Chapter Four
Twyla knew from her late night spying sessions that Mr. Fox was strong, but she hadn’t anticipated that he’d be able to pick her up like she weighed no more than a bag of groceries. Jeez.
But here she was, cradled in his arms and he was striding across the school parking lot at a good clip but trying not to jostle her. It felt so good to be held by someone even though she hurt so much.
She was nauseated but there was no way she’d puke on Mr. Fox. Never, but especially when he was being so nice, and oh, god, putting his job at risk for…her. That didn’t make any sense. She was a nobody.
“Mr. Fox, you can’t—”
“Hush, Twyla. You’re injured and you need to be examined. You told me you can’t go to the hospital so this is the next best option. My mind is made up and you’re not going to talk me out of it. Please stop arguing with me. I know you make a habit of mouthing off to teachers, but I’m not your teacher. I know you can be a good, cooperative girl—that’s what I expect from you.”
Her eyes watered and not from pain or worry. Had anyone ever said they thought she could be a good girl? Not that she could remember. She wanted, suddenly, desperately, to be that for him.
“Okay,” she whispered, and looped her arms around his neck and leaned her head against his shoulder.
“There you go,” he soothed, and she melted further in his arms.
She couldn’t tell if it had been minutes or hours that Mr. Fox had been carrying her—her head hurt so bad and the rest of her body wasn’t far behind, and the pain was distracting.
Finally though, he nuzzled the top of her head.
“Twyla, sweetheart? Can you stand if I help you? I have to open the car door and I don’t want to drop you trying.”
“I think so.”
He gently set her on her feet and though there was no way her knees would hold if she had to take her full weight, Mr. Fox’s strong arm around her waist and being able to lean into him helped a lot. As did him calling her sweetheart. Made her feel all warm inside even as she ached from her injuries.
Once he had the door open, he helped her inside and buckled her up which for some reason she found funny.
It only took a few seconds until they were on their way and she closed her eyes, breathed in the scent of his car, the scent of him, and tried to control the nausea that was taking her over. She couldn’t puke in his car, not after what he’d done for her.
He was on the phone for a while but he didn’t seem to be talking to her so she just let the words flow by until he pulled to a stop. She cracked open an eye—the one that didn’t feel like it was swelling shut—and they appeared to be in the driveway of a nice house with a Black man waiting outside who approached the car and started talking to Mr. Fox as soon as he got out of the car.
She couldn’t make out their voices very well from inside the car, but she wasn’t really trying either. They didn’t sound super happy, but they also weren’t yelling so she wasn’t going to worry too much.
Finally her door opened and Mr. Fox crouched down and took her hand. “Twyla, we’re here. This is my friend Eric. He’s a doctor and we’re at his office. We’re going to bring you inside and he’s going to take a look at you, okay?”
She nodded but it sent a shooting pain through her head and it was all she could do to swing her legs out of the car and let Mr. Fox help her up with an arm around her waist. She didn’t even argue this time when he picked her up. She’d clearly lost this battle and she wasn’t even sorry about it.
“Jesus Christ,” she heard the other man mutter. “I hope those boys go to prison. What the fuck. Come on, this way.”
They went to what looked like an addition on the side of the house and she saw a sign next to the door, one of those metal plaques that looked old and expensive.
Dr. Eric Southerland
Pediatrician
It smelled like a doctor’s office inside and she wondered if his whole house smelled this way. She wouldn’t like living in a house that smelled like a doctor’s office all the time. But it would be better than living in the trailer that smelled like old cigarettes, weed, and whatever beer or liquor was the cheapest at the package store that day.
“You can bring her back to the third exam room,” the other man said.
Eric. Dr. Eric, that was his name.
Mr. Fox carried her down a hall and then set her gently on an exam table and helped her stay sitting even though she felt kind of woozy.
“Hi Twyla, I’m Dr. Eric. My friend Gunnar says some boys hurt you.”
“Gunnar? You mean Mr. Fox?”