Page 6 of The Rowdy Ones
“But she’s looking at us. Are you sure?”
The panic quickly subsides when I recognize the soft voices of Forest and Meadow. They’re just curious about the new girl staying in their brother’s room. I sit up on my elbows and force a smile.
“Hey, kiddos. What are you two up to today?”
Their voices are so similar, it’s hard to tell them apart. So when one of them speaks, I have no idea which is which. One day, when they hit puberty, Forest’s voice will likely deepen and make things easier for me.
“Dadda is taking you to the doctor,” one of the twins says. “Maybe they’ll give you a shot to fix your eyes.”
“Can you see me sticking my tongue out?” the other one asks. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
At one time, I’d have at least been able to see blobs or even colors. Lately, it’s just dark and shadowed. It’s gutting to know I’ll likely never recover my vision. My dreams are the only place I’ll be able to truly see.
“Go eat your oatmeal,” Aunt Eve says to them. “Stop bothering Dezzy.”
The twins shuffle off. I turn my head slightly, listening to see if their mother went with them. When the end of the bed depresses as someone sits, I squeak out in surprise. Aunt Eve can be stealthy like her kids. I’ll need to remember this while staying here.
“I’m going to look at your wound.”
I sit up and offer her my bandaged arm. She swiftly removes the bandages, exposing the burning flesh to the cool air. While she inspects it, I chew on my bottom lip.
“It needs to air out,” she finally says. “Leave it off today. Atticus is taking you to see one of his mom’s friends. Get showered and dressed.”
At least with the bandages, I could hide what I did. Letting everyone see the stitches is admitting I let my despair win over.
It didn’t win, though.
You’re still here.
The rest of the morning goes by in a blur. Anticipation and a healthy dose of trepidation have me a bundle of nerves by the time I step outside the cabin for our appointment. It’s snowing again, but I love how it feels on my face. Each flake is delicate but so cold. I inhale the icy air, hoping to invigorate me.
Instead of determination to go to a doctor with Atticus, I suck in the scent of smoke and pine. Familiar. Protective. Home.
“How’s your arm?” Rowdy asks, his massive form blocking the snowflakes from blasting me in the face.
I hold it up and pull down my coat. “Aunt Eve said to let it breathe.”
A calloused fingertip gently dances along the tender flesh near my stitches. “Looks angry.”
“Feels angry.”
He only touches my skin for a few more seconds before stepping away from me. I drop my arm, confused at how my skin tingles. Warmth, starting from the pit of my belly, moves its way up and settles on my neck and cheeks. Rowdy clears his throat and then his guiding hand is at my lower back.
Everyone else in my family likes to manhandle me. If they want to help me, they’ll take my hand or clutch the back of my neck. If it were up to some of my siblings, they would probably love to tie a rope around my waist and drag me along like an unruly pup.
Not Rowdy.
He’s gentle and always gives me an opportunity to make my own way. I like that he treats me like I’m capable rather than a helpless invalid.
The snow isn’t thick where we’re walking. Not like back at home. I’ve heard Wild complaining enough in the past to know Uncle Atticus likes his driveway shoveled for safety reasons. I’m grateful to be able to walk normally without stumbling in snow drifts.
A car door opens and then Rowdy’s hands are at my waist. Even though it startles me each time, I don’t exactly hate it. It’s less like manhandling and more like him erasing any chance for me to stupidly slip or hurt myself in front of everyone. But this time when he tries to buckle me in, I stop him, grabbing his arm.
“I’ve got it,” I tell him firmly. “I’m not a child.”
He grunts as though he may want to argue, but he doesn’t utter another word. The door closes and I’m able to put my seat belt on without assistance.
More people climb in and then we’re on our way. It takes a few seconds to realize the only ones in the vehicle are me, Rowdy, and Uncle Atticus. I’m kind of glad Wild stayed back. He’s cool, but he’s also a lot. At least Uncle Atticus drives in silence rather than assaulting our ears with stupid music.
