White Lies (Sweet Valley High Book 52)

by Francine Pascal

  "Come on," she interrupted, rising. She led John out into the hallway. When she reached the pay phone, she dug some change out of her purse and started punching in a phone number. "I'm calling my father," she explained. "He can call his friend over at Wells and Wells and find out."

  John felt a surge of relief that Elizabeth was on his side. But he waited apprehensively, almost unable to listen to the one-sided conversation.

  "Hi, it's Liz Wakefield," Elizabeth said cheerfully. "Is my dad in? Thanks. Hi, Dad. Yeah, did you call yet? OK, I'll wait." She covered up the mouthpiece and looked at John, her blue-green eyes warm with compassion. "He put me on hold so he can call Wells and Wells on another line. It'll just be a minute."

  John swallowed hard and nodded. He was afraid the news would be bad. If it was, he didn't know what he would do. Jennifer would never speak to him again. His heart pounding, he leaned against the wall and stared blindly at his sneakers.

  "Oh—hi, Dad," Elizabeth said into the phone.

  A jolt of adrenaline ran through John when Elizabeth's father came back on the line. He looked at her nervously and then glanced away.

  "OK. Sure. That's great. Thanks a lot. See you later, Dad." Smiling, Elizabeth hung up the phone and turned to John. "He made it through just fine. He's back in Intensive Care, but he's already feeling a lot better, they say."

  John felt his shoulders sag with relief. He passed one shaking hand across his forehead and nodded. "That's great. Oh, man. I was so—"

  "It's OK," Elizabeth cut in. She gave him a sympathetic smile. "You can stop blaming yourself now. He's going to be fine."

  "Right." John looked off down the hallway, a hundred thoughts rushing through his head. But the most important one was: How is Jennifer taking it?

  Of course she would be relieved, but she must still be under an enormous strain. There was a long convalescence to get through, and after all, Mr. Mitchell was still in Intensive Care. The ordeal wasn't over yet.

  "It's probably a good time for you to talk to Jennifer," Elizabeth said, interrupting his thoughts. "Now that her father's going to be all right, she's probably a lot less upset."

  "I wouldn't count on it," John said. "She's not going to just forget about what I did."

  Elizabeth shrugged. "No. But you can at least give it a shot. You two had a good friendship. Go see if it's still there."

  "I can't." Panicked, John backed up. "Can't you go? Just to see how she is? Please?"

  "John—" Elizabeth let out a sharp, exasperated sigh. Then she said, "All right, look. After school we can both go to the hospital, and I'll go in and see how Jennifer is. If she feels like talking to you, then you'll be there, and you can go in."

  He hesitated, but he had to admit it was a sensible plan. And besides, he had asked a lot from Elizabeth lately, and she had helped him without complaint. It was no time to start acting like a whiny kid.

  "OK. And thanks, Liz. You're a really great person."

  Elizabeth's dimple showed in her left cheek as she grinned modestly. "I bet you say that to everyone," she teased.

  "No, just you." John felt better than he had in days. Things might still be up in the air, but he knew he had a lot going for him. And Elizabeth Wakefield was one of them. He punched her playfully in the shoulder. "See you after school."

  Elizabeth put the Fiat in gear and backed out of her parking space, then swung around into the main driveway to the school entrance. She waited there while students streamed out of the building and down the wide marble steps. Friends called to her as they passed, and she waved in return. Her eyes were on the big double doors, though, while she scanned the crowd for John Pfeifer. When he appeared at the top of the steps, he saw her and trotted down.

  "Hi," he said, clambering in. His face was flushed, and he didn't seem to know where to put his arms and legs. He kept shifting around awkwardly in the seat.

  Elizabeth resisted the impulse to smile. She realized he was nervous about confronting Jennifer, and she didn't want to make it any worse. With a faint, sympathetic grin, she started up the car and pulled away from the curb.

  "I called her house again," John said abruptly. "There's still no one home, so I figure they're still at the hospital."

  "OK."

  "And I was also thinking about what you could say," John went on. He stretched his neck and then shrugged uncomfortably. "You could ask her—"

  Elizabeth shot a look at him. "John, don't worry. I'll just play it by ear."

