couldn’t breathe and then she couldn’t stop panting, every muscle rigid with pain.
“I’ll go get help,” Bo said. “Your granddad. Where’s your grandfather?”
Raney opened her mouth and heard a sound come out that wasn’t words at all. It sounded like an animal. Bo started to cry. He wadded his T-shirt under her head and stood up.
“No! Don’t leave me here.” He knelt down again, and for the first time Raney looked at her arm, a bracelet of oozing raw flesh wound in three crossing rings. She remembered a hunting trip with her grandfather, a .22 propped in a notch tracking a raccoon waddling up the riverbank like a broken-hipped cat, Grandpa leaning over her shoulder whispering, “Wait, wait . . . Okay. Now!” Seeing the coon turn a somersault from a standstill and not believing she’d done it. Grandpa had skinned it while she watched, showing her how to work the point of a knife through the fur and in between the skin and muscle to the clean plane of fat and sinew, then use bare hands to slip the sheath of fur and flesh off like a glove. That was how her arm looked.
She grabbed on to Bo’s leg. “Don’t go. Don’t tell him. It won’t kill me, not if I don’t let it get infected.”
“You have to tell him. You need to go to a doctor.”
“Just stay here with me.” After a while Raney stopped shivering and sat up, holding her arm away from her body so nothing could touch the raw stripes. “What’s a doctor going to do? Put Neosporin and a clean bandage on it. Help me up. He’s away from the house till at least nine. There’s a whole emergency room of supplies in the bunker. He won’t notice. Not if I’m careful.”
Raney pretended to be asleep when Grandpa came home. Overnight the weather shifted to the west, and then the northwest, and by morning the peninsula was cloaked in a cold rain so she could wear a loose sweater over her bandages. No one seemed to notice that she was suddenly more left-handed than right. By the time Bo was in Connecticut and settled into his new school, the wound had closed, leaving a bright-pink bracelet of scar, and Raney was sure her face had been forgotten behind the rich, pretty girls who went to a school like that.
—
One morning in early November she came down to breakfast and found the Rubbermaid box of paints and canvases she’d seen in the bunker that day with Bo. She sat down and ate her cereal, got up and washed the dishes, left the house for the school bus, and then turned around and walked back up the driveway to the kitchen door. “Why did you get me that?”
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you paint. Thought maybe you were out of supplies.”
Raney opened the wooden box and ran her fingers across the row of untouched tin tubes. She didn’t know if she would have the heart to mar them with dents and smears, almost better to hold them, perfect, for some day when she was ready and deserving. After a long minute Grandpa said, “I met Joy, Grandmama, when she was fifteen. I never told you that, did I?”
“No. She probably did. Fifteen seemed like a long time away to me back then.” She looked at him. “Why are you telling me this now?”
He shrugged. “I’m sorry you don’t have a woman to raise you.”
“I like it the way it is. Us.” He didn’t answer. It was what it was with no changing it, after all. She could tell he believed her, despite the look of regret on his face that she couldn’t explain. She never told Grandpa about the swing; it made her happy to believe she’d spared him any additional worry. It would be another decade before she understood that the bliss and curse of adolescence is the capacity to lie better to yourself than to anyone else, especially your own folks.
• 5 •
charlotte
Charlotte got to the hospital early the next morning. Felipe Otero had kept Jane stable over the day, and Helen Wong, a new doctor hired just out of fellowship, had managed the patient fairly well until about 3:00
“I’ll go get help,” Bo said. “Your granddad. Where’s your grandfather?”
Raney opened her mouth and heard a sound come out that wasn’t words at all. It sounded like an animal. Bo started to cry. He wadded his T-shirt under her head and stood up.
“No! Don’t leave me here.” He knelt down again, and for the first time Raney looked at her arm, a bracelet of oozing raw flesh wound in three crossing rings. She remembered a hunting trip with her grandfather, a .22 propped in a notch tracking a raccoon waddling up the riverbank like a broken-hipped cat, Grandpa leaning over her shoulder whispering, “Wait, wait . . . Okay. Now!” Seeing the coon turn a somersault from a standstill and not believing she’d done it. Grandpa had skinned it while she watched, showing her how to work the point of a knife through the fur and in between the skin and muscle to the clean plane of fat and sinew, then use bare hands to slip the sheath of fur and flesh off like a glove. That was how her arm looked.
She grabbed on to Bo’s leg. “Don’t go. Don’t tell him. It won’t kill me, not if I don’t let it get infected.”
“You have to tell him. You need to go to a doctor.”
“Just stay here with me.” After a while Raney stopped shivering and sat up, holding her arm away from her body so nothing could touch the raw stripes. “What’s a doctor going to do? Put Neosporin and a clean bandage on it. Help me up. He’s away from the house till at least nine. There’s a whole emergency room of supplies in the bunker. He won’t notice. Not if I’m careful.”
Raney pretended to be asleep when Grandpa came home. Overnight the weather shifted to the west, and then the northwest, and by morning the peninsula was cloaked in a cold rain so she could wear a loose sweater over her bandages. No one seemed to notice that she was suddenly more left-handed than right. By the time Bo was in Connecticut and settled into his new school, the wound had closed, leaving a bright-pink bracelet of scar, and Raney was sure her face had been forgotten behind the rich, pretty girls who went to a school like that.
—
One morning in early November she came down to breakfast and found the Rubbermaid box of paints and canvases she’d seen in the bunker that day with Bo. She sat down and ate her cereal, got up and washed the dishes, left the house for the school bus, and then turned around and walked back up the driveway to the kitchen door. “Why did you get me that?”
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you paint. Thought maybe you were out of supplies.”
Raney opened the wooden box and ran her fingers across the row of untouched tin tubes. She didn’t know if she would have the heart to mar them with dents and smears, almost better to hold them, perfect, for some day when she was ready and deserving. After a long minute Grandpa said, “I met Joy, Grandmama, when she was fifteen. I never told you that, did I?”
“No. She probably did. Fifteen seemed like a long time away to me back then.” She looked at him. “Why are you telling me this now?”
He shrugged. “I’m sorry you don’t have a woman to raise you.”
“I like it the way it is. Us.” He didn’t answer. It was what it was with no changing it, after all. She could tell he believed her, despite the look of regret on his face that she couldn’t explain. She never told Grandpa about the swing; it made her happy to believe she’d spared him any additional worry. It would be another decade before she understood that the bliss and curse of adolescence is the capacity to lie better to yourself than to anyone else, especially your own folks.
• 5 •
charlotte
Charlotte got to the hospital early the next morning. Felipe Otero had kept Jane stable over the day, and Helen Wong, a new doctor hired just out of fellowship, had managed the patient fairly well until about 3:00
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