Page 44 of Homebound
“Against what?” Gemma challenged sensing that her lack of toughness disappointed him.
“Anything. Anyone.”
Funny that he, of all the creatures, thought of her as weak. His assessment hurt. But she couldn't deny how accurately he’d profiled her, Gemma, as being out of her depth.
It also frustrated her. “Why is everybody always telling me to toughen up and be prepared? I am as prepared as I will ever be. That’s me, on my own, living the life I didn’t choose. It sucks! But I plan on making it until I die. What more do you expect me to do?”
Simon stared at her with fogged up eyes. He didn’t say anything more and Gemma saw that he started drifting.
She finished cleaning his cell and looked at him once more before leaving. His eyes were vacant and he appeared frail and helpless sitting there on his thin mattress.
But the flashback to the grip of his weird fingers around the bucket handle gave her shivers. In this one simple gesture, she sensed power, an innate kind of strength he was used to taking for granted.
Yes, he was weakened but Gemma was no longer sure that he was weak.
Chapter 13
The next several days brought no change to Uncle Drexel’s condition. He remained at home, helpless and in pain. Gemma and Aunt Herise took turns changing his wound dressings and cleaning his arm with warm water and herbal disinfectant procured through Herise’s friends. Their ministrations brought no improvement and Drexel’s arm continued inflamed. He weakened and fever set in.
“He has to see a doctor, Aunt Herise,” Gemma spoke her mind, and for once, Aunt Herise agreed.
“We have a little money. I’ll see what I can do.”
She had taken time off work and when she came home, her face shone with hope.
“I booked Drexel an appointment at the hospital. A doctor who specializes in alien-inflicted wounds agreed to treat him. Gemma, we’re so lucky! His first visit is tomorrow night and you have to take him. I can’t miss any more work.”
“Of course, Aunt Herise. Don’t worry about a thing.”
When Gemma arrived at the prison, it was still early. She felt little pain in her ankle and was able to walk with almost her normal speed. A relief, for it was hard on the family with two cripples in the house.
She took Simon outside in his wheelchair as she did every day. They parked by the crumbling brick wall of the old church where he liked to sit and gaze across the shimmering water of the bay. Out of hooded eyes, he looked past the junkyard and the back end of the docks that were visible to them.
He hardly said two words to her preferring silences.
She fed him his yogurt - her yogurt, really, that had long become his - and he accepted graciously like a vassal accepts the tax owed to him by a serf under the Oath of Fealty. Gemma knew he was able to move his hands well enough yet he never volunteered to take charge, so she spoon-fed him. Strange, that, but who could understand what was going through the brain of an alien?
“I am amazed that you can survive on eight ounces of goat yogurt.”
Her comment roused him from his after-the-meal slumber. “Yogurt? Is that what you call this milk brew?”
“Brew?” She raised her eyebrows. “Excuse you. I thought you rather preferred it to the gruel.”
“It’s a protein. It’ll do.”
“Yes, Your Highness. It’ll have to do.” She was pensive for a spell. “You need more than this. I wish you could at least eat the rolls.”
He flexed his shoulders. He no longer sat all hunched up in the chair; he lounged.
“The yogurt is enough to sustain me. Rix can survive on very little food. The quantities you humans have to consume to live are frightening. No wonder your planet is dying - you ate your way through it.”
There was some truth to his statement, but Gemma couldn't resist rolling her eyes at his haughty tone. “I agree, Master Simon. You are superior to me in every way.”
“I am.”
Knucklehead, Gemma thought with affection, pondering ways she could sneak out an egg or two to supplement his yogurt. Protein, he said. She’d think more on that.
After Gemma returned Simon to his cell, she went to the courtyard in time to line up the rest of the inmates. Arlo was yakking with the guards. The Perali congregated together. The Sakka found some rocks and was arranging them into a neat square with the precision of a surgeon performing open-heart surgery.
