Copperback (7 page)

“Chase
couldn’t keep a secret this big if he tried, so, no.”

“Why
didn’t anyone tell me? Why did you lie to me about it?”

“I
wanted to tell you. Every day, I saw how consumed with grief you were. You took
it harder than anyone. I don’t think you could have handled it a few years ago.
I’m not even sure you can handle it now, but I don’t have a choice.”

I
wasn’t angry with her as much as I was with my mom for what she did. She had
been selfish and left us because she wanted to play hero. I uncrossed my arms
long enough to wipe the tears that had formed. “I’m sorry I blamed you. I
didn’t know it wasn’t your fault.” I could feel the barrier around me fall when
I said it. I had it up for so long, trying to make up an excuse for why she was
gone. Sally was right. I never would have been able to grasp the magnitude of
what she had set out to accomplish back then. I would have instead become
bitter toward her, and forced any good memories out. It was easier for Sally to
take the blame.

“It’s
ok. I’m sorry I never told you.” Sally reached out to hug me. It was a welcome
embrace. There was so much I still didn’t understand, but for a second I could
just feel love. I didn’t want to let go. It would mean having to come back to
reality. She pulled away and brought back her serious tone.

“I
need to know what you want to do. It’s very late, and one of us still has to be
at work in the morning.”

My
head was in overload. It was already going on 2 am. I was tired, everything
still hurt, and I had run the gamut of emotions in just a few short hours. I
needed to absorb everything I had taken in before making a choice. “Give me
some time to think it over. He doesn’t have to leave tonight, but how soon can
you move him? You know he would be better off in your care. I can’t even keep a
plant alive.”

She
gave a small chuckle at my comment. It wasn’t as funny as it was true. The
proof of that was the brown African violet sitting in a pot on the counter in
the kitchen. Sally had bought it for me as a birthday gift in June. It wasn’t
even August, and it had already withered and died from lack of water and
attention.

Sally
stopped laughing and went back to being serious again. “I wouldn’t bet on him
making it through the night. If he does, the next couple of days are going to
be critical. I’m not sure how fast he heals, or how severe the internal
injuries are. At least a week, but I would prefer not to move him at all for
about three weeks. I may have been able to set his leg, but it’s not as stable
as I would like it to be, and if he tries to get up, it’s going to move back
out of place, even with the splint.”

Three
weeks? How was I supposed to babysit for three weeks? I knew I didn’t have much
of a life outside of the house, and had taken care of Chase for so many years,
but this was different: a stranger in my home that I would have to care for.
When he woke, I would have to look him in the eye and remind myself why I was
doing this.

“I
can’t do this alone,” I said. “I have no idea what to do. What do I do about
work?” The questions were running around in my head. I wasn’t ready to take on
such a big chore.

“I
can make a list of things you may need to get him or help him with. I will give
you the next week off. I’ll even pay you double for the week. I know it’s
asking a lot, but if I do it, I’ll get noticed a lot faster. I’ll make the
excuse that you caught the flu. I know it’s been going around again, so it
won’t sound obvious. I’ll even come over after work each day to check on you
both. After the first week, you can come back to work. I’m sure by then he will
be well enough to be by himself for longer periods of time.” Sally had already
begun to write a list.

“But
what if he…well, if he–” I didn’t want to say it out loud.

“Dies?”

“Yeah.”

“If
it happens, then it happens. I wouldn’t be able to do anything to save him at
this point. We just have to wait it out.” Sally sounded hopeful.

I
wanted to see the cup half-full like her. Right then, it just felt empty.

After
seeing Sally off, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I myself would fall asleep.
I made my way through the living room and down the hall to my bedroom. I
glanced at the pictureless walls – desperately needing a coat of paint.  Every
memory of my mom and my life before she died was packed away in a box somewhere
in the house. They were too hard to throw away, but harder still to face.

I
ran my fingers around one outline that used to be a photograph of the three of
us sitting together when I was just a little girl. Mom would tell me how I had
thrown such a tantrum before the picture, and it took the entire staff to get
me to sit still and smile. I didn’t need to see the picture to remember what it
looked like: all of us were in shades of blue; Chase in a tie and me in a
jumper; my mom’s brilliant smile as she held me on her lap. A time before
anything had changed.

Just
past the silhouettes was the staircase leading to the top floor. I used to
sleep in the room upstairs, across from Chase’s room, but since he had moved
out, I moved my meager belongings to my Mom’s old room and had her stuff boxed
up to collect dust in the rooms up there. The upstairs sat empty, except for
the few sheet-covered pieces of furniture that wouldn’t fit in the basement. I
hadn’t been up there in months, and really had no desire to go back up there
again. I had everything I could need – kitchen, living room, bathroom and bed –
on just one floor.

I
made a stop at the bathroom to validate my earlier feeling about Chase’s
destruction. With the light on, the bathroom was pristine, except for the towel
I had left on the floor in my haste, and the tub still full of lavender-scented
water. The aroma drifted back into my nostrils and made me feel relaxed again
while I fished for the drain plug in the frigid water. I noticed the water
turning pink while my arm was still under, swirling away trace amounts of blood
down the drain. Had I really gotten that much on me?

