Despite the warm temperatures outside, Sam’s been racked with chills the last several days, so I keep the top part of him covered while I peel the blanket off his right leg. A bandage is wrapped around his upper thigh, hiding the gash underneath. I carefully unwrap it. My stomach pitches when I see blood seeping through the gauze.
The gash is a couple of inches long and is probably bad enough that he should have gotten stitches days ago. Now it’s red and swollen, and I’m pretty sure it’s infected. Regardless of the danger it would put both of us in, if it doesn’t start showing signs of improvement, I’m going to have to take him to the emergency room.
A shudder runs through me at what could possibly happen should certain people find out where Sam is. I couldn’t care less what happens to me. Sam is my only concern.
Grabbing a few things from the bag beside me, I soak a rag with water and squirt some soap on it, then squish the rag until it lathers with suds.
“I’m so sorry, Sam.” I hold the rag over his wound, “This is going to hurt, but I need to clean it.”
His eyes are filled with trust as he gazes at me. “It’s okay. I can take it.” My eyes sting, and I have to forcefully push back the tears threatening to fall. My brother, only twelve years old, has endured more in his years than most adults. I hate the people who caused him pain. I hate even more that I wasn’t able to prevent what happened to him.
With my throat tight and with trembling hands, I press the soapy rag to the gash. Sam, showing bravery that astounds me, only lets out a small hiss. My eyes move to his face to find his jaw clenched tight.
I clean his wound as gently as I can, then grab the water bottle to rinse away the soap. Letting it air dry for a moment, I slather on more antibiotic ointment before I carefully rewrap his leg.
“Are you hungry?” I ask him after I pull the blanket back over his legs. “I managed to get a can of peaches.”
His eyes light up with his smile and it lessens some of the tension I’ve been feeling for weeks. Sam doesn’t smile often, but when he does, it gives me hope that the bastards who hurt him haven’t totally scarred him for life.
“Peaches,” Sam says. “My favorite.”
I pull the can from the bag. “I know it’s not the same as fresh peaches.” I work on popping the top. “But you can have the whole can all to yourself.”
His brows pucker. “What about you? You have to eat too.”
With a grin, I reach in the bag and pull out another can. “I found my favorite too.” I hold up a small can of mandarin oranges for myself.
His nose scrunches in an adorable show of disgust. “Those are gross. I don’t see how you can eat them. They’re not even real oranges.”
I laugh as I set my can aside and dig in my bag for a plastic fork. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. These are delicious. And they are most definitely oranges. They’re just babies.”
He rolls his eyes and snorts out a laugh.
“Are you able to sit up?”
“Yeah.”
Seeing the struggle on his face as he sits up pulls at my heartstrings and has guilt churning in my belly. Grabbing the pillow behind him, I push it against the wall for him to prop up on. He presses his hands into the dirty mattress and scoots back. Once he’s settled, I hand him the open can of peaches and the plastic fork. He immediately stabs one and shoves it into his mouth.
“Slow down, Sam. You need to make sure they aren’t going to make you sick before you stuff your belly full of them.”
He eats at a slower pace, and I wait it out for a moment. When it looks as though he may be able to hold the fruit down, I open my own can of mandarins.
Our cans are almost empty when Sam asks a question that’s been weighing on my mind.
“What are we going to do, Jersey? He’s going to eventually find me.”
I set my can to the side, and crossing my legs, scoot closer to the bed. “I need a couple more weeks, and I should have enough money to get us out of Silver Falls.”
“Where will we go?”
“I’m not sure yet.” I prop my elbow on my leg and lean my chin in my hand. “Where would you go if you could go anywhere?”
Using the back of his hand, he wipes it across his mouth. His eyes move across the room, and he stares off into space. His contemplative expression looks way too old for a twelve-year-old to have.
After a moment, he brings his eyes back to me. “Alaska.”
Totally not what I was expecting. “Why Alaska?”