Copperback (8 page)

I
rushed back down the stairs to the first aid kit sitting at the foot of the
bed. Throwing it open, I rummaged through the organized piles of single use
creams and ointments, looking for the thermometer. She held on the line, making
small talk like I was still in conversation with her. The thermometer was
hiding behind one of the rolls of tape. Impatiently, I turned it on, waiting
for it to turn blank to indicate it was ready for use. With all of his
muttering, it would be impossible to hold it in his mouth. I stuck it under his
armpit, feeling the heat roll off of his skin, making it uncomfortable to keep
my hand close.

The
readout kept climbing. It finally beeped at me. “It says 108.3.” I waited for
her response. I wasn’t a doctor, but still, I knew that wasn’t remotely close
to normal. If he were a human, he would already be dead.

Surprisingly,
she was able to recollect her thoughts and answer me just as easily as before.
“That’s pretty high. You want to make sure you’re getting plenty of water, and
you may consider taking a cool bath. I wouldn’t use ice, since it could shock
your system. It sounds like your body may have an infection it’s just trying to
fight. I’ll be over as soon as I can get out. Try to take care of yourself in
the meantime. I love you. Bye.”

She
had told me everything I needed to know, so long as I could read between the
lines. He needed water; he more than likely had an infection, and he needed to
be cooled down, but there was no way I was going to get him to a bath. I was going
to have to take it to him.

Running
back up the stairs to the kitchen, I found the mop bucket and began filling it
with cool water from the sink. While it was filling, I ran to the bathroom to
snag some of my better washcloths that I wasn’t willing to part with the
previous night. By the time I made it back to the kitchen, the bucket was a
little over halfway full. It would have to do for now. Holding the bucket in
one hand and trying not to slosh water, I reached in the fridge for the last
few cold bottles of water. Balancing them under my arm, I made my way back down
the stairs to the foot of the bed. His static hums had died down, but his strained
movements were still as frequent, if not stronger.

Wasting
no time, I set everything down where I stood and tore off the cap to one of the
water bottles. I hadn’t figured out how to get him to take a drink, but I would
force him if I had to. I slid my hand behind his head and neck, trying to lift
him so he wouldn’t choke. His hair line ran down his neck, and I could feel the
scorching bristles of his mane against the coolness of my hand. Holding the
bottle close to his lips, I tipped it back, watching most of the water run down
his discolored cheek and off his dimpled chin. I could hear my own voice
whispering softly for him to swallow the water, watching his throat, intently
waiting to see his Adam’s apple move in response. At last, he did, and I forced
another sip into him, with the same results.

I
continued this until almost half the water was gone. Most had made it into him,
but some of the runoff had formed a shallow pool at the base of his neck,
quickly evaporating from the heat he was producing. The fever felt just as high,
and his unrest had not changed. It was time to move onto the sponge bath, to see
if that could help ease things for him.

Soaking
the first washcloth and wringing it out, I folded it and laid it across his
forehead. He winced once and went back to his restless state. Saturating the
other washcloth with cool, clean water, I ran it across his neck and chest,
leaving droplets of water to bead on his luminous skin. The heat was so intense
that in just a couple of passes it had become warm, and I had to rinse it out
and start over with more cool water. This time, I ran it down his arms and
shoulders, feeling along the contours of his muscular body, water sizzling on
contact. I considered the ice again, hoping it would speed up the process, but
I heeded Sally’s warning, knowing it could cause shock, and possibly death.

I
kept it slow and moderated, taking turns between sips of water and cool downs
with the damp cloth. I watched him over, checking for any sign of change. His agitation
stayed the same, as did his flesh that seemed to want to combust at any moment.

 I
kept at this pace for hours, watching and waiting for the fever to break; his
condition didn’t change. Most of the water from the bucket had evaporated to
steam on his body. I was fighting hunger, not wanting to leave, and refusing to
sleep, even as my body told me I needed it. Maybe he had lost his will to live,
and this was just a final way of telling us he was done. I couldn’t help but break
down. The tears were uncontrollable as they streamed down my face. I didn’t
have the right tools or skills to help him. For the first time, I needed him to
live – not because I wanted him to leave, but so I could make my mom proud…so I
could be proud of myself.

Job
was still burning up, and I couldn’t bring myself to get up and help. I had
been crying for over an hour, still glued to the chair next to him. I had
pulled my knees up to my chest, trying to comfort myself. The pangs of hunger
were gnawing away at my stomach. I had lost track of the time. None of this
mattered anymore. I was numb to anything around me except his breathing. Every
time it stopped, I held mine until he started again. I didn’t even hear Sally
descending the stairs till she was standing next to me, trying to pry me from
my spot. I could hear her talking, but nothing was sinking in. It was all fuzz
in the background.

She
was checking him over, seeing if anything else had become an issue in the last
day. She was talking as she went, telling me that these were things I would
need to check every day, as well. I watched her as she pulled back the sheet
from his busted leg, exposing his toes sticking out of the splint, feeling them
for warmth. She ran her finger up the sole of his foot, making it twitch involuntarily.
After that, she pulled back the bandage on his side, pushing against it – making
sure that it wasn’t infected – and reapplying a new one in its place. I was
only half listening. I didn’t see the point of needing to know what to do, if
he was going to die anyways.

