Page 67 of Take Me to the Wedding

“What’s wrong with my face?” I asked in a panicked voice.

Caleb calmly placed his finger under my chin and tipped my face this way and that, the practiced move of a clinician. “Did the bugs get to you?”

I realized just then that I’d been scratching my sides without even realizing it. Come to think of it, my butt and legs were feeling kind of itchy too. I lifted my arms and examined them. There were bumps there too—tiny, all-over ones. “Darn mosquitoes.” But a creeping dread was coming over me. I knew it was far worse than bug bites.

“I think it’s more than mosquitoes, Sam,” he said gently.

In a panic, I stood up and crossed the room to a spot on the wall where an old mirror hung.

My face was covered with the same tiny, angry red bumps. A scratch mark ran up my cheek, and that was filled with bumps too. On my sides, more of the same, some of which were filled with fluid and blistering.

Ohno.

Caleb frowned. “Lift up your shirt.”

“Excuse me?”

He gestured from the bed with his hand. “Raise the end up a little. There you go.”

I complied, only because by this time I knew something was really wrong.

He let out a long, low whistle. “Holy shit, Sam. You’re covered in poison ivy.”

ChapterEighteen

Caleb

“What do the other people look like?” Mrs. Von Gulag asked from the doorstep around seven that evening as we made our way from the truck, Sam with a rashy face and one eye swollen half shut, me lumbering awkwardly along on the uneven gravel drive with my crutches. Step-crunch-step-crunch, a slow, painful process.

“The other people?” I asked, looking around. Mrs. VG was usually sober as a minister and firmly grounded in reality, but who knew?

“From the fight.” She gave a laugh that was more of a raspy smokers rattle. “You two look worse than two rats that escaped a drowning.” She examined us with an eagle eye, her gaze dropping to my cast, where Sam had written her name and colored in a big, obvious heart.

Why had I allowed that? A moment of weakness. Seemed that I had a giant weak spot for Sam.

“I had a little accident,” I said quickly.

Mrs. VG’s thick brows lifted. “And what happened to you, missy?” She looked Sam over. “Your face is all red and puffy.”

“It’s a blush,” I said to distract her. “The girl is head over heels for me.”

Mrs. VG guffawed at that. Sam, however, looked like she was ready to kill both of us. She was lumbering along, carrying both our duffel bags, something I ordinarily wouldn’t have ted if I’d had the choice.

Mrs. VG crossed her arms and tapped her foot. I sensed what she was thinking before she said anything. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. VG. You won’t even know I have these things.” I held up a crutch to demonstrate.

“I’ll hold you to your word.” She motioned to Sam. “Especially if you’re over atherplace. That one’s right above my living room.”

Sam halted so abruptly that I almost crashed into her, crutches and all. I shifted a crutch to my right hand and gently squeezed her shoulder, hoping she’d get the hint to just keep moving.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, “these crutches will be as silent as an electric vehicle. Don’t you worry.”

“Oh, I almost forgot. Here’s your package.” She held out a brown mailer bag to Sam.

“Package?” Sam shot me a puzzled look. “Must be yours. I didn’t order anything.”

Mrs. VG pointed to the name and address on the front. “Technically, I can only turn over the package to whom it’s addressed, missy.”

Sam glanced at the label. “Yep, that’s me. Missy.”

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