by Ben Cass
She wished again she could talk with him, but took comfort in knowing he, at least, could understand her, and had developed special expressions and gestures to get his point across to her.
She leaned over and kissed Theonus’s face.
The Wiler’s eye opened, and he raised his brow in an unmistakably questioning expression. “I apologize for waking you,” Kira told him. “I was just thinking back to the day we met you. Do you remember? The way you recklessly smashed our door in?”
Theonus blinked once, which meant ‘yes’. “I can never thank you enough for saving Alistair’s life,” she said quietly. “That is what you did, you know. I fear what would have happened if you had not come along when you did.”
The Wiler nudged her with his head and then raised it off the ground. He stretched, exposing his neck. Kira laughed and reached up to scratch him, using both hands against the coal-black fur.
“Yes, I suppose a good scratching is a nice way to thank you, Theonus,” she said. “Do you know where Alistair is, by any chance?”
Theonus tilted his head, the fur moving across Kira’s palms as he did. She never ceased to be amazed at how soft he was. She could sink into his fur and fall asleep with no trouble. The Wiler gestured with his head to the right and widened his eyes. Kira had no trouble interpreting that, either. The wide eyes meant “pretty far away”, and the gesture meant off to his right.
“Out at the edge of his property?” she asked. Theonus nodded, and Kira frowned.
“What could have happened to bother him?”
Theonus lifted his paw off the ground, moving it up to Kira’s waist level.
“Something small?” she asked.
Theonus opened and closed his mouth rapidly, making no noise. Kira frowned for a moment, thinking, before she caught on.
“He was talking with Elowyn?”
Theonus nodded.
“I wonder what happened with Elowyn to affect him so?”
A small burst of wind pushed her hair forward, and she brushed it back without even thinking about it. “Hello, Alistair,” she said, not turning around. Her brother walked up to stand beside her, hands in his pockets, his brow furrowed. “You look troubled. Did your talk with Elowyn not go well?”
He frowned. “How did you know I was talking with her?” Understanding dawned in his eyes, and he looked up at Theonus, who turned his head to the side, looking away innocently. “Snitch,” Doyle said, but there was no anger in his tone, only amusement. He paused, listening to something, and then laughed. “That’s your story?”
“What did he say?” Kira asked.
“He said you forced it out of him by scratching his head until he couldn’t resist you.”
“Oh.” She smiled and shrugged. “He is not entirely wrong. Did you tell Elowyn everything?”
He shook his head. “I told her enough for now. If I’m lucky, it will remain enough.”
Kira sighed and shook her head. “You know it will not be, Alistair. Everything will come out eventually.”
“I know,” he replied. “Is it wrong of me to hope it won’t, though? To want a normal life like you have?”
Kira held out her arms, and her brother stepped into her embrace. “We both know you will never be satisfied with that life. And we both know you are extraordinarily special. People need you, Alistair. They do not need me.”
“Yes, they do,” he said, resting his head against hers.
After another minute, Kira pulled away. “What did Elowyn say to bother you?”
He gave her a confused look. “Bother me?” he asked. “What are you talking about?”
“Alistair...Theonus told me you were out on the edge of your property. You never go off alone unless you want privacy to mull things over. You were perfectly fine earlier, so it stands to reason something Elowyn said got to you.” She patted his cheek. “Besides, we are twins. I know when you are upset. Tell me. Let me help you, if I can.”
He sighed. “She asked me if I was in love with Jen.”
Kira’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. Of all the things she had thought Elowyn might say, that had never entered her mind. “I...see. She pushed you for an answer, I assume?” Her brother nodded.
“She’s almost as insistent upon things as you are,” he replied, lightly shoving Kira’s shoulder, the way he had when they were children and squabbling over something minor.
“And what did you tell her?”
He sighed. “I told her it’s a possibility, but I’m not going to actively seek it out. I cannot afford to hurt another woman like I did before.”
