Chapter Thirteen.
Oakley
A ll I’d concentrated on was finding Aspen and Archer, nothing else had mattered. Now, I was starting to understand the logistics of everything. Archer’s items needed replacing as the things that had offered him comfort in his old home were long gone. It was no good trying to substitute them, either.
Aspen was a shadow of her former self and skin over bones. She couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds wet through. Aspen’s clothes hung off her, and she had a dangerous, gaunt look. Aspen had clearly been starved.
Doc Gibbons wanted to admit her to hospital, but Aspen violently shook at the idea, and in the end, he caved to her wishes.
On arriving back in Rapid City, a limo had taken us straight to Reading Hall, where Aspen had melted into a full-scale panic attack. She believed that we’d brought her to another asylum, and it took twenty minutes to convince her this was a private home. As soon as we got Aspen inside, Phoe rushed us upstairs to a bedroom with two beds.
“Moms rearranged the room to take the extra bed,” Harley murmured.
I nodded, distracted, as Aspen sat listlessly on the bed. She was so different to the cousin I remembered, that had been full of life and bounced everywhere with so much energy.
“Find my parents. They need to pay for this,” I hissed hatefully.
“Babe, that’s a given,” he promised.
Archer peered around the room before heading towards a single bed. Some bags sat on it, which he glanced at but didn’t touch.
“Those are for you, honey,” Phoe said.
“Auntie Oak?”
“You can open them; they’re gifts,” I replied.
“But it’s not my birthday or Christmas,” Archer stated. “Why’ve you bought them?”
“Sometimes it’s just nice to give people presents,” Phoe answered.
“That does not mean you can buy love or make me like you,” Archer retorted.
“Oh!” Phoe gasped, and I chuckled.
“Archer is blunt,” I murmured.
“I’m autistic,” Archer replied.
“Um, I bet you’re very clever,” Phoe said.
“Sucking up doesn’t work either,” Archer stated, and Phoe and I laughed.
“Archer, use your manners and say thank you,” I chided.
“Why? They might be the wrong things.”
“Archer, what’ve we told you?” I asked.
“Thanks, Miss Phoe,” Archer muttered, not meeting Phoe’s eyes.
“Check in the bag, see if you like them,” Phoe urged. “Aspen, do you want a bath?”
“Bath? It’s been three years since I had one. I’d love to,” Aspen replied. “But I think I might need help.”
“Oakley and I can do that. Get out of here,” Phoe chased Harley, Drake, and Doc Gibbons out.
“Will Archer be okay alone?” Phoe asked.
“I’m not sure. One of us used to watch him,” I replied.
“Archer will be fine. Tell him to stay in the room, keep the bathroom door open, and check every few minutes. Archer is on the low end of the spectrum, and he’s not stupid,” Aspen said defensively.
“Hey, it’s me. Aspen, I know he’s not. Archer’s highly intelligent,” I responded, shocked.
“Sorry, that place kept calling him names. Archer’s anything but,” Aspen defended herself.
“Come on, Aspen, bath, food, and bed,” Phoe urged, and Aspen nodded.
I was horrified when I helped Aspen undress. Her hip bones stuck out, and she looked like she’d been starved. Aspen was far too thin and admitted, as we got her into the bath, that they’d often deprived her of food to control her. And the portions were so small Aspen saved food for Archer.
Hate and anger welled in my gut. My parents and Reverend Jeffrey would pay.
After I washed Aspen’s roughly shorn hair no less than five times—her demand because she didn’t feel clean—I helped her into a large tee belonging to Harley. The blasted thing swamped her. Archer had opened his gifts, and I guessed he was content because he sat happily playing with them.
Harley had clearly listened when I described some of Archer’s toys. There had been a big red bus, a yellow matchbox jaguar, an electronic story book with several stories and a digital sudoku game. Phoe had replaced all of them, even getting the brand names correct. Hell, Phoe had got the same stories. And then she’d bought some extra ones and a child’s tablet.
“How old is Archer?” Phoe questioned.
“Eight. His birthday is in November,” Aspen replied.
“Obviously, Archer needs clothes and stuff. How do we manage that?” Phoe asked.
“As much as Archer hates crowds, he will visit a mall for clothing and toys. Oaks and I found it best to let Archer choose his clothes, and he’ll tell you what day he wants to wear them. So, we’d get him four Monday outfits, four Tuesday and so on. Same with underwear and pyjamas and shoes,” Aspen replied.