She
pulled out the thermometer to check his fever. I had checked it at least a half
dozen times, hoping that it would show some different reading. It went up to
the same numbers every time. I wasn’t expecting that this time would be much
different.

“It
looks better,” she said. “Actually, almost everything looks better. It’s only
at 101.5 now. There is no infection, most of his small cuts have healed up, and
I think that the bleeding in his abdomen stopped. It’s not out of the woods,
but it’s a start. I’m not sure why he has the fever, though. He looks like he
might be fighting this, after all. You did a good job.”

I
couldn’t help but sit up and take notice. I was ready to stop fighting for him,
and he was on the mend. It wasn’t as hopeless as I first thought. Sally hadn’t
seen that I was listening to her. She was talking to herself, trying to
formulate a plan to move him that night.

“No.
He’s not going anywhere. I want him to stay. I’m staying with him.” I had
already made up my mind. She wasn’t going to argue with me. After years of
dealing with my decisions and mood swings, she probably knew there was no point.

She
nodded her head approvingly. “Then he can stay, but you need to take care of
yourself, too. I brought dinner for you. Run upstairs, eat, and get some sleep.
I’ll wake you up before I leave.”

I
wanted to stay and wait, but she was right. It sounded so tempting. I walked
back upstairs, leaving her behind. The kitchen smelled of chicken. It made my
mouth water just thinking about it. I could see the plastic grocery bags
stacked on the counters from her shopping spree before she had come over. All the
counters had been cleared, and any clutter I had left had been removed and
disposed of. The little rotisserie chicken was in its own plastic container
next to the groceries, waiting to be opened and eaten. A new twenty-four pack
of bottled water was on the floor, to replace what we had used. I barely had
time to pull the lid from the chicken, when I heard a knock at the front door.

I
wasn’t expecting anyone, and almost everyone who came over always used the back
door; the front door was usually reserved for packages or unwelcome solicitors.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, it said it was a quarter till eight – far
too late for a package. With Job downstairs, thoughts flashed through my head
that it could be a nosey neighbor trying to find out what all the ruckus was
about last night. My heart started to pound again, scared that I had been
caught. The dinner would have to wait till I could deal with whoever had graced
my doorstep.

I
answered the door, trying to look as sick as possible. It wasn’t exactly a far
stretch since I was still in my nightgown, with my hair a mess and red puffy
bags under my eyes from crying and lack of sleep. I swung the door open to see
Derrick standing there, wearing almost the same outfit as the previous day. The
only thing different was that his shirt was a short-sleeve green polo. His grin
started wide, but slowly fell to a worrisome look. He made no attempt to open
the screen door, and I was glad for that. I must have looked really haphazard.
He took one look at me and didn’t question the validity of my lie. He was still
nervous, looking down at his shoes and back at me.

I
was on edge, hoping my lie could hold out and not invite him to question me. As
enwrapped as I was in my current endeavor, I wanted to keep the conversation
brief.

“Hey,
Derrick. What are you doing here?” I croaked, attempting to sound sick. It
wasn’t much of an act.

His
face lit up just hearing his own name. He stopped fidgeting long enough to
talk. “Chase told me you might have the flu, and I thought I would check in on
you. I had said yesterday that I wanted to stop by.”

I
recalled very clearly he had wanted to come by, but was wondering whatever
happened to the three day rule about dating? Was that thrown out when you lived
in a backwoods town? I gave him a half-hearted smile to show it was a sweet
gesture. I was hoping that was all he wanted from his visit.

“I
wanted to know if you might want to go out this Saturday – only if you’re
feeling up to it, of course. I wanted to take you to Punxy for dinner.”

There
it was. I was going to have to think of an excuse along with all the other lies
I would have to tell. “I–I’m not sure how I’ll be feeling. I...”

“I’m
sure she will be just fine to go out with you this Saturday.”

My
head whipped around to see Sally behind me, holding the edge of the door. She
had just obligated me to a date with a guy I was planning on blowing off and
now had to lie to? Was she losing her mind? It was my turn to fidget in place,
torn between lies and the sickness slowly creeping into my throat.

Derrick
was about as giddy as a school girl hearing that I was going on a date with him,
even if I hadn’t agreed to it myself. He must have misinterpreted my fear as me
being coy with him. He was working on keeping his excitement from escaping.
Having the screen door between us might have been a blessing in disguise, so
that I wouldn’t cover him with anything left in my stomach that could come up.

“I’ll
be by around seven to get you then. Okay?”

I
nodded, keeping my mouth closed in case the bile decided to creep up any
further. He had almost left the porch but stopped for a second, turning back to
face us. His hand was in the air, as if it had caught a lost thought.

“I
forgot to tell you that the Sayner that we had ran off last night. I was wondering,
Sally, if you had seen him at all?”

