“Have you redressed these at all?”
“I haven’t managed. Could you do it?”
“Let’s get you washed first.”
Evelyn flushed pink as we worked her out of the rest of her clothes. She held on to me for balance as I pulled her sweatpants off her feet. “This is humiliating,” she muttered, covering her eyes.
“For you or me?” I joked. “Because these muscles are nothing to be ashamed of.”
To Evelyn, it didn’t matter that she was built like Adonis and bore no physical imperfections. She hated being helpless. I canned the jokes and turned around as she slipped under the stream of the shower. I hoped to give her some privacy, but it wasn’t long before she needed me.
“I can’t do my hair.”
Without a word, I kicked off my slippers and stepped closer. The water ricocheted off Evelyn’s broad shoulders, drenching me in seconds. The perfectly designed bathroom wasn’t so perfect for this sort of thing. I squeezed a dollop of shampoo into my palm and gazed up at Evelyn’s blonde hair.
“Um, can you crouch down or something?”
She ended up sitting in front of me while I massaged the soap into her scalp, rinsed it, and conditioned it as well. When I scrubbed her shoulders and back—methodically, medically—with a loofah, she dropped her head into her hands and didn’t say anything. I carefully washed her incisions with the soft pads of my fingers. Then I had her stand so I could reach the rest of her body.
“All finished,” I said quietly, rinsing the last of the soap off her and turning the shower off. I might as well have worn a swimsuit for the job. We both needed towels, but I wrapped Evelyn’s around her first so she could maintain some of her dignity.
She remained silent while I dried off her shoulder and put a fresh bandage over it. Then I helped her towel her hair dry and put on a fresh pair of pajamas. When I reached for the brace, she spoke again.
“Leave it off,” she said. “They told me I don’t have to sleep with it.”
I set the brace outside the bathroom for safekeeping. “Are you okay?”
She knew I didn’t mean her shoulder. “I never expected to be this helpless. I don’t like feeling like this.” Her lower lip jutted out. “Am I being a pill? You can tell me to stop pitying myself.”
“I get it.” Now that Evelyn was dry and dressed, I changed my own clothes. “Your whole job relies on your body and strength. Losing that must be tough.”
“And this—” She gestured at the shower then to herself. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this. Not even you. I know we’re close and we practically grew up together, but this is different. I’m weak, Jack.”
I squeezed her good arm. “You are not weak. You’re injured, and you need some help for the time being. It’s not permanent. Focus on that.”
“I know.” She grimaced. “I’m sorry. I won’t treat you like a nurse this whole time. I promise.”
“Honestly, if it makes you feel better to treat me like a nurse, then I don’t have any problem with it.”
Evelyn fell asleep before me. I lay awake, listening to her breathe. My insomnia was likely because of my earlier nap and the time difference between here and San Diego, but certain thoughts kept me up too. They whirled in my mind like dirty water circling a clogged drain, fading out but not quickly enough, and leaving residue behind.
I worried about Evelyn. Her job was her life. If her shoulder healed improperly, it would mean her livelihood. I vowed to keep her safe, even if my help embarrassed her.
My head wandered other places too. This was the closest I’d been to my mother’s home in a long time. Windsor was hardly an hour away. If I could drive there—
“No,” I murmured to myself, turning over. “Don’t go there, Jack.”
Restless, I forced myself to fall asleep.
I wasn’t kidding about spending the next several days as a tourist. Though Evelyn and I had spent years in this area, we hadn’t been allowed to see much of it as teenagers. Occasionally, we’d snuck out to meet our friends across campus, but we never went far from the grounds of the boarding school. When holidays came, we flew home, and most of London went unexplored. Since I was back, I had every intention of taking advantage of it.
After helping Evelyn get up and dressed—she was less upset about it this morning, perhaps because of the opportunity to leave the flat—we went to Oblix, one of the fancy restaurants in the Shard, for brunch. We spent a good few hours at our table by the window, gazing across London’s sweeping scenic views, loading our plates with meats and cheeses, and sipping coffee until our server grew weary of our presence. We tipped him well and then jumped on a red double-decker bus for the quintessential London experience. As we rode around on the top deck, the two of us tucked beneath rain slickers and umbrellas, Evelyn told me stories of her job that corresponded with the places we passed. Near Buckingham Palace, she’d prevented a stalker from jumping Hugh Grant. At Saint Paul’s Cathedral, Evelyn had put herself between a threatened stray dog and the naive child of a foreign diplomat. My favorite story was the one where she accompanied Emma Watson through Westminster Abbey while she promoted her newest project. A crazed Harry Potter fan had spotted “Hermione” and attempted to kiss her.
“Right before he could land on her lips, I grabbed the back of his collar and yanked him off,” she said, mimicking the movement. “Like one of those claw machines where you win toys. Ding, ding! You got yourself a jumper, Miss Watson.”
I sniggered. “What did she do?”
“Thanked me profusely and gave the boy a stern talking-to about a woman’s personal
