The Overnight Guest(12)

The boy shoved his hands behind his back. He probably had frostbite, and Wylie wasn’t sure what to do about that. Was she supposed to run his hands and feet under hot water? That didn’t sound right. She thought it was the opposite—she was supposed to rub the affected area with ice. But what if she was wrong and made things worse?

“We have to get you out of those wet clothes and get you warmed up,” Wylie explained.

The child continued to cry. Wylie laid the sweatshirt on the floor next to him. “Take off your wet clothes, and I’ll put them in the dryer for you, okay?”

The boy abruptly sat up, looked around, eyes darting around, for an escape route. His gaze landed on the front door. “You don’t want to go out there,” Wylie said in a rush. “It’s still snowing and really slippery. Is that what happened to your head?” Wylie nodded to the gash at the boy’s temple. “Did you hit it on the ice?”

The boy didn’t respond but got unsteadily to his feet. He looked to be about five years old with thin, pinched features made more pronounced by his ragged buzz cut.

“Can you tell me your name?” Wylie asked. “Where you’re from?” He remained silent. “Once the phone lines are up again, I can try and call your mom and dad for you.”

The boy continued to look around like a trapped animal. She wasn’t even sure if he understood her. He trembled inside his baggy sweatshirt and too-short jeans.

“You must be freezing,” Wylie said, stating the obvious. “You need to get out of those clothes.” Wylie took another step toward him, and he reared back as if burned. “It’s okay,” Wylie said in a rush. “I’m not going to touch you if you don’t want me to.”

Wylie didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t force the child, and she didn’t want to frighten him any more than he already was.

“I know you’re scared, but I promise you I’m here to help you. Dry clothes are right there, and I’ll put the blanket here on the couch.” Wylie retrieved the comforter from the floor and laid it over the arm of the sofa. “When you’re ready, you can change and sit here and get warm.”

Wylie paced the floor. A strange child was sitting in front of her. Distressed and injured. What the hell was a kid doing out in this kind of weather, and where were his parents?

“I really need you to tell me your name,” Wylie said, her voice rising with panic.

The boy shivered, but he didn’t answer. The skin on his face was an unnatural grayish-yellow. She had visions of his fingers turning black or his heart stopping due to hypothermia.

Wylie needed to get the boy out of the wet clothes. She slowly advanced on him. She reached out to lift his damp sweatshirt, and the boy emitted a blood-curdling scream that bounced off the walls. Wylie managed to snag the elbow of the shirt and started to pull him toward her.

“You have to get out of those wet clothes,” Wylie said through her teeth. “You’re shivering. You’ll get sick. Let me help you change your shirt.”

The boy lashed out. His elbow landed squarely on Wylie’s cheek, and she fell backward, releasing her grip.

“Dammit, I’m trying to help you,” Wylie said, pressing her fingers to her bruised face. The boy scrambled behind a wingback chair and peeked around the corner at Wylie.

Why was she so bad at this? She could never find the right words for Seth and could never seem to make things better for him. And now, here was this strange child, and once again, she was making things worse. Hot shame filled her chest.

“Fine,” Wylie said, getting to her feet. “Stay in your wet clothes, but you’re going to be miserable.”

She turned her back on the boy and walked into the kitchen. She tried the phone again. Still dead. She needed to get him warmed up. She rifled through the cupboard until she found a box of hot chocolate mix.

As she filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove, she realized she blew it. The kid was still in his wet clothes, and now he trusted her even less. Wylie understood, though. She was a complete stranger; of course he was terrified.

Making the twenty-five-mile drive to the emergency room in Algona was impossible in this weather. Wylie would have to figure out a way to care for the boy at home. She’d clean his cuts and make sure he was covered up and close to the fire, and she would keep him hydrated and fed. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was a start.

She ripped open a packet of hot chocolate and poured it into a mug and added the hot water. Hot chocolate was good, right? All kids loved cocoa. She’d use it as a peace offering.

Hot liquid sloshed over her hand. “Dammit,” she muttered. She couldn’t give the boy scalding cocoa. She reached into the freezer, scooped out a few ice cubes, and dropped them into the cup.

Wylie carried the steaming mug to the living room and glanced to the spot by the front door where she had last seen the boy. He wasn’t there. Her eyes swung to the couch. Tas lay there, sleeping, but there was no boy. Wylie scanned the room. The boy wasn’t there. She checked the dining room and opened the closet doors. She checked the bathroom and even went back into the kitchen.

He was gone.



6


Small flowers grew at the base of the window, casting a purplish glow into the room. They were so pretty, and she imagined they smelled like grape jelly. The girl wished she could pick them for her mother. She wasn’t feeling well and the girl thought flowers might cheer her up.