Chapter 17 #3
“She’s just a baby,” I said aloud. “Your hand probably smelled salty—she didn’t know any better. She nibbles on my fingers all the time. Let me see it.”
He flinched when I took his wrist, his hand trembling. The bite formed a rough U shape in the meat of his hand, the pattern of welts already swelling. She had broken the skin with sheer force, blood rising to the surface even though there was no sign of tearing.
“Okay, come on. We’ll get it cleaned out and it’ll be fine. You’re okay.”
He followed me quietly into the feed room. I washed it out with distilled water and soap, and by the time I was done, the water was already running clear.
“See, not even bleeding now,” I said, trying to inject a reassuring note into my voice. “A little aspirin and you won’t even feel it. Okay? You all right, there? Are you dizzy?”
“Yeah, a little. It’s going away.”
“Do you want some—” I didn’t even know what to offer, because I drank wine when I felt faint. “Orange juice, or something? I can get some orange juice.”
“No, no, I’ll be okay. I’m not going to get sick?”
I huffed out a shaking laugh. “Oh, no, you won’t get sick. She doesn’t have rabies or anything. She’s perfectly healthy, all vaccinated. She’s just naughty.”
“Okay.” The relief was raw in his voice. “Okay.”
“All right, good. I’m going to wrap this up so it stays clean, okay? It’s really shallow, so you shouldn’t have to worry about infection. If it gets swollen, just—”
I trailed off. I had a little stockpile of antibiotics, a pill here and a pill there left unused, but I was no pharmacist; how many sins did I want to pile on in an attempt to hide this one?
I cursed myself, my momentary lapse, wishing for the hundredth time in five minutes that I could just go back, but time unspooled mercilessly away from the moment.
“We have some antibiotics,” he said, meeting my eyes. “When Dad got a tooth out, he didn’t finish them. I could just take those, right?”
A tightrope stretched between our gazes, my human decency tripping down its length. I didn’t look away when I said, “Yes, you could do that.”
There was a long silence.
“Okay,” he said finally. “They won’t notice.”
I didn’t know if he meant about his hand or the antibiotics specifically, but I nodded anyway. “You can always tell them you hurt it in gym or something. I’m certainly not going to tattle on you.”
Relief shone in his face again; the little lamb didn’t even realize he held the blade now. “Okay. Thanks.”
“But we have to get you to school before your free period is up. Is there somewhere I can drop you off where nobody will see?”
“There’s an old dirt road that runs behind the gym. We use it sometimes, but not during school hours.”
I knew the one; a remnant of Norman’s days, when access paths for the logging wagons crisscrossed through much of the land in Burrsville. “That’ll work,” I said. “Why don’t you go hop in the truck; I’m going to put that little beast away.”
He straightened up from where he was sagging against the sink. The color had come back into his face, but the uncertainty lingered. Once I was certain he was steady, I left him to go collect the fawn.
She was gamboling in the short grass that stretched between the back of the barn and the meadow, her bright eyes trained on a fat, lazy bumblebee that was making the most of the remaining dandelions. I strode across it, but hesitated just before I bent to scoop her up.
I picked her up often; she was becoming more independent, less inclined to follow at my heels, and I didn’t always have time to wait for her to decide she was ready to come in.
But now all I could see was that long, flexible neck and how easily it might turn, putting my face, my ear, my neck within reach of those teeth.
“Why did you have to fucking do that?” I asked softly.
She didn’t even look at me, the only acknowledgment of my voice a little flick of her tail.
I bent down, steeling myself, and lifted her up.
There was a breathless, frozen moment where her head craned back to maintain her balance, and I anticipated the clamp of her teeth on my cheek, the ripping of flesh.
It was all in my head, and she was silent and docile as I carried her to the house.
The boy was silent too, as I drove him down the hill to the school. I kept to the backroads, but even then I was tempted to tell him to duck whenever we passed a house or another car. The sun beamed beneath my visor like a watching eye.
“I’m really sorry,” he said as I pulled over at the edge of the access road. “I feel stupid. I almost passed out.”
“Don’t be sorry—it’s natural. There’s not much you can do about it.”
“You’re not going to put her down, are you? I’ve read stuff online about that, dumbasses getting bit trying to pet wild animals and stuff. I don’t want to be that person.”
“You’re not that person.”
“But you won’t, right?”
I stayed silent for a moment, watching fear darken his eyes. Fear made men vicious, I knew, but he was still just a boy.
“I won’t,” I said finally. “But it might not be in my hands.”