Watcher in the Woods (Rockton #4)(77)

He looks at me. “He doesn’t fit his background.”

“Sebastian is not a kid from the streets. Trust me. You can get some who are well-read, self-taught like you, but that’s rare. You can get some from middle-class backgrounds, good educations, but that’s not the story he gave. Did Abbygail come to Rockton wearing a university shirt? Knowing what degrees she wanted? Where to get them?”

“Fuck no.”

“He could be faking it. Inventing a future for himself. But that was the one time he lit up. The one subject he engaged on.”

“Yeah, I noticed that. Until then, it was like he was reading lines for a role he studied. That last part, though, that was real.”

“And I think it’s the only part that was.”





THIRTY-TWO

According to our plans, the moment the sun breaks over the horizon, we’ll be in the plane, rolling down the runway, taking April to Dawson. There’s a good chance it’ll be hours before anyone realizes we aren’t just at home, sleeping in while leaving Anders on duty.

The next morning, though, I have trouble getting April moving. My ultra-efficient sister dawdles enough that I start wondering if something’s wrong. To be honest, though, “dawdling” isn’t the right word. Fussing is better. After I pick her up, she insists on stopping by the clinic to check on Kenny, and then she begins fretting.

“April,” I say. “We know what to do for him. You practically wrote us a book.”

“This isn’t right,” she says. “You need a full-time doctor.”

“Are you volunteering?”

“Of course not. I’m saying that you cannot have a patient in this condition without proper medical care.”

I sigh. “We’ve been over this. The council needs to wait for a doctor to apply for entry. If you think I just haven’t fought hard enough, you’ve never seen me fight. And you’re sure as hell never seen Eric fight.”

“I know. It’s just . . .”

“Do you have any suggestions?”

She shakes her head and opens the door into the exam room, where Kenny is awake.

“You need a doctor,” she says to him.

“You volunteering?” he says.

She doesn’t snap at him. In fact, I swear her cheeks flush.

“I can’t,” she says. “I have a job and responsibilities that I cannot ignore.”

“I’m kidding, April,” he says. “I know you’re busy. No one expects you to stay.”

She fusses with the bedside tray. “I meant that you need medical care in a place that is equipped to provide it, which this town is not. If they cannot bring you care, then you must go out and get it. While I am very busy, I would, under the circumstances, offer to accompany you to Vancouver. I’m sure the town council could arrange transport.”

“No, April,” he says, his voice low. “We’ve been through this. If I leave, they won’t let me back in.”

“You were leaving,” she says. “Your time is up.”

“My minimum time is up,” he says. “I realize now that I didn’t want to leave.”

“So you’ll stay, despite the fact that inadequate medical care might cost you your mobility.”

“We’ve been through—”

“That is ridiculous,” she says. “You cannot make these decisions while you’re on painkillers.”

“Which is why I made you stop giving them to me yesterday, and it didn’t change my mind.”

“Because you were in pain then and therefore still not thinking clearly.”

“April?” I cut in. “I understand that you’re upset—”

“I am not upset. I’m frustrated and annoyed by the patient’s illogical reasoning.”

“Kenny,” he says. “I have a name.”

“I am aware of that,” she snaps. “And if the patient would act in a mature manner, I would address him by his name, but in this context, his key identifying trait is that he is a patient, one who required medical and therapeutic care.”

“April?” I say again. “We need to go. Either we leave, or you don’t.”

“I’ll be fine,” Kenny says.

She turns to snap at him again and then throws up her arms and stomps out.

“Goodbye?” Kenny says after she’s gone.

“Sorry,” I say.

He smiles and shakes his head. “It’s fine. That’s her way of saying goodbye. At least she cares what happens to me.”

“She does,” I say.

“I know. Now get her home before the council finds out she’s leaving.”

*

Dalton has the plane ready. He grumbles when we walk in late, and April lights into him, starting up all over again about Kenny. Dalton arches his brows and tries taking her bag, but she wrests it from him, stalks over and throws it through the open hatch.

“Huh,” Dalton murmurs to me. “Actual emotion. That’s a switch.”

“Hmmm.” I raise my voice. “April? Would you like to sit up front? It’s a better view.”

“I don’t want a view. The sooner I’m out of this godforsaken forest, the better.”