“As for toys, we let him pick. Archer knows what he likes and what he doesn’t. Christmas is hard, but we managed,” I explained.
“Pointless sending the club out to buy gifts?” Phoe inquired.
“Yes. More likely, most would go to waste.”
“It is time for a snack,” Archer interrupted. “As it’s Monday, we have hot cross buns.” “Archer, Miss Phoe probably does not have them. We haven’t been shopping for your food yet,” I responded.
“But it’s Monday, three-thirty p.m., and you said we were going to return to my old routine,” Archer snapped, and his bottom lip poked out. That signalled an impending meltdown.
“Actually, Mrs Ames was baking some. Harley asked Archer on the plane what he wanted to eat for the rest of today and called it through. We also have Tuesday’s food,” Phoe added. She picked up a housephone and dialled someone.
“Drake, grab the tray from Mrs Ames, please, and send Doc Gibbons up,” Phoe said and hung up.
Aspen looked lost in the huge king-size bed that swamped her tiny frame. She was worn out just by having a bath.
Phoe fussed around, puffing up pillows to support her and tucking Aspen in. I smiled as Aspen seemed bewildered. Neither set of our parents had behaved like Phoe.
“Snack time is late!” Archer exploded suddenly. He threw the yellow car on the floor.
“Archer, pick that up immediately!” Aspen called from the bed.
Archer crossed his arms. “You can’t say we are returning to my old routine and then be late!” he yelled.
“That is enough!” Aspen said firmly. “What did Auntie Oak and I tell you about other people’s houses?”
Archer jutted out his lip and lifted his chin.
“Oh, boy, I’ve seen that look plenty of times,” Phoe murmured with a chuckle.
“Snap,” I whispered, staying out of this. I knew not to interfere because it undermined Aspen’s influence and authority over Archer.
“Answer me!” Aspen demanded.
“In other people’s houses, my routine may run late because they don’t understand. So, we have to help them,” Archer said.
Archer turned to Phoe as Drake came through the door with Harley and Doc Gibbons on his heels.
Studying the wall just past Phoe, Archer continued. “Miss Phoe, I have autism. That means my routine is very important as it makes me feel safe and gives me a sense of control. It helps stop my anxiety and stops me from getting frustrated.”
Phoe raised her eyebrows as Archer quoted what we’d told him by rote. Yeah, Archer wasn’t stupid. I nodded my approval at Archer as Aspen praised him. “Well done.”
“Uncle Harley, I have two hot cross buns cut in half with butter. I’m allowed to put the butter on, and I don’t have jelly or anything else on them. Mommy also lets me have a cup of tea, with milk and one level teaspoon of sugar. You stir it to the right eight times to help the sugar melt. I need a napkin with a saucer, so the tea doesn’t spill,” Archer requested.
“Manners,” Aspen ordered.
“Please and hurry up, snack time is late,” Archer said.
Drake chuckled, easing my worry at Archer’s behaviour. He could be perceived as rude, but actually, Archer wasn’t. As mentioned, he’d no idea of social skills.
Archer didn’t even acknowledge Drake’s existence.
“That explanation was amazing,” Phoe murmured.
“It was something we drummed into him after Archer’s first meltdown at someone’s house. Archer learned to explain, and people began to understand better,” I explained.
“That’s a good thing,” Drake agreed.
Doc Gibbons was fussing over Aspen, taking her blood pressure and temperature again. He inserted a cannula and fixed up a fluid drip. After speaking to Aspen in a low voice, he approached us.
“Aspen should be in a hospital. She’s dangerously underweight and dehydrated. Add in the medication they’ve had her on, and I’m concerned about a heart attack. I am going to order some equipment here from Lynda, and we’ll monitor her heartbeat. For now, Aspen needs five to six small meals a day.
“The urge will be to feed her big, hearty meals. That’s a mistake and will harm her further. Aspen needs plain foods—toast, eggs, rice and chicken, plain soups not rich and creamy, no caffeine either. Keep Aspen on water with only one glass of milk a day. If you have caffeine-free or camomile tea, Aspen may have that. I’ll speak to Mrs Ames about Aspen’s diet. As soon as she gains weight, we can reassess,” he said.
I glanced at Harley, and he moved behind me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders.
“The medication?”