The
bile was moving again. I didn’t need a mirror to know that my face had turned a
sickly green. I wanted to excuse myself, but Sally was still behind me, and I didn’t
want to make a scene when I knocked her over in a sprint to the bathroom. She
apparently wasn’t surprised he had asked. She sounded prepared for it.

”No.
I haven’t seen him,” she replied, the lie flowing from her lips. “I’m sorry to
hear. I’m sure your dad is pretty upset. I’ll definitely let you know if I do.”

“Well,
that’s good. I doubt he got far, but you two be careful and keep your doors
locked. He could be dangerous, and I wouldn’t want to see either of you get
hurt.” He was looking at me again. I looked down, avoiding eye contact,
attempting not to give anything away. I gave him a weak smile back, clenching
my jaw tight. He turned back away again, waving behind him as he left.

As
soon as I knew he wasn’t turning around again, I shut the door, swinging around
to give Sally a look of death. My stomach was still somersaulting, but it would
have to wait.

“How
could you make me go out with him?” I demanded. “I’m going to blow everything.
He’s going to figure it out.”

She
didn’t stop smiling. I had such an urge to wipe the grin off her face. Instead,
I balled up my fists, holding them tight against my body. The lurch in my
abdomen stopped my anger flat, and my curled up fists pulled around my stomach,
holding it. I would have been happy to throw up on her, instead.

“You’ll
be fine, and if you said ‘no’ he would have just kept coming back every day
till you said ‘yes’, and you know it. Besides, you’re a great liar. You even
had me convinced that you were sick.”

I
rolled my eyes at her, hoping she saw the expression on my face. The last thing
I wanted was to lead some guy on. In a different time and place, Derrick may
have been that one guy I would have fallen for. I would have to fake my way
through a date, though, give him a great excuse to never go out again. I had a
week to plan it. How hard could it really be?

I
stormed back off to the kitchen. My appetite was gone, in light of what had
just taken place. I started putting the groceries away one at a time, giving my
brain time to catch up to everything that was going on. I had been on an
emotional roller coaster for the past eighteen hours, and I wasn’t sure it
could take any more. Sally had no problem taking all this in stride. She was
always able to roll with the punches in any situation.

She
had followed me back, taking the items out of the bags, helping me put them
away in silence. She pulled out a bag of frozen peas and opened the freezer to
put them away, and saw the rows of bagged ice I had made the previous night. She
gave a long sigh as she crammed them into an open corner and shut the door. I
knew it was coming. The silence couldn’t last forever.

“Emily,
you’re taking this all a little too personal. I know you mean well, and I
really admire your drive to want to do everything, but it’s getting to you, and
starting to show. Just last night, you wanted him out of the house as soon as
possible and now…now you’re going over the top. Saving him is not going to
bring her back.”

Her
words stung. She had hit so close to the truth, it was painful to admit that
she was right; I had become so obsessed with doing everything right that I had
forgotten about the real reason why. I was still being selfish, in my own way.
I knew deep down it wouldn’t change the fact that my mom was gone forever, but
I was using him as an excuse to hold on to that idea.

I
set the loaf of bread in my hand back on the counter and looked up at her. I
could see the concern in her eyes. “What do you want me to do?” I was trying
not to cry again. I wasn’t even sure I could produce any more tears after the
last jag.

“I
just want you to take a break for a little bit. I know your heart is in the
right place, but I need your head there too. Why don’t you eat, and like I told
you to before, go lie down and get some sleep? I have to leave here in a few
hours, but I’m sure he’ll be fine overnight. You can have a fresh start in the
morning.”

As
she spoke, her offer sounded like I might have a choice on what I wanted to do,
but her expression was telling me it was done deal.

“Fine,
but I’m sleeping on the couch. Chase trashed my room last night, and I’m not going
to go look for clean sheets.” At least I felt I had a little bit of say in what
I was going to do.

“Whatever
you want to do. If something changes, I’ll let you know.” She had already finished
with the groceries, and had started refilling the bucket in the sink. I pulled
out a plate and loaded a leg and thigh onto it. It was still hot, and smelled
fantastic. I almost had the entire leg finished before I even reached the
couch. Avoiding the mud at the one end, I plopped down and turned on the TV.
For a Sunday night, I had no idea what was on and really didn’t care. I was
willing to watch just about anything to take my mind off the situation.

I
flipped through the channels and settled on some movie with actors I didn’t
know. From what I could tell, it was one of those situational comedies where
someone does something outrageous and then tries to cover it up with lies or
other acts that no sane person would ever think to do. I wasn’t finding the
humor in it, mostly because I wanted to go back downstairs to see how things
were going, and wasn’t paying attention to the plot. I forced myself to scarf
down the second piece of chicken, and set my plate on the coffee table to get
in the morning. Stretching out along the couch, I pulled the blanket up around
me and tucked my arm under my head. I laid there watching the actors dance
along the screen, hardly able to focus on them any longer. Sleep was taking
over and tomorrow would be another day. I knew I would be ready for whatever it
decided to throw at me.