The Overnight Guest(40)

“I got shot,” Josie said. Again, she looked to Lowell. “Can you stay with me?” she asked him as she was wheeled into an examining room.

“’Fraid not, Josie,” he said apologetically. “I have to get back to work, but I’ll peek back in later to see how you’re doing. Sound good?” Josie nodded and Lowell disappeared from the room.

The doctor and nurses took over then. “Looks like you’ve got some buckshot embedded in there. You’re a lucky girl, though,” Dr. Lopez said as she probed the wound gently with gloved fingers.

Josie didn’t feel lucky.

“It just grazed you, thankfully. There doesn’t appear to be any tendon or bone damage, but we’ll take some X-rays and get you cleaned up,” Dr. Lopez said.

Josie was wheeled to X-ray and then taken back to an examination room. Dr. Lopez bathed the wound in saline, all the while telling Josie precisely what she was doing. “We’ll numb up your arm really well, and then I’ll debride the wound, give you a few stitches, and you’ll be as good as new.” When Josie looked at her nervously, she smiled. “That just means I’ll remove the remaining buckshot from your arm. Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing.”

She was right, except for the initial prick from the local anesthetic, Josie didn’t feel anything, but still, she kept her head turned and eyes screwed shut so she wouldn’t have to see what was happening. Dr. Lopez then examined the cuts on Josie’s feet and the scratches across her arms. “These are just superficial. Nothing to worry about, but they’ll be sore for a while. Keep them clean and we’ll give you some antibacterial cream to put on them.”

Josie dozed and when she opened her eyes, she was in a different room and her grandmother was sitting in a chair in the corner. Her long gray hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She wore what she called her around-the-house jeans and a short-sleeved collared shirt and was nervously kneading the strap of her big black leather purse that was perched on her lap.

“Grandma,” Josie whispered.

“Josie,” Caroline Ellis said, leaping to her feet. “How are you?” Her voice trembled.

Josie scanned her body. She felt no real discomfort. Her tongue was thick and heavy in her mouth and she wanted a drink of water. She tried to sit up but a jolt of pain went through her left arm.

“Mom, Dad?” Josie whimpered. Her grandmother stood over her, raw grief etched across her face.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Caroline said. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Josie moaned and tried to turn over on her side and curl up into a ball but moving hurt too much. Instead, she lay on her back and cried. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks and mucous filled her nose and throat. “Why?” she asked thickly.

“I don’t know, honey. The police want to talk to you about what you remember. I know it’s scary,” Caroline added quickly, seeing the fear on Josie’s face. “But they have some questions. Do you think you can do that?”

“But I already talked to someone,” Josie protested.

“I imagine they’ll want you to go over it several times, Josie,” Caroline said, reaching for her hand.

Josie could go over things a million times, but it didn’t change what she knew. She didn’t see anything. Not really. Already the events of the night before were dissipating into a nebulous fog, but a few details remained clear: the sharp barks of a shotgun, the figure in the dark coming toward them, Becky falling behind.

“Ethan? Becky?” Josie asked. Her grandmother shook her head, and for a moment, Josie thought she meant that they, too, were dead. She inhaled sharply and the air snagged in her dry throat and she dissolved into a coughing fit.

Josie raised her hand to cover her mouth and felt the pull of the IV against the tender skin in the crook of her arm and quickly laid it back down.

Her grandmother sprang into action. She reached for a cup of water next to Josie’s bed and placed the straw between her lips. Josie took a sip.

“They haven’t found Ethan or Becky yet,” Caroline explained. “Your grandpa thinks they might be hiding in the field like you did. They have searchers looking now.”

The cool water soothed the fire in her throat. “Can I help?” Josie asked. “Can I go look for them too?”

“Not right now,” she said apologetically. “Your job right now is to rest and answer any questions the police have for you. That’s the most important thing you can do.” Caroline scraped her teeth across her lower lip and let out a shaky breath. “Do you have any idea who might have done this?” she asked.

Once again, tears gathered in Josie’s eyes. “I think,” she began in a barely perceptible whisper, “at first, I thought it might have been Ethan.”

Seeing the horror on her grandmother’s face, Josie quickly backtracked. “But I know it wasn’t him. He would never hurt us.”

“No, of course he wouldn’t,” Caroline said, clutching her granddaughter’s hand. “He’s a good boy,” she murmured as if trying to convince herself. “He’s a good boy.”



21


The girl’s father kept promising to bring her a puppy one day but never did. He did that a lot—made promises. “One day we’ll go to the ocean. We’ll walk on the beach and pick up seashells and sea glass.” The girl had talked about it for days. She drew pictures of the seaside and read about the Pacific Ocean and all manner of sea creatures from the set of World Book Encyclopedias on the bookshelf.