Kira felt her frustration boil into her throat, but forced it down, willing herself to stay calm. Perhaps he would finally admit what she already knew. She was tired of this game of his. “And what if Jen seeks it out instead? Would you deny her the possibility?”
He grunted. “We had one date, Kira.”
“With plans for a second.” She reached out and poked his chest. “You have a chance for happiness staring you in the face. Look me in the eyes and tell me you do not have feelings for her.”
Alistair turned his gaze to her, but quickly sighed. “Okay, yes, I care for Jen, all right? The situation is just...complicated. I don’t know what to think or feel.” He shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”
The frustration and anger rose again in Kira, but this time, she let the feelings flow through her instead of biting them off. She was tired of him carrying on his little charade. Her voice, when she spoke, snapped at her twin like a whip.
“While you may not always realize this, due to that oversized ego you often let control your judgment, I am neither stupid nor blind, Alistair.” She jabbed a finger at him, hoping her fury dripped from every word. “For reasons you have chosen to keep to yourself, you told me nothing about these women when you called me for my help. I came here anyway, not knowing what I was getting myself into, because I trust you with my life. I do not understand why you lied to me then, nor why you are still lying, but I am sure you think it is the right thing to do. However, did you really think that I, I of all people, would not figure things out? I KNOW! I have just been waiting for you to tell me on your own!”
Kira did not bother to look at her brother as she spun and stormed away.
Chapter Seventeen
The setting sun cast gorgeous hues of purple and orange through the thin layer of clouds. Jen sat on the porch swing, enjoying the early evening breeze and admiring the view. Kira and Ellie had gone to town to do some shopping.
“It’s sweet of you to tolerate Ellie’s eagerness like this,” Jen had said when Kira offered to take her out.
“I would hardly call it tolerating. Growing up with Alistair did not give me the chance to really be there for somebody,” Kira had replied. “Being the same age, he really needed no guidance from me. He always knew what he was doing. I have always wanted a child, but Elowyn is the closest I will get to that for a while, I fear.” She had fallen silent for a moment, leaving Jen wondering what she meant, before gathering herself and continuing, “I would love to spend time with her, unless you mind, of course.” Jen didn’t, pleased Ellie had found another woman she could share things with.
And, since Kira obviously had no problems talking about guys, it might get Jen off the hook.
“Nice evening so far, isn’t it?” came Doyle’s voice from the doorway, interrupting her thoughts. Jen lazily glanced over at him, noticing the large bowl and spoon he was holding. Doyle stirred the contents of the bowl.
“Very nice.” She ran her hands along the seat of the swing. It was wide, perhaps six feet, with darkly-stained wood. The arms were long but flat, and the back went up to her shoulders. The seat had padding on it, which she assumed was weatherproof, but the backing was all wood. “This swing is lovely. Where did you get it?”
“I made it a few weeks ago, shortly after I first moved here.”
“Made it? You’re a carpenter?” Jen was impressed, but not really surprised. Doyle seem
ed the sort of person to have that kind of a hobby.
“Not really,” he responded easily. “I occasionally try to build things, just to see if I can. That swing is one of the few items I was able to put together.” He lifted the spoon out of the bowl, and Jen watched as a thick green paste slowly oozed off.
“That’s not dinner, is it?” she asked, slightly worried.
Doyle shook his head. “Don’t worry. I believe your sister is planning on making some kind of pasta dish.” He looked down at Jen. “Although, after seeing what she put in your eggs this morning, I have to confess I’m slightly nervous about dinner. She’s...adventurous.”
“She got it from her mother. Ellie loves to cook, loves to try new recipes and combinations. No matter how hard Mom tried, she just couldn’t teach me to cook. I didn’t have the patience for it.”
Doyle nodded at the swing. “May I?”
Jen moved over, patting the wood and trying to still her rapid heartbeat. “Please.”
Doyle sat down to her left, smiling in thanks. He continued to stir carefully, pausing now and then to examine it critically. His lips moved silently, and Jen idly wondered if he was saying grace.
