Just like I kept my makeshift blade from the motel room tight in my hand for hours after meeting Malcolm, Mom is slow to fully release her knife. I coax her into a chair and run through the details of discovering Malcolm and then the two of us escaping together, dwelling on the initial injuries Malcolm sustained to give Mom and me a chance, and later his dogged insistence on helping me find her even after I gave him an out. I think I mostly succeed at convincing her he’s not a threat, but she does insist that I leave the knife within easy reach of her.
The first thing she asks him is “Where’d you leave Laura’scar?”
“At an apartment building two blocks down the road,” he says. Then to me in a lower voice: “I assumed everything was okay when I saw her let you in.”
I nod, silently thanking him both for the privacy he gave us and the foresight to ditch the car some distance from the motel.
“He should go,” she says, then, with a slight eye roll that seems directed at herself, “You should too.”
“Where would I go?” I ask. “Back to my cell at the bounty hunter’s place?”
She doesn’t answer, because she has no answer.
“Whatever you were planning to do, it’s over now,” I say. “You’re not leaving me alone again.”
Mom’s gaze slides to mine at the steel in my voice. “I’m done running,” she says, matching my tone.
“You’re also done making unilateral decisions. I’m eighteen now, remember? Or I will be in a couple hours. I get a say. And since you can barely stand without breaking into a sweat, it’s gonna be a big one.” I have no idea what we’re going to do in the long term, but the short term is obvious. “First up is your leg. You should have gone to the hospital days ago.” I suppress a flare of queasiness remembering the red streaks emanating from the wound.
“She can’t go to the hospital,” Malcolm says.
I round on him, shocked that he isn’t taking my side. “That’s the only place she can go. Her leg is bad: it looks infected, and she’s lost a lot of blood. She’s going.”
He takes a few cautious steps toward Mom and me, the way you’d approach a snarling animal. Which is exactly what I feel like. “The investigator knows she’s here somewhere, and that she’s hurt.”
He glances at Mom for confirmation, and she nods.
“Okay, then they probably have people at all the nearby hospitals waiting for her to come in.”
The ground opens up to swallow me. He’s right.
“Malcolm,” I say, lowering my voice and moving toward him. “She needs help. She needed it days ago. I just got her back. I can’t even think about—”
“I know. We’ll help her.”
“You’lldo nothing,” Mom says.
I don’t miss the emphasis onyou’ll,or the way her eyes are locked on the spot where Malcolm rests his hand on me. Not wanting her to waste any energy worrying aboutthat,I shift away from him. “Malcolm’s proven himself to me. You’re just going to have to take my word for it.”
She hasn’t spared more than a glance for him since I made her lower her knife. I can’t forget how alike we are. The strength of her animosity toward Malcolm will be at least as intense as mine was initially, and she doesn’t have the luxury of time to assuage it.
She shifts her gaze to him, narrowing her eyes as though trying to make a decision. Then she takes a shuffled step to the side, and her injured leg gives out.
Malcolm is closer than I am. He leaps to catch her and helps her to the bed. He grunts as his ribs bear her weight.
“I’m okay,” she says. “I moved too fast.”
“You’ve lost too much blood.”
Her eyes slowly close, then open halfway. “Just give me a minute, okay? Then we’ll talk. We’ll figure everything out together. Go clean up. I think I got blood on your sweater.”
I reach for Malcolm’s hand, because I can’t take hers. I’m afraid I’ll crush it. This moment is the worst yet. She looks so frail, weak.
Hurt.
“Okay,” I say, miraculously keeping my voice steady. “Call out if you need something.” Her eyes are already drifting shut again.
Malcolm follows me to the bathroom and lets me close the door behind him. The space is slightly larger than a phone booth. I place a finger to my lips and lean past him to turn on the water in the sink to full blast. I would turn on the shower, but Mom would never be so faint as to let the notion of me and a boy and a running shower go unnoticed, no matter how hurt she was. I whisper instead.