  They drove in silence until the hospital loomed before them.

  "I was thinking—maybe I should wait a few days, just let things settle down," John mumbled, obviously dreading Jennifer's reaction.

  Elizabeth shrugged. "OK, if that's the way you want it. But we're here. I think I'll go in anyway, just to say hello. You can wait outside if you want." She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and then looked ahead again. Inwardly, she believed the best time for him to talk to Jennifer was now. The sooner the better.

  But there was no harm in her scouting out the territory first, Elizabeth knew. So she didn't argue with John. Instead, she found a parking space and cut the engine. They sat looking at each other for a moment.

  "So . . . I'll be back in a few minutes," she said.

  John nodded, trying to stay composed. "I'll be here."

  Without another word, Elizabeth climbed out, swung her bag over her shoulder, and headed for the main visitors' entrance. Inside the cool, hushed lobby, she paused. An idea came to her. At one time she had worked in the hospital as a candy striper, so she knew the place well. Turning to the right, she hurried down a hallway in the direction of a florist shop.

  "Hello," she called to the white-haired woman at the counter. She took her wallet out of her purse and made a hasty calculation. "What do you have for twelve dollars?" she asked.

  The saleswoman beamed. "Visiting someone in your family, dear?"

  "No, just a friend."

  "Well, that's nice. It's nice to see young people come visiting. Let me see . . ." Sliding open the glass refrigerator door, the woman lifted out a small arrangement of white carnations and yellow daisies. "This one is only eleven dollars. Plus tax."

  Elizabeth nodded, pleased with the simple bouquet. "That's fine."

  "And I'll put a bow on it, dear. And here's our selection of note cards, too. Just fill one out while I ring this up."

  Her eyes sparkling, Elizabeth chose a card with a red rose on it, picked up a pen, and paused for a moment to consider. Then she carefully wrote a few lines and signed it. After she paid for the flowers, Elizabeth hurried to the elevator, crossed her fingers, and pressed the button.

  Twelve

  Mr. Mitchell stirred slightly in his bed and sighed. He was deeply sedated. Jennifer looked across the bed at her mother. Their eyes met, and they exchanged faint, hopeful smiles.

  "I think I'll go get something to eat, Jen," Mrs. Mitchell said in a quiet voice. She stood up and stretched. "Why don't you come with me? Dad won't be waking up for a while."

  But Jennifer shook her head. "No, you go ahead, Mom. I'm not really hungry right now. I'll just stay here with him."

  Her mother looked at her for a moment, then smiled tenderly. "OK, honey. I won't be more than a few minutes."

  "Sure. Take your time." Jennifer watched as her mother left the dimly lit hospital room, and then she relaxed against the chair. A shaft of afternoon sunlight sliced through the crack between the shade and the window.

  Jennifer studied her father's face in the gentle light. He looked peaceful, and his breathing was deep and regular. A faint echo of the pain he had felt tugged at her own heart as she looked at him.

  "I'm sorry, Dad. I'll make it up to you," she whispered. "I really will."

  She wanted to touch his hand, but she was afraid to disturb him. When she thought of the awful way she had treated him, how she had turned her back on him when he was in such pain, tears pricked her eyelids.

  I love you, Dad, she told him silently.
You know that, don't you?

  Sighing, she stood up and slipped out into the hallway to stretch her legs. As she shut the door behind her she heard someone call her name. She looked up anxiously, expecting a nurse or an orderly. Instead, Elizabeth Wakefield was walking toward her, a flower arrangement in her hands. For a moment Jennifer was too surprised to say anything. Until the day before, she had assumed Elizabeth didn't even know who she was. And now she had come to see her in the hospital.

  "Hi, Jennifer. How's your dad?" Elizabeth asked quietly, reaching her side. She glanced at the door. "Will he be all right?"

  Jennifer nodded.

  "I found these flowers at the nurses' station," Elizabeth explained. She held out the arrangement of carnations and daisies and nodded back down the hall. "I hope you don't mind that I brought them."

  "No—no. It's OK," Jennifer answered without emotion.

  "There's a card, too. I'll hold the flowers while you read it."

