Rescued

  Still, there was a lot for us to overcome. For one, I was worried that this felt too much like a honeymoon period between us and too little like reality. I had no idea what was going on in my life. I couldn’t stay at my aunt and uncle’s house forever.

  Then there was Hunter. Anytime I thought about his future, it was hard not to jump to his MS. No matter how brave he was about it, it was still scary. I had almost no idea what it even was. All I knew was that it had something to do with his nerves or his brain and that it was bad and incurable. Even beyond his disease, I wasn’t sure he had any more idea what he was doing with his life than I did.

  Plus, I was still dealing with what happened to my parents. Marco’s letter had removed the scab from an awful wound. I was trying to move on from their deaths and make some headway into figuring out my future, but every setback made it that much harder.

  Maybe my therapist was right and I should write him. The more I thought about it, the more plausible it sounded. What was the worst that could happen? If I got some answers, maybe it would be easier for Hunter and I to build a healthy relationship together. I could be free from the past.

  I decided to go for it. Since I’d thrown away the letter Marco wrote me, I had to look up where to address my letter back to him on the Cook County Penal System website. That done, I found a piece of paper and a pen, went to my desk, and scratched something out.

  Marco,

  I have been doing my best to recover. One thing has continued to bother me, and you could help with that.

  Why did you kill my mother?

  It would help me greatly if I could understand the reason it happened, and maybe it would help you too.

  Sincerely,

  Lorrie

  I looked over the letter again. It asked the question without being too intimate. It definitely didn’t make it look like I’d forgiven him, but it was something. Kind of like a business letter or something. I didn’t have high hopes, but there was a chance he would read it and have some remorse.

  I put it into its envelope and sealed it in. After Aunt Caroline’s reaction to Marco’s letter, I decided not to talk to her about sending it. I could sneak a stamp at some point and put it in the mail.

  Once I was done, I put the envelope into a notebook and left it on my desk. After hopping back on my bed, I began to flip through the pictures again.

  My aunt came to my door and knocked twenty minutes later.

  “Can I come in?” she asked.

  I sat up straighter in bed, glancing briefly at my desk. The envelope was well hidden. “Sure.”

  She walked into the room and took a seat at the foot of my bed. “Did you find any other good pictures?” she asked.

  I picked up the stack and began flipping through them again. I came to a photo of me with my aunt, uncle, and dad taken at a family gathering. Both me and my aunt had our hair up with a scrunchie. “Yeah,” I said. “I’m not so sure the scrunchie was a good look though.”

  I handed her the picture with a smile. She took it and laughed to herself. “Those things really were terrible. God, look at us all. So young. I need to show this to your uncle.”

  I nodded, and we sat in silence. Finally, I got the nerve to ask the question that had been on my mind all morning. “So what’s the real reason you don’t have any pictures of my dad up?”

  She pursed her lips and looked away for a second. Her face was set in stone by the time she looked back. “When your father . . . when Bill did what he did, I was angry. I couldn’t believe he would leave his family behind like that. It’s just . . . not what people do.”

  I had to bite my tongue, but I kept silent.

  She looked back at the picture. “As a family, you have to stay together. Through anything. Even if it’s terrible, like what happened with your poor mother. Everyone needs to be an anchor for everyone else.”

  A tear fell from her eye, but she continued talking with a steady voice. “Anyway, I’m glad you brought the pictures up. Even if he did what he did, he’s still a part of the family, and we can’t abandon him or his memory. He doesn’t deserve that.”

  She paused a moment and pressed her lips together.

  “When I think about it, I wish I had done more to reach out to him. He was always an obsessively focused person. In the end I guess it killed him—and it was bad for his marriage, of course—but he did accomplish an awful lot.”

  Tears began threatening to come from my eyes, but I fought them back as well as I could. I didn’t want my aunt to stop talking, even if the mention of my parents’ marriage made me upset.