I
looked at the reflection of myself in the mirror over the sink. I could see,
just below my eye, faint finger swipes of blood where I must have brushed back
my hair that had come loose from my ponytail. Both eyelids were red and puffy
from crying on and off through the night, and the circles under my eyes were a
faint blue, getting darker by the minute. My faded T-shirt – that had once been
solid yellow – now appeared tie-dyed with red and brown.  Looking down, I could
see the stains on my shorts were not much better. I looked like I was preparing
to go to a Halloween party dressed as a slumber party mass murderer. All I was
missing was an oversized butcher knife.

As
heavy as my eyelids were becoming, a shower was less of a desire than a
necessity. I stripped off the ruined clothing and crawled under the hot water. It
felt so good to scrub off the layers of grime that coated my body, along with
the thoughts of the predicament I had gotten myself into. Yet, as much as the
water dissolved the recollections of the fight and the anger, I couldn’t shake
the thoughts of Job.

If
he made it through the next few nights.
It was still such a
big if. He could be down there drawing in his last breath, and I was still
concerned about how to make it through three weeks. The thought of him dying
kept swirling in my mind. I was wrestling with myself if I should just call it
a night, or go check on him one more time before turning in. Subconsciously, I
knew I needed to see him again. I really wanted to be the person my mom had been,
but the rest of my brain still wasn’t convinced that it was the right thing to
do. There were so many questions and worries surrounding the whole situation.
What if I were caught? They would kill him for sure, but what did they do to
anyone who helped a Sayner? I had been standing in the shower so long, debating
over what I should do, that I hardly noticed the hot water running out, until
it turned ice cold. It shocked me back to reality, and I turned it off and clambered
out of the tub.

Wrapped
up in a towel, I snagged my clothes, made a beeline for my bedroom, and shut
the door. I tried to convince myself I would wait till morning. There really
wasn’t anything I could do right now. To my surprise, my mattress was stripped
bare, and the fitted sheet with comforter had been balled up and tossed on the
floor. I had completely forgotten that most of my linens were still downstairs
with the unwelcome guest in my house. Chase had been in a hurry when he took my
sheet and pillows. I could at least live without the sheet for the night, but
the pillows I had intended to take from the couch were now being used, as well.
This night just seemed to get longer by the minute.

I
quickly changed into a plain cotton nightgown I usually wore when company was
over. There was nothing flattering about it, but it served its purpose – to cover
me up and keep me warm. I sifted through the pockets of my shorts before
throwing them in the trash can with my T-shirt. In the front pocket was the
list Sally had written for me to use in the coming days. I still hadn’t looked
at it, hoping that I wouldn’t need to use it right away. I unfolded the page. Scrawled
at the top – underlined a few times, with stars surrounding it – I saw the word
ICE. Below that, it said, “ice for 20 minutes every hour.” It was the excuse my
subconscious had been looking for to check on him again.

The
need for sleep had passed. I made my way back to the kitchen and pulled open a
drawer below the sink, where I had some plastic grocery bags saved up that
could be used for an occasion like this. Doubling them up, I used the icemaker
built into the door of the fridge to dispense crushed ice by the cupful into
each makeshift ice pack, tying them off and placing them into the freezer. I
made as many as I could with what ice reserves my fridge was holding. I was
trying to keep a positive attitude that I would need them for the days to come.

I
brought three bags downstairs with me. From the staircase, I couldn’t hear any
sound coming from the room below, not even the faint sounds of breathing. I
could feel the anxiety climbing up my spine as I drew closer, holding my breath
and hoping against everything that he hadn’t expired while I had battled out a
decision in my head. The dimmed light showed he was lying in the same position
we had left him in, unmoving.

The
sheet was pulled up to his waist, covering the bandages across his side, and his
head was still turned away, creating shadows that hid the battered side of his
face. From the angle I was standing, I could see the slight rise and fall of
his chest. It was a relief, but it was instantly pushed to the back of my
thoughts for the moment. I was too overcome by how strikingly handsome he was.
The night had been too hectic to notice, but now it was the only thing I could
focus on.

His
face was like what I would expect an angel’s to look like. Every feature of his
face was strong and perfectly proportioned. His sandy blonde hair was messy,
and maybe a bit too long, but it complimented his tanned face as wisps of it
fell across his forehead. His angular jaw held the right amount of strength and
softness. His body matched his face in every way. He looked like he could have
been cast out of bronze. Toned, smooth skin covered every inch of his upper
body, showing its strength even while resting. Every flawless facet of him –
from his sculpted arms and chest, to the baby soft skin of his face – made me
question why he had been forced into a life of suffering instead of gracing the
covers of magazines. How could someone look so amazing, yet be treated so
horrendously? I understood that there had been many Sayners that had killed or
attacked humans, but looking at Job, as innocent as he appeared at this moment,
I had a hard time of believing he could hurt anyone.