“That will have to continue for now. Taking Aspen off it in this weak state might cause a stroke or, again, a heart attack. Today she’s skipped her afternoon slot and has the shakes from doing so. Here’re some tablets. There’s enough for two days. Aspen’s used to taking them every eight hours. Six in the morning, two in the afternoon and ten at night. We’ll keep to those times, but I’ve lowered the dosage. Oakley, it may feel like we are continuing the abuse, but we’re not. We’re weaning Aspen off slowly, so her body doesn’t revolt,” Doc Gibbons explained.
“I understand,” I said, but I still turned my head as Harley gave Aspen her dose.
I hated this. That everything was so unsettled. That Aspen was clearly unwell and had been abused while my parents dined off their blood money. Grandad would be appalled if he’d known what would happen to us. Grandad taught us not to hate, to rise above and be better. But this… no, I couldn’t overcome this.
I wanted to tear their faces off and drown them both. How could they have been so greedy they did this to Aspen and Archer? For cash? God damned money? My fingers clenched in Harley’s cut, and I wished I had my hands around their throat. There was no excuse for this. None. I’d never been a vengeful person until now.
“Let Aspen sleep,” Doc Gibbons ordered. “Allow her to rest as much as she needs. I’ll come every morning and evening to check on her until I’m happy Aspen’s recuperating properly.”
“Thank you, Doc,” Harley said, and I repeated his words.
“We’ll show you out,” Phoe offered, motioning to Drake.
Harley turned to me after they left. “What now? Does Archer want to see the kid’s area?”
“Ask,” I urged. Archer needed to get used to Harley being around.
“Archer, would you like to play in a ball pit or go bowling?” Harley asked.
Archer ignored him.
Harley looked at me.
“Archer’s overloading. Let’s just sit here and keep an eye on him. He’s happy where he is for now,” I said.
Harley nodded, and we moved over to the window seat, where I curled up between Harley’s muscled thighs. He wrapped his arms around me, shoved a cushion behind his head, and leaned back. A smile crossed my face as, within minutes, Harley was snoring lightly. Archer looked over in our direction with a frown. I kept looking out the window and let Archer study us. After half an hour, Archer returned to playing with his car and the bus.
Harley
All said and done, it wasn’t as bad as I thought, but in other ways, it was worse. Archer had a couple of meltdowns when his routine was skewered, and we finally managed to get everything running smoothly. Oakley had given us his food menus, and that was all organised.
It had been explained to Archer that he needed to visit the mall for clothing. However, he said he wouldn’t go until he was ready. Therefore, I was surprised to find Archer three days later sitting at the bottom of the stairs.
“Are you okay?”
“Uncle Harley, I had breakfast. Today is Thursday, so I ate pancakes with bananas and strawberries. Mrs Ames has packed my blueberries for my morning snack and has made me lunch. I have a chicken salad wrap, a bag of chicken chips, an apple, and two apple juice drinks. And two chocolate cupcakes,” Archer replied, looking at the entrance doors.
“Okay,” I said, wondering where he was going.
“Time to go to the mall.”
“Did you and Auntie Oak plan this?” I asked, thinking I’d missed out on something.
“No. I have decided today we must go. I have woken up every morning, and today is the right day. Today is,” Archer stated. He stood up, and I bit my lip.
“Let me call Auntie Oak.”
“Yes. Hurry up. Or it won’t be the right time or day,” Archer stated.
Within minutes, Oakley flew down the stairs, yanking on a coat. I was pleased to see she barely winced anymore. Her feet had healed wonderfully. There were some scars, but nothing major. Each night and morning, I massaged cream into them to help heal the scarring.
“Let’s go to the mall,” Oakley cried.
Archer followed me out, keeping Oakley between us, and we headed to the garage. Once there, Archer picked which car he wanted to travel in, and we drove to a mall. Usually, I would have hit Windfells, but Oakley stressed it needed to be a mall.
Once there, Archer looked at the list of shops and pointed to the ones he’d like to visit. And thus, begun my lesson in shopping with a boy with autism.
Archer would have been happy with thirty tops and bottoms, all identical. Oakley, Thank God, had shopped with Archer plenty of times and knew how to handle him.
Then we had trouble finding somewhere for lunch. As soon as it was near the hour, we headed upstairs. Most of the restaurants refused to let Archer eat his own food. Archer was nearing a meltdown as we had only two minutes left when the Mexican place allowed him to eat. Archer placed his food on the table, and we ordered, and I made sure to leave a damn generous tip and a great review.
Disaster averted, Archer ate his meal and waited for us. As soon as I had paid, he was up and ready to finish shopping. I’d already made two runs back to the SUV to drop bags.