  “He was always focused on something,” she said with a sigh. She looked back at the picture again. “Maybe something positive to focus on would help you move on too.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said, not completely convinced.

  She smiled. “I’m going to go downstairs and start on lunch. That boy Hunter eats like a horse. Will you be coming down?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be down in a minute.”

  She nodded and walked out. I watched her go and thought about what she’d said.

  I threw the covers off and swung my feet around to get out of bed. Everyone in a family needed to be an anchor for everyone else. Had my family been like that?

  Probably not. But the Perkins family was welcoming me in and they were family too. Maybe I wasn’t pulling my weight yet, but I could work on it.

  What about Hunter? I had felt like he was my anchor, but after the last few weeks maybe I needed to be more careful about that. He needed me to be his anchor as much as I needed him. We had certainly made progress, but we weren’t fully there yet.

  I looked at my desk, where I had hidden the letter to Marco. Maybe if I could get some answers about why everything had happened, I could be a better anchor for Hunter too.

  Chapter Eight

  HELP

  I snuck a stamp from the kitchen drawer my aunt kept them in and sent the letter off the next morning. Before I was ready, it was Saturday evening. Hunter had spent most of the past two days working on the dining room. Even though we hadn’t talked alone since he’d found me in the basement, his presence in the house was comforting.

  I helped my aunt with the dishes after dinner while Hunter read to the kids in the living room. From the sound of it, there was little actual reading being done, and a whole lot of chasing the kittens.

  “Sounds like the boys are having fun,” I said.

  My aunt let out a hearty laugh. “Having Hunter around is like having an older brother for them to play with. They haven’t had this much fun since I can remember.”

  I giggled. Hunter was just like a big boy, in his own way. It wasn’t surprising my cousins got along with him so well.

  After a few minutes of raucous laughter in the living room, the noise in the living room died down. Aunt Caroline raised an eyebrow at me. “Do you hear that?”

  “What? They’ve finally quieted down.”

  “That’s the sound of two boys about to raise some trouble. I’m going to go check in on them, can you finish up for me?”

  I nodded and started stacking the plates into the drying rack. Hopefully my cousins weren’t getting into too much trouble.

  As I was drying my hands, Hunter walked into the kitchen. I smiled at him when he came in, noticing his messy hair. One of the kittens had probably been sitting on his head just seconds before.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey yourself. Thanks for playing with Joel and Billy. I think they really look up to you.”

  He laughed. “I’m hardly somebody they should look up to.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I said, frowning. “What’s going on in there, anyway? Aunt Caroline thought you boys were getting into trouble.”

  “Ah, nothing. We finished the book. Or I did, anyway. Right now I think they’re trying to coax Frida out of her hiding spot.”

  “Maybe we can help,” I said. I started to walk towards the living room, but stopped when Hunter didn’t follo
w me.

  His eyes darted to me for a moment before he looked aside. “What? Oh, uh . . . yeah.”

  I felt my muscles go tense. Something was up.

  “What’s going on? Are the kittens okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Nothing like that. Can we—” He stopped and tried again. “Can we talk?”

  “Of course!” I answered, a little more cheerfully than I intended. He was acting weird and it was making me nervous.

  “Let’s go to the guest room,” he said. He grabbed my hand and led me down the hall.

  My pulse pounded in my ears. What did he want to tell me that he didn’t want anyone else overhearing?

  After I stepped through, he locked the guest room door, his shoulders hunched over and tense. His face was grim and he didn’t say anything. I didn’t know why, but my eyes were starting to sting. The past few days with Hunter had been wonderful, but I knew it couldn’t last forever.

  Did he need to go back to Studsen? He couldn’t just skip all of his classes, no matter how smart he was. Even so, I wasn’t quite ready for him to leave yet.

  Hunter cleared his throat, breaking into my thoughts.

  “Uh . . . so, I know we didn’t talk about this a lot, but . . . ”

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked, my chest tight with anxiety.