The
ice bags were frigid against my skin, reminding me of the reason I came down in
the first place. Some of the clean towels from earlier were still on the floor,
and I used one to wrap up the first bag, ensuring it wouldn’t soak anything it
rested on. As carefully as possible, I set the first bag down over the sheet
where I thought the fracture in his leg might be located, watching him to see
if the cold would wake him again. There was nothing but the silence of the
room. The next bag I placed on his chest, where the most bruising had been, again
with no reaction. So far, he seemed to be in a deep slumber, unaware of me.
Taking the last ice pack, I went back around to the side of the bed I had sat near
most of the night, close to his face. I reached over to turn his head, so I
could get the right position for the pack to lie across his swollen eye and
cheek. His skin was warm, in stark comparison to the chill of the ice. As I
placed the last bag and held it, he remained as peaceful as before.

In
the quiet, I started to think of questions I wanted to ask him when he woke up.
I knew he could talk, but getting him to would be a whole other challenge. As
questions flooded my mind, they slowly faded and were replaced with thoughts of
my mom. I could see her driving her old station wagon from before the accident,
her radiant smile staring at me from the driver’s seat.

She
watched the road nonchalantly, keeping most of her focus on me. Her brilliant
blue eyes were full of life and happiness. Her straight russet hair was blowing
in the wind from the open window, whipping around her neck. Her lips were
moving, as if to tell me something important, but all I could hear was a static
hiss instead of her voice. I was trying hard to hear the question she was
asking me, but the white noise was too loud to make anything else out. She
continued to ignore the road, too engrossed in her conversation to notice
anything else around her.

She
reached her hand up to me, placing it across my cheek, and I could feel a
burning sensation. The heat radiating from her hand intensified until it was
unbearable. Yet as I spoke, trying to tell her to watch where she was going, my
own words were drowned out by the constant sound of a radio on an empty channel.
As much as I didn’t want her to let go, knowing that she would fade away again,
I tried to pull her arm away, to no avail. It felt like her hand was searing
the skin of my cheek and had melted to my face. The scorching heat began to
travel down my neck and across my chest, making it difficult to breathe. The
more I pulled, the hotter it became, until finally I was able to free myself
from her grasp.

I
sat up in the dim light of the room, the left side of my face still hot. I
could still hear the sound of the radio static, off and on, even as I became
more aware of my surroundings. It must have already been daylight outside; the
light from a window near the back of the basement was visible from where I sat,
creeping small rays across the floor that met the room. My face felt the slick
of sweat that had collected on my cheek. I could still see the fading white
mark across Job’s chest where a pool of perspiration had collected while I had
been pressed against it. Before I could touch it with my hand, I could feel the
heat radiating from his body. His bare skin was almost scorching my own.

He
was still asleep, but not nearly as relaxed as before. His lips were moving,
and the white noise I could hear was being created by him. It was the language
of his own race. Every few minutes he would stop; his eyes would squeeze tight,
and his body would tense up. His hands grabbed for the sheets, balling into
fists, head stirring as if he was in a delirious state. As soon as it passed,
he went back to the nonsense sound.

Panic
took over again. I knew I could go and get the list of things to do, but
somehow I doubted this would be anything she had planned. I knew I would have
to call Sally, but how soon would she be able to come – and would she even know
what to do? I was in over my head, and knew it.

 After
grabbing the melted bags of ice, I headed up the stairs, taking two at a time.
All the previous messes in the kitchen remained unchanged. Tossing the warm
bags in the sink to be reused later, I saw that Chase was already up and gone,
leaving behind the unfolded blanket, along with the mud that had flaked off on
the cushions. The clock on the wall showed ten after eight. I didn’t feel any more
rested than I had before I had drifted off to sleep. The cell phone lay on the
counter where I had left it the night before. I was going to have to remind
myself to keep it close by from now on. There was one missed text message on
the phone from Chase. It read, “Thx 4 helping. Means a lot!” It was like a
greeting you sent to a friend after they had just picked up something at the
store for you or made you dinner. He was still unaware of the consequence this
might have if we were caught. His message should have read, “Thank you, Emily,
for putting your neck on the line for me. Enjoy the constant stress and havoc
on your life and mental well-being for the next three weeks!” Deleting it was
the best thing I could do, since any reply I could think of was not going to be
well received, based on the mood I was in.

I
quickly dialed Sally’s cell phone number, hoping I hadn’t caught her at a bad
time. It rang a few times before she picked up. Her intonation was back to its
pleasant demeanor. “Hi Emily, are you feeling any better?” I could tell by her
subtle hints that someone must have been nearby. She had been waiting for this
call, expecting me to tell her it was over.

“Job
has a fever and I think he might be delirious. What should I do?” I was trying
to hide the fear in my voice.

“I’m
sorry to hear that, sweetie. Did you take your temperature yet? I think I left
a thermometer in my kit at your house.”