Page 78 of Only the Small Bones
“They left clothes next to the sleeping bags,” I said over my shoulder.
Asher’s sniffling continued as he peed into the bucket. “Don’t turn around.”
“I won’t.” The sound of him removing his clothes and shoes reached my ears.
“Finished,” he said a while later. The long sleeve shirt brushed his knees, and he’d rolled up the legs of the sweatpants several times. I guessed they weren’t used to having little kids on board.
I washed up and changed while he sat on one of the sleeping bags and stared at the wall.
“I’ve got an idea,” I said, shoving the sleeves of the shirt to my elbows. “I can’t see outside, but maybe I can lift you high enough for you to see.”
Asher didn’t move, didn’t give any signs he’d heard me. I knelt in front of him, waving my hand in front of his face. “Hey,” I whispered, and he blinked up at me. He looked paler than he did earlier, making the small mole on his cheek stand out more.
“I don’t feel so good,” he said. We hadn’t set off yet, but the ship did sway a bit.
“Do you have motion sickness?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s when you get sick in cars or boats, or rides, or anything that moves, I guess.”
Asher shrugged.
“Do you feel okay enough to look outside? Maybe you can tell where we’re at.” It was a dumb idea. We were just out there not too long ago, and other than being on a deserted pier, I hadn’t known where the heck we were. But maybe there was something I missed. A landmark or something.
Asher nodded, and I grabbed his shoulders when he swayed to his feet. I was taller and bigger than him, but I still only had kid strength. I crouched to wrap my arms around his knees and lifted him, almost sending us both falling to the floor.
“Can you see anything?” I gritted out, trying to keep him still.
“Just water. Lots of water.” Which meant we didn’t have a land view. Asher yelped when we jerked a bit. The ship was pulling away from the pier.
We sank onto our sleeping bags, staring up at the porthole in silence until the sun set and the room went dark. I turned on the lantern, watching Asher with concern. He was gazing at the wall again. I think I preferred it when he cried.
“How old are you?” I whispered. He didn’t answer. “Asher?”
“Huh?” His eyes were sad when he looked at me. They shimmered in the lantern light.
“How old are you?”
“Six—but I’ll be seven the day before Christmas,” he said quickly, like he didn’t want me to think he was a baby.
“I’m twelve, but I’ll be thirteen on Valentine’s Day.” My birthday was months away. Would I still be around by then? “Around,” sounded less scary than “alive.” I breathed through the sick feeling in my stomach.
“What’s your favorite color?” I asked when he faced the wall again.
“Gray.”
“Like your name.”
“No, like the color of storm clouds on a rainy day.” His words sounded dull and recited, like he was repeating something he’d heard tons of times before.
I picked at a loose string on my sleeping bag, watching him watch the wall. “How did they get you?”
“I was walking down the street when the nice lady said hello to me. I was lost. I’d been walking for a while.”
“By yourself? Where was your mom?”
“I’m tired,” he said after a moment of hesitation. Asher slipped between the flaps of his sleeping bag, rolling away from me. He tried to cry quietly but I heard him. The sickness in my belly climbed higher until my throat burned from it. Seeing him sad made my own sadness ten-times worse. I’d always been that way.