  Jennifer took the card out of the arrangement and carefully slipped the tiny card out of its envelope. She read it aloud.

  " 'Dear Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell and Jennifer, I wish you all the best, and my thoughts are with you. I hope you'll always think of me as your friend. Love, John Pfeifer.' "

  Jennifer took the arrangement out of Elizabeth's hands and started to walk toward a nearby trash bin. "I don't want these," she said in a tight voice. "He has no right to—"

  "Don't throw them away," Elizabeth cut in. She gently took the flowers from Jennifer. "I'm sure he's only trying to help, to be your friend."

  Jennifer turned on her heels and stalked indignantly down the corridor, Elizabeth following close behind. When she got to the lounge, Jennifer sank down on a couch and caught her breath. Her heart was pounding wildly in her chest, and her throat felt tight. As she squeezed her hands together, she realized she was still holding the note. She stared at it and at the signature: "Love, John Pfeifer."

  Suddenly she was crying, the tears running uncontrollably down her face. Elizabeth reached for her hand and held it without speaking, and Jennifer let the tears flow. She didn't know why she was crying, why her heart felt as though it were splitting in two. All she knew was that she had to cry. Finally, after a few minutes, her sobs eased off into hiccups and sniffles, and she wiped futilely at her wet cheeks.

  "I don't know what's wrong with me," she choked, catching her breath. "My dad's fine now."

  "It's probably just a release—the relief," Elizabeth offered. There was a box of tissues nearby, and Elizabeth plucked two from the box to give to Jennifer. "It's perfectly natural."

  "I guess." Jennifer sniffled. "The past few days have been really tense."

  Elizabeth smiled. "I know. But it's all over now. Things are starting to shape up."

  They were silent for a few awkward seconds. Jennifer gazed forlornly at the note she still held in her hands and shook her head from side to side.

  "John . . ." The name came out as a sigh. Jennifer leaned back and closed her eyes, trying to come to grips with the wild swirl of thoughts and emotions inside her. When she started to talk, she almost felt as if it were another person speaking.

  "When he told me he was the one who called the police, I thought I hated him so much. I really did. I'd trusted him, I'd told him everything, and then he went and spied on Rick and turned him in."

  Elizabeth didn't say anything, but she nodded.

  "But, you know, when my dad was in the operating room, I was thinking about how I'd told him I hated him, and suddenly I didn't want to hate anyone anymore. Especially not John."

  "He didn't want to see you get hurt," Elizabeth said. "He was just so worried about you."

  Jennifer thought back to the days when she had been so crazy about Rick Andover. It seemed like years ago. Now that she had been separated from him, she realized that what she had felt had been just a wild infatuation. It was even getting hard for her to picture his face clearly.

  And now that she faced the truth, she knew Rick really had broken into the music store, and she had to accept that her father had had good cause to give her all those warnings: Rick was trouble, and if it hadn't been for John, she would have been right in the middle of it. Obviously John had recognized that all along. No wonder he had been worried about her.

  "He probably thought I was crazy for saying my dad framed Rick," Jennifer said, sniffling. "I mean, I knew Rick had been found with the guitar and the money, but for some reason I just didn't want to believe he could have stolen them. I—I just wanted to blame somebody else besides Rick."

  Elizabeth nodded, and Jennifer let her breath out slowly. "And if John hadn't turned Rick in, I wouldn't have been here with my dad when he—" Her throat constricted without warning. She had to swallow hard to compose herself.

  "But you were here. That's what matters," Elizabeth finished for her. She leaned forward and squeezed Jennifer's hand. "And when your father wakes up, he'll see you, and he'll probably jump right out of bed, he'll be so happy."

  Jennifer let out a combination laugh and hiccup, and she wiped her nose again with her crumpled tissues. "Yeah."

  "And you know," Elizabeth went on gently, "John wanted to give you that chance. He could have gone on letting you think your dad was to blame, but he's just not like that."

  "I know. I know it," Jennifer whispered. She pressed her lips together. Her eyes felt hot, but she knew she was finished crying.

  Thinking it all over now, she realized it had taken a lot of guts for John to admit he was the person to blame, especially since he knew how angry and hurt she was. He had been willing to take all the responsibility on himself.

