I sit up, feeling the blood drain from my head. Emma and Beth blur in my vision.
“Plus,” Emma says. “We lost all the tools, remember? Your bag fell off your shoulder into the water.”
“We don’t need them. If I can go up again, I can—” I wince at the sharp pain that stabs at my temple. I lift my hand to it, feeling a tender bump.
“You need to lie back down,” Beth says. “I think you have a concussion.”
“How long was I out for?” I ask, knowing Beth is probably right.
“At least a few minutes while we hoisted you down.” Emma eyes me warily. “We’re lucky you weren’t hurt worse.”
Is that disappointment I detect in Emma’s voice?
Water sprays the side of the boat.
“We should get you inside,” Beth says. “Do you think you can stand if we help you?”
“I think so.”
I try to ignore the painful throb on the side of my head as they help me get unsteadily to my feet.
“You okay, Palmer?” Russell calls from the helm as Beth and Emma guide me through the cockpit.
“Yeah,” I say, offering him a weak nod, although I wonder if, like Emma, he could be disappointed I didn’t die, making one less person for him to have to kill. Or am I starting to lose it, imagining every person I look at might be a killer? I lift a hand to the growing bump on my head, feeling lucky to still be alive.
Emma holds onto my arm as I descend the narrow companionway steps, then hands me off to Beth who waits at the bottom and helps lower me onto the couch.
I lay my head on the armrest and close my eyes.
“Wait,” Emma says, rushing toward me. “I thought people with concussions aren’t supposed to sleep. What if you go into a coma?”
I open my eyes to see Emma towering over me. “That’s an old school of thought,” I say. “Now, it’s been proven that it’s fine to rest after a concussion. It helps the brain heal. The risk of sleeping is for when there’s a suspected brain hemorrhage—a brain bleed. In those cases, you need to wake the person to make sure they aren’t worse.”
Beth and Emma exchange glances. “How do we know you don’t have that?” Beth asks.
We don’t.“If my speech slurs, or my balance is off, or—”
Beth’s eyes widen. “Your balanceisoff.”
“I don’t have a brain bleed.”
Beth looks unconvinced. “And how else do we know if you’re worse?”
I yawn, then grimace at the sharp pain that rips through my temple. “If my headache gets drastically worse or my cognition changes, like I’m unaware of where I am and what’s happening. Or if my pupils become unreactive to light, but that can also be a sign of a concussion, which I’m sure is all this is. I just need to rest.”
Emma looks between me and Beth. “And what do we do if youdoget worse?”
I sigh. “Take me to a hospital.”
Emma frowns.
“I’ll climb the mast,” Beth says.
“No,” Emma and I chime together.
Emma turns to Beth. “Remember what happened at the Space Needle? There’s no way you could go up that mast without panicking. I’ll go.” She peers out the window above my head. “I don’t want to speak too soon, but the seas seem like they might be calming.”
“I’ll help Beth winch you up.” A wave of nausea washes over me as I try to sit up. The room spins, and I grip the edge of the couch for support.