  “My MS . . .”

  My heart raced. “Oh my god. Is it getting worse? I thought—”

  “No!” he yelled.

  I flinched at his tone and took a step back. I hadn’t expected such a strong reaction from him.

  He shook his head slowly. “No,” he said, more softly this time. “It’s not like that. I’m fine.”

  “It’s not? You’re okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  First I felt relieved, but then I noticed the look on Hunter’s face. His eyes were downcast and he shook his head. “Listen, I can’t stand you thinking that I’m gonna die any second. That kills me.”

  “I’m sorry. I just . . . ”

  I knew Hunter was right. Even though it was too late, I wished I could take my words back. Why was he always able to be so strong for me but I kept messing it up? He was trying to tell me something important, and the only thing I could think about was my own irrational fear. I was treating him the same way everyone else did when they found about about his MS. I had hurt him.

  “It’s okay,” he said, letting out a heavy sigh.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. I felt like I owed him an explanation.

  “I know how important this is to you, but this is just all so new to me. I’m—I’m scared.”

  His gray eyes searched my face with an intense focus. Then he nodded, his jaw working slowly. “I know you’re trying. Don’t be scared. Sometimes when you’re in a fight being afraid of getting hit is worse than the hit itself.”

  I nodded, my lips trembling. He grabbed my shoulders and held me to him tightly. I rested my face on his shoulder, inhaling his scent. Just being close to him was making me calmer. Whatever Hunter wanted to tell me, I was ready for it. There was no reason to be afraid. After a few more moments of taking deep, shuddering breaths, I felt more composed again and pulled away.

  “What did you want to tell me?” I asked, wiping the moisture from my eyes.

  Hunter walked over to the small gym bag he had brought. He pulled out a small black pouch and sat down on the bed with a deep breath. His fists clenched and released. “Can we sit down?”

  I followed him over to the bed, not taking my eyes off of the pouch. What was in it that would make him react this way? I put my arm around his shoulders and felt his muscles knotted and tight. His back rose and fell with his breathing. We sat there for a few moments. I waited for him to get ready for whatever he was about to tell me, my pulse pounding in my ears.

  “I wanna show you something,” he said finally.

  I nodded, trying to keep my mind clear.

  Hunter unzipped the pouch and opened it on his leg. There was a syringe and a small vial of amber liquid. The curved glass and cruel metal of the syringe made it look dangerous. I held my breath. Thousands of questions popped through the haze of my mind and threatened to spill out of my mouth, but I was determined not to mess it up again.

  Whatever this was about, Hunter had chosen to share it with me. The least I could do was be patient and let him take it at his own pace.

  “Lorrie, this is my . . .” his voice cracked.

  I took his hand in mine, squeezing his calloused fingers in encouragement. His eyes darted around my face.

  He sucked in a deep breath before continuing. “This is my MS treatment. I gotta inject it every two weeks. Tonight’s the night.”

  I stared at the syringe kit in his pouch for a while, trying to steady my breathing. I could tell that he was studying my reaction carefully so I tried to keep my face neutral, but my heart was in my throat.

  Even after he had told me about his condition, it didn’t feel real to me. Hunter still seemed like he was mostly fine, except for the injuries he got from the fight. But now, with his treatment right in front of me, it was suddenly very, very real.

  Hunter cleared his throat. “Usually, I get the shots at the health center on campus, but I gotta do them myself tonight.”

  I couldn’t think of what to say. I knew that he was showing me this for a reason, but I didn’t want to say something stupid like I had earlier. Even though I could feel his body’s warmth, the silence between us expanded until it felt like we were miles apart.

  “Is—”

  “Lor—”

  We both started talking at once, and then stopped. Neither of us said anything for a few seconds, lost in our own thoughts.

  Hunter spoke first. “Sorry, you go first.”