Archer diligently made notes on a notebook he carried and was marking down what he’d bought. Once we’d finished clothing stores, Archer marched to a shoe store and picked three pairs of trainers, a pair of boots, and slippers.
I had to admire the boy’s single-minded concentration. Oakley managed to get him different outfits and sets of pyjamas too. Archer decided on two winter coats and seven hats, gloves and scarf sets. He needed one per day, and then Oakley explained he would want them washed. This hadn’t been as painful as I’d believed it could have been. I was rather proud of how Archer handled everything.
But when he’d finished, Archer marched straight to the SUV we’d taken.
Oakley laughed at my surprise at his abruptness.
“I guess Archer’s done,” I said as I paid for the last few items.
“Yeah,” Oakley exclaimed as we chased after Archer.
“I wish women would shop like that,” I teased and received a frown from Oakley.
“Men need to learn when to shut up,” she shot back over her shoulder.
I laughed as I followed behind.
◆◆◆
When we arrived home, we took the bags up to the bedroom. Archer shared with Aspen, unwilling to leave his mother.
“Are you better?” he demanded as he walked in.
“A little, darling,” Aspen replied. She was sitting up in bed, and I studied the woman who Oakley was feral about.
Aspen was still on the drip, but her hair had a shine it was missing days ago. She was dangerously thin, but her skin had a rosier tint rather than the grey she’d been. Aspen spent a lot of time sleeping, which everyone agreed was a good thing. I had the feeling that Aspen hadn’t slept much in recent years. It was a sure bet she kept a sharp watch over Archer.
In the four days since we’d rescued her, a warrant had been issued for Mr and Mrs Ferguson. Aspen had been requested to give a statement and had agreed. The manager of the care home, two doctors, and five nurses had also been arrested. The remaining staff had been suspended, and a team had gone in as ordered by the state. By all accounts, every medical record and client was being re-examined.
Leila, who’d been keeping a sharp eye on things, had informed me that another patient had been found under a false identity and heavily drugged. In Washington, the hospital was negatively making headlines. Several people had turned up to claim their relatives and move them elsewhere and had been refused.
A staff shortage has been revealed, which explained why everyone was drugged. There hadn’t been enough food, the bedding was dirty, and the list of crimes continued. Heads were going to roll, and not just at the hospital. Those who’d carried out checks clearly hadn’t done their job either.
“You need to get better, I want my own room soon,” Archer said, and Oakley and Aspen gasped.
“You feel safe enough?” Oakley asked.
“Uncle Harley has a gun. I saw it. He’ll shoot anyone who tries to hurt Mommy. These people keep my routine,” Archer replied.
Wow, it was that simple for him. As long as his routine was upheld, he was content.
“A gun?” Aspen demanded. I swivelled my head. How on earth did Archer know that?
“I saw him. He was cleaning it. I watched,” Archer answered. “Can I have one?”
“No!” Aspen exclaimed. “Guns are dangerous. Were you spying on Harley?”
Archer looked over Aspen’s left shoulder. “I have to make sure we’re safe.”
“That’s Mommy’s job. Not yours, baby.”
“But you said I’m your little man,” Archer replied and then turned his back on all of us.
He began laying out his outfits and marking the labels with the days of the week. As he completed one outfit, he’d write it down in his notebook.
“I’m impressed,” I announced as Oakley laughed. “I need Archer at the Smithy.”
“Why are you carrying a gun?” Aspen whisper demanded.
“Because I need to protect my family should anything happen.”
Oakley swapped a glance with me.
I’d told her everything, giving Oakley the chance to disappear and come back when the war was over. Oakley had verbally bitch slapped me so hard I thought my ears would blister. However, Aspen was too fragile to be informed about the approaching war.
Plus, getting her and Archer to Chicago was a priority. Oakley and I had already looked online at some houses. Hopefully, we could fly Aspen and Archer out soon to help pick one. I wasn’t sure how Archer would cope with that, but Oakley assured me that Aspen would.
Things were starting to come together in a way I’d never dreamed possible. My fake wife was now the light of my life. We’d found her cousins and saved them. I had signed for the Cubs and was heading for a career in my first love.
And that gave me the shakes. Everything was too perfect—too happy. That never happened for me. Shit always went bad. Because I was Harley Michaelson. Something always waited in the shadows to snatch my good luck away.
I drew in a deep breath as Oakley looked at me, and I felt a pang at the love in her eyes. Would I lose her? There’d be no recovering from that. Without Oakley, there was no tomorrow.