no other fourteen-year-old boy has ever had. It’s going to take time to deal with that. Coming on top of, well, your other challenges.”
Jacob knew he was talking about the suicide attempt. It was strange: since that long night with Dorothy and that terrifying chase, he’d realized how stupid that had been, how selfish, how idiotic. Of course he wanted to live. Somehow, Dorothy had taught him—even if he wasn’t sure how or when—that his life wasn’t something he had the right to throw away. Maybe it was because she’d given her life for his.
“Right.” Jacob already knew that no amount of therapy could take away the big hollow feeling in his chest, the place where he was missing Dorothy. There were so many reasons why he couldn’t tell anyone, his father or the therapist, about what really happened. He kept seeing her, again and again, jamming her fingers into the electrical socket, the violent explosion, the pieces of her flying out in streamers of fire and sparks. All in a crazy effort to save his life—and it had. He had told himself a thousand times that she was just a dumb computer program, but nothing helped. No amount of thinking seemed to change his feelings about her.
“You really bonded to Charlie, didn’t you?”
Jacob nodded.
“I’ve been curious … What was it about Charlie that caused you to change your mind? Before, you didn’t seem very interested.”
Jacob was trying to come up with an answer when his father said, “You don’t have to answer the question. I know how lonely you’ve been since Sully left. But things will change. I finally got through the first round with the venture capital people, and it’s looking good for round two. We might not have to sell the house.”
Jacob nodded. Selling the house now seemed like a small, faraway problem, dwarfed by his aching loss for what had happened to Dorothy.
His father closed his eyes and breathed a few times, pressed a button on his IV. After a minute he opened his eyes. “Everything’s going to be fine,” he said with a smile, squeezing Jacob’s hand weakly. “I love you, son.”