Page 41 of Stay Away from Him

“You’re going a little fast.”

Melissa looked to the dash and saw that she was speeding by a good twenty miles per hour, her foot sinking on the accelerator as her anger at Kelli gripped her body. She eased up, went a little slower.

“We’re going to be fine,” Thomas said. “We can talk about what happened later. Let’s just get Bradley patched up for now.”

She kept driving for a couple minutes, then Thomas directedher into a parking lot. There was a nondescript building and a simple sign with no logo, simply the wordsDanver Pediatric Associates. She followed as Thomas got out and carried Bradley to the door, using a key to unlock it. It was after hours, the waiting room and reception desk completely empty.

Bradley’s head on his shoulder, Thomas pushed through a door to a hallway, passed an electronic scale, and went into an exam room. He put Bradley gently on the table. Melissa grimaced as she saw the spots of blood on Thomas’s light blue polo shirt—Bradley must have bled on him. But if Thomas noticed, he didn’t seem to mind.

“All right,” he said, “let’s get a look at this, shall we?”

Bradley whimpered as Thomas began to pull at the edge of the tissue plastered to his forehead, but he was brave and didn’t cry or pull away. When the tissue came off, Melissa saw that his eyes were scrunched closed. The wound looked pretty gnarly to her, a wide gash in the middle of his forehead surrounded by streaks of red, paling to white—bone?—in the middle. But Thomas didn’t seem fazed.

“This isn’t so bad,” he said. “I think this will heal up nicely.”

“Will he need stitches?” Melissa asked.

“You know, I think we can do this without stitches. I’m thinking I could pull the skin back together with some butterfly bandages and then seal it up with some skin glue.”

“Skin glue?” Melissa asked.

Thomas gave her a warm smile. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. It glues wounds closed and then disintegrates as the wound heals. It’s less likely to result in a scar than stitches.”

“And how about a concussion?”

Thomas’s smile didn’t waver. “I’ll run the protocol after I patch him up. But I doubt there’s anything to be worried about. This part of a kid’s skull is built for impact. He might have a headache later, but that’s about it.”

Melissa nodded. Thomas suggested that she get next to Bradley and hold his hand while Thomas bandaged him up. Then, as Thomas worked, she simply watched. He washed the wound with sanitizing wipes, gently blew on it to stop the rest of the bleeding. With gloved hands he applied a few butterfly bandages, then squeezed the skin glue from a single-use plastic vial, blew on it again. Every once in a while, he murmured encouraging words: “You’re doing so great, bud. What a brave boy you are. I think someone has earned a treat after this. What do you say, Mom?”

“Oh, definitely,” she agreed.

“Ice cream?” Bradley asked.

“Yeah, the biggest ice cream cone you’ve ever seen,” Thomas said.

Bradley smiled. “As big as my head?”

“Bigger! As big asmine.” Thomas made his eyes huge, and Bradley dissolved into giggles.

Thomas went into a drawer, came out with a penlight, clicked it on, and had Bradley follow it without moving his head. Checked inside his ears. As he worked, Melissa found herself fixating on Thomas’s hands, strong but gentle as he used them to handle her son. On the concentration, the care, that came to his eyes. And the calm with which Bradley responded to him. By the time Thomas was done with the examination, Melissa was practically crying, her eyes brimming with tears. She cleared her throat and blinked them away before he could notice.

“He’s fine,” Thomas said. “He’ll be turning cartwheels by morning.”

“And what do I—I mean, how do I…I’ve never done it this way. Do I owe you anything?”

It was exactly as Thomas had said—disinfectant, bandages, the glue. But doctor’s visits, even simple ones, generally cost hundreds of dollars.

Thomas winked. “Friends and family discount.” He turned back to Bradley. “What do you say, bud? You ready to get out of here?”

Bradley nodded, and Thomas helped him down with his hands underneath Bradley’s armpits. When his feet hit the floor, Bradley fell forward toward Thomas, and at first Melissa gasped, thinking he must have been lightheaded—Thomas was wrong, he had a concussion after all. But then she realized that Bradley wasn’t falling. He was hugging Thomas. Wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Thanks, Dad,” Bradley said.

Dad.Melissa caught Thomas’s eye. He smiled, shrugged, as if to say,What are you gonna do?

“Oh, honey,” Melissa said. “Thomas isn’t—”

“It’s okay,” Thomas said, interrupting her. Melissa was surprised. Did hewantBradley to think he was his dad?

---