  I took a deep breath so it wouldn’t feel like I was suffocating. If I didn’t understand much about Hunter’s condition, maybe the best thing to do was to just ask him about it.

  “Will it make you better?”

  He shook his head. “It just prevents the episodes from getting worse.”

  It was a stupid question and I kicked myself mentally for even asking it. He had said that there was no cure.

  I pointed to the pouch. “Does it hurt? I mean, you know, the needle.”

  His eyebrows furrowed as he considered it for a second.

  “Not as much as being in a fight,” he said. Then his hand gripped tighter around mine. “But afterwards, I feel weak.”

  I gave his hand a little squeeze back and looked down into my lap. I didn’t want him to see the tears starting to well up in my eyes. My heart was breaking for him. He had to take a shot that made him feel weaker to keep his condition from getting worse. A helpless fury rose in my chest. This wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

  “It’s kinda one of the side effects,” he added after some time.

  His gray eyes were big and soft, and I wanted to say so many things to him, but I didn’t know how to say it, so I just held his hand and leaned my head on his shoulder.

  “I wanted to show you,” he mumbled, his voice low. “See if . . . I dunno. I guess to see if you wanted to help.”

  “Of course,” I answered quickly. “Of course I’ll help you. Just teach me how.” I hoped he couldn’t hear the shakiness in my voice.

  A sad smile broke across his face, and his eyes crinkled. I wanted to hug him and tell him that he wouldn’t have to deal with this alone again, but my throat was too choked up with nerves.

  “I’ll fill up the syringe myself, then I’ll need your help,” he said.

  I gave him an encouraging nod and Hunter uncapped the syringe and stuck it into the rubber seal on top of the vial, drawing out the liquid.

  He flipped the tip of the needle up and tapped the syringe lightly, before squirting a little bit of the amber fluid out of the top. I watched his actions closely. If Hunter and I were going to have a future together, how many times would I have to help him with his injection? Twenty? A hundred? I had to pay attention. He was showing
me the reality of his life and I couldn’t mess this up. The gravity of the situation was heavy and suffocating, but I knew I had to do this.

  “Can you open up one of those alcohol pads?” he asked, pointing to the the shiny foil packets .

  I pulled out one of the packets and tried to rip it open. The packaging seemed to be designed to be difficult. Even after I twisted the damn square every which way it wouldn’t tear. The harder I tried, the more slippery it got in my clammy hands. Every failed attempt was making my hands shake harder.

  “Damnit,” I threw it on the bed, frustrated.

  Hunter watched me but didn’t make a comment, he just reached into the black bag to give me a new foil packet.

  I sucked in air through my teeth, then wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans before taking the shiny square from him. I wasn’t going to give up. This time, it tore open with ease.

  The sharp smell of rubbing alcohol greeted my nose. Hunter unbuckled his belt with one hand and slid his pants halfway to his knees. An image of Aunt Caroline walking in on us flashed through my mind before I burned it out with a vengeance. I had to focus on Hunter right now.

  “Just rub the pad on my left thigh,” he said, pointing to an area on his leg. “Right here is fine.”

  I swabbed his skin at the spot he was pointing to, the alcohol evaporating quickly from my fingers and making them cold.

  “Here,” he said after I threw the pad out. He held the syringe between two fingers and offered it to to me.

  I paused to take several deep breaths before accepting it from him. The syringe felt heavier than it looked, like it was made of stone. Sweat beaded on my brow, making my head itchy and uncomfortable. I tried to hold the needle upright, but my hand was shaking furiously.

  “Lorrie, can you do this?”

  “I don’t want to mess up,” I croaked. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  He gave my shoulder a light squeeze. “You won’t. I trust you.”

  I looked into his soft gray eyes, blinking away the stinging in my own. This wasn’t about me, this was about Hunter. He was showing me that he could trust me with his pain. If I didn’t do this, it would hurt him more than anything else I could possibly do. I had to be brave. I couldn’t let him down.