Alone in the Wild(11)

When we raised the possibility of autism with April, I’d been terrified she’d see it as sibling envy—me trying to knock down my brilliant older sister. I’d been convinced otherwise by a joint coalition of Isabel, Kenny, and Dalton … and they’d been right, which is humiliating to admit, proving how little I know my sister. Too much familiarity and too little actual understanding, a lifetime of trying to get to know her and, when I couldn’t, creating her wholesale.

April was fine with the diagnosis. She treated it the way I would have: like a physical ailment. Here’s the problem, and now that we know what it is, let’s tackle that. Relief, I think, at giving it a name.

“I brought you a body,” I say.

Her frown deepens, and she’s looking for some alternate meaning in this. A sign that I’m joking.

“I found a murdered woman in the forest,” I say.

Now she relaxes, and I get the April I know well, rolling her eyes at her feckless little sister. “Really? You don’t have to make the world’s problems your own, Casey.”

“You know me. Can’t relax. Always looking for work. If I don’t have it, I make some.” I pause. “Which does not mean I made this dead body. That would be wrong.”

A pause. Then, “That