“So if that’s not dinner, then what is it?”
Finally seeming satisfied, he set the bowl down on the porch. “It’s a kind of salve to spread on my various injuries. It greatly reduces the chance of infection and speeds up the healing process. It’s called rumagna.”
“What’s in it?” Jen was interested in any kind of alternative medicine. She found it fascinating.
Doyle pointed out towards the woods. “Several different kinds of plants and flowers, all ground up and mixed together. Also some flour, milk, butter and eggs. Six ice cubes. Other assorted ingredients.” His eyes twinkled. “Including a dozen cockroaches.”
Jen made a face, sticking out her tongue. “So you’re going to cover your body in some icky green plant food? Sounds nice.”
Doyle grinned. “It feels nice. Believe me, it really works. You could eat it, if you wanted to, but I don’t recommend it. Too thick and pasty. Supposedly, it will work if you’ve been poisoned, but I’ve been lucky enough to never have to test that.”
“So you were in your country’s Special Forces and you were a Boy Scout or something?”
“Or something,” he agreed amiably, leaning over to test the spoon again. Jen noticed that he still seemed to be in a great deal of pain, although he hid it quite well. Military training, she assumed. “Good. It’s just about ready.” He whispered something she didn’t catch, but she was too distracted by the random appearance of a lightning bug that dove into his concoction.
“And how exactly are you planning on administering this medication?” Jen looked pointedly at his bandaged back, which was still concealed underneath his loose-fitting shirt. “As I recall, most of the wounds are on your back, and your ribs certainly aren’t going to let you twist around much.”
Doyle frowned. “Huh. I hadn’t thought about that. I’m sure Kira will be glad to help when they get back; it’ll give her a chance to lecture me again.” He gave a theatrical sigh. “Perhaps I can stuff some into my ears first. Maybe it’ll harden and block out the scolding.”
Jen felt her words start to catch in her throat, but she forced them out, sternly ordering the butterflies in her stomach to stop fluttering around. “I’d be glad to do it.”
Doyle looked at her, eyebrow raised.
“It’s the least I can do, Doyle. You saved our lives, took us into your home and cared for my sister while I was in the hospital. Spreading some nasty plant food on your back seems a small price to pay.”
“You don’t have to pay anything,” Doyle assured her. “Besides, I don’t think you really want to look at all those cuts and gashes and bruises.”
“No, I don’t,” Jen replied honestly, “but not because I’ll get sick. I just can’t bear the thought of the pain you must be in.” Doyle leaned back in the swing, but quickly sat forward again, yelping; the hardwood must have been uncomfortable against his back. “See what I mean?” Jen gave a shy smile, hoping her voice didn’t waver. “Besides, wouldn’t you rather have a woman who’s not your sister taking care of you?”
“I’d rather have anyone besides that tyrant.” Doyle ran his hands through his hair. “I just don’t know if you really want to do this. It’s not a pretty job.”
“Neither is raising a sixteen-year-old—wait, sorry, almost seventeen-year-old, headstrong girl, but somebody’s got to do it.” He gave a soft chuckle in agreement. Jen reached down and picked up the bowl, eyeing it. It didn’t look any different than it had a few seconds earlier. “Is it done?”
“Yes.”
“Then take off your shirt.” Doyle looked at her a moment longer before complying. He had some difficulty removing it, so Jen helped him. The bandages weren’t as numerous as she had first thought, but they still covered his entire back. He had really gotten hit with the flying glass and wood shards. Jen realized this could have been Ellie instead, and a brief wave of panic rose in her throat. She fought it back down, reminding herself Ellie had walked away unscathed, all thanks to the man sitting beside her. “We have to take these bandages off, too.” She handed him the bowl of salve. “Hold this and turn your back towards me.” Doyle did as he was told.
The wooden swing creaked as Doyle shifted his weight, starting to sway back and forth. He put his leg onto the floor, stabilizing them. On the porch roof, a strand of white lights blinked on, providing some more illumination in the falling darkness.