  He's the best friend I've ever had, Jennifer thought.

  Beside her, Elizabeth shifted on the couch. "Do you think you can forgive him? He's always been there for you," Elizabeth pointed out. "Give him a chance to make it up."

  With a quavery smile, Jennifer looked up and nodded. "I know he's always been there for me. I just always took it for granted before."

  Elizabeth's eyes shone with happiness. "He's here now, too. I could go get him, if you want."

  An unexpected attack of shyness came over Jennifer. "OK," she whispered, dropping her gaze. She fingered the card, and a smile turned up the corners of her mouth. "I should at least tell him how much I like the flowers he sent."

  Elizabeth jumped up from the couch with a wide grin. "Great. I'll go tell him to come up. I'll see you later."

  As Elizabeth hurried away to the elevator, Jennifer looked down again at the card in her hand.

  "I hope you'll always think of me as your friend," it said. Feeling shy and awkward, but happy all the same, Jennifer smiled.

  I've been acting like a spoiled brat, she told herself. It's time to grow up and take a look around.

  And the one person she was ready to take a good look at at the moment was John Pfeifer.

  After fifteen minutes of waiting, John was beginning to think he'd go out of his mind. He got out of Elizabeth's car and leaned against it, his arms folded across his chest and his legs crossed. He squinted up at the hospital's windows, wondering what was going on inside. There might be a dozen life-and-death dramas unfolding as he stood there, but only one mattered to him.

  Drawing a deep breath to steady his nerves, he pushed himself away from the car and began pacing. The rush of elation that had lifted his spirits when he heard Mr. Mitchell was all right had faded. There were still a hundred things that could go wrong.

  But even if nothing goes wrong, there's still reason for Jennifer to hate me, he told himself. I lied to her, I betrayed her trust, and I let her go on hating her father.

  "She's not going to want to see me," he said out loud. He said it again to convince himself, to make himself face reality. "She won't want to see me."

  A pregnant woman walking from her car gave him a suspicious look, and John turned away in embarrassment, trying to look casual. He was caught off guard when he heard Elizabeth's voice behind him.

  "
Hi." She was out of breath.

  John's heart jumped and started beating hard as he turned to face Elizabeth. He couldn't speak. He was too afraid to ask.

  "She's had a chance to think it all over," Elizabeth told him cheerfully. "And she wants to talk to you—and not to chew you out," she added when a look of alarm passed across his face.

  Finally he cleared his throat and darted a quick, hopeful glance at the hospital. "Really?"

  "Yes," Elizabeth said, chuckling. "Go on up."

  John took a few steps and halted, still uncertain. He couldn't believe Jennifer was actually willing to talk to him after what he had done. It was too good to be true.

  Elizabeth let out a groan and shoved him from behind. "Go on, silly! Oh, before I forget—"

  "What?" He looked back at her, suddenly impatient to leave.

  "You owe me eleven dollars and sixty-six cents, but you can pay me back later."

  He stared at her in bewilderment. "Huh?"

  "And also," Elizabeth added, her eyes dancing with laughter, "you have very good taste in flowers."

  John was even more puzzled and confused than before, but he was too excited and happy to care. He shrugged and gave her a skeptical grin. "If you say so, Liz."

  "You want me to wait and drive you home?"

  John thought for a moment. "I think I'll take the bus. Thanks."

  "OK, no problem."

  Grinning from ear to ear, Elizabeth climbed into her convertible and started it up. She looked as if she were enjoying some private joke, but John didn't have time to ask what it was. As he jogged toward the hospital entrance, Elizabeth drove past and waved. He waved in return, then ran inside without looking back.

  Once inside, he hurried for the elevator and clenched his fists, anxious for it to come. Finally the car arrived, and he stepped in and pushed the correct button. But when he reached the Intensive Care floor and the doors slid open, he suddenly wished it had all taken a little longer. He didn't know what he was going to say.

  Swallowing hard, he walked out into the corridor and glanced left and right. At the far end, Jennifer was sitting on a couch with her back to him. He would recognize the long, straight blond hair anywhere. Beside her on a little table was a bouquet of flowers.