Perfect Fifths_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [83]
Besides, he’s got a plan.
On a hunch, Marcus strides over to the closet, opens the door, and—aha!—finds what he was looking for: a Here hotel–brand bathrobe. He presses his face into the plush, velvety cotton and inhales. It smells fresh, like fabric softener. He slips the bathrobe over his corduroys, ties the belt into a knot, and poses in front of the full-length double mirror on the back of the closet door. It’s an unconventional outfit, yes, but less risqué than going shirtless. If asked by perplexed guests or wary employees, he could always claim that he’d gotten lost coming back from the spa or pool, or imply that his strange attire had something to do with the airline losing his luggage, which would inspire most listeners to join in with their own lost-luggage horror stories and forget about him in the bathrobe. Most people believe whatever you tell them because they want to believe.
He takes a Here hotel pad and pen to leave a note for Jessica. He pauses for a few minutes, mouthing words as he tries to come up with the right message with the right number of syllables for her to read upon waking. Once satisfied, he slides his cell phone into one pocket of the bathrobe, his key card and wallet into the other, and heads out the door.
ten
Jessica is walking through the corridors of a hospital. Under her arm, she carries her teardrop carry-on bag. She is wearing a black sweater, black jeans, and black sneakers that contrast sharply with the bright fluorescent lights and bleached-white hallway. She is looking for Sunny’s room but isn’t in a rush to get there. Most of the doors are closed, but she notices there is an open door farther down the hall. She thinks it’s the room she’s looking for, but she’s not sure, because there don’t seem to be any numbers differentiating one room from the next. As she approaches this room, she hears music coming out of it. It’s a familiar song, but she can’t place it because no one is singing the words, and she needs the words. What are the words? She starts humming along with the music, but it doesn’t help her with the words. Why can’t I find the words? She decides to ask the room’s occupant for the words to the song, and when she pokes her head through the doorway, she is surprised to see that this is indeed Sunny’s room, but the music isn’t a recording, it’s being played by a band of musicians who have set up all around Sunny’s hospital bed for a live performance starring none other than Barry Manilow himself. Sunny is still comatose, purple, and bald, attached to a tangle of wires, including a machine that is monitoring her brain activity and projecting the multicolored images onto the wall like a lava lamp at a rave. Barry Manilow is wearing the electric-blue bedazzled jumpsuit but isn’t singing—he’s frozen, mouth open, microphone in hand, in the iconic pose from the decoupage toilet seat cover. Jessica wonders why Barry Manilow isn’t singing and is just about to ask him to stop posing and start singing already when he suddenly breaks the pose and silences the band with a commanding wave of his sparkly arms. Then Barry Manilow says ruefully to Sunny, I can’t smile without you. I can’t laugh. And I can’t sing. Barry Manilow turns away from Sunny and faces Jessica, and that’s when she discovers that Barry Manilow isn’t Barry Manilow but Marcus Flutie dressed as Barry Manilow.
You! Jessica shouts.
Yes? Marcus asks.
You, Sunny says, sitting upright in her bed, curiously removed from all life-support accoutrements. Her hair has grown back into the style she had before the accident, crooked self-cut bangs and all.
Sunny! Jessica cries out, dashing to her bedside.
You, Sunny repeats, this time in a scoffing so-over-it tone.
Me, what? Jessica asks.
Sunny flicks her irises just so. It’s a gesture indicative