Jen’s hands shook slightly as she touched Doyle’s bare skin. She noticed there were faint scars all over his back and sides, but didn’t ask about them. She gently pulled off the first bandage, examining the wound. It really wasn’t as bad as she had thought it would be; the gash was quite small in length, but looked deep and painful. Jen continued pulling off bandages and dropping them on the porch. She tried to be as gentle as possible, not wanting the tape to pull any skin. Finally, all the bandages were off. Doyle’s back looked like a particularly angry cat had run a few dozen laps over it. Jen reached around and took the bowl.
“How much do I need to put on?” she asked.
Doyle held his thumb and forefinger close together. “Not much. Slather on enough to completely cover each gash. Just trust your instincts.”
Jen’s instincts were pulling her in a different direction, but she forced those feelings down and focused on the job at hand. Dipping a couple of fingers into the bowl, she pulled out some salve and dared to sniff it. To her surprise, it smelled rather pleasant, almost like a mix of potpourri. Privately wondering if he had been serious about the cockroaches, Jen began spreading it over Doyle’s back.
“Tell me again why you didn’t get stitches?” she asked, covering some wounds by his shoulder. She dipped her fingers back into the bowl, scooping out some more of the green gloop.
“Didn’t need them. I managed to convince a lovely nurse to just give me bandages.”
Jen grunted derisively. “I hadn’t pegged you as a stereotypical man.”
“I’m full of surprises,” he replied.
She shook her head and continued covering his back with the thick paste. The whole process took about fifteen minutes. While it should have probably taken her about a third of that, Jen took her time administering the salve, making sure each gash was totally covered by the mixture.
And, if she was being honest with herself, she was drawing the process out because she was also enjoying touching Doyle.
His back muscles seemed to be losing tension. She wondered if the salve contained some kind of muscle relaxant, or if—dared she hope?—her touch was doing it.
“That should do it for your back,” murmured Jen, smoothing the last gash with the salve. “I hope it’s good enough.”
“It will be,” Doyle assured her. He was still leaning forward in the swing. Jen took the bowl and stood, facing him.
“Now for your arm. Hold it out.” Doyle
did and Jen slathered the salve over the long, nasty gash. He grimaced and sucked in his breath a lot more than he had when she had been working on his back. This wound was worse than any of the other ones. He sucked in his breath several times, looking away with his eyes closed, clearly trying to ignore the pain.
Jen felt bad for him. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how much it must hurt.” She finished applying the mixture.
“Ribs?” she asked, holding her hand over the bowl. Doyle nodded.
“Yes, please,” he answered. “They hurt worse than everything else.”
Jen went to sit on his other side. “Arm forward,” she said, pulling more of the green paste onto her fingertips as Doyle moved his left arm out of the way, revealing the bruised ribs. She intended to be as gentle as possible when touching the awful bruise, but a sudden tickle in her nose made her sneeze, which caused her hand to launch forward much harder than she had intended, slamming her fingers into Doyle’s ribs.
The cry of pain tore at her heart. Doyle was leaning forward, his left arm pressed against his side, right hand covering his face. She thought she caught a hint of a sob, quickly shut down.
“I’m so sorry! Oh, Doyle, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that!” She didn’t know what to do. Doyle was clearly in agony.
After another minute or two, he raised his head and cleared his throat. Jen saw a slight glistening in his eyes and lowered her gaze, embarrassed.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered again.
He turned his head to look at her, and to her surprise, the familiar twinkle was in his eyes. “I have a confession,” he whispered. “I do have a broken rib or two. Or three. Maybe more. Just don’t tell Kira I said that, please, or she will never let me live it down.”
Jen felt even worse and started to apologize again. “Oh, stop,” said Doyle, rolling his eyes. “You sneezed. It happens.” He looked at her fingertips. “Umm...maybe you should use your palms this time, just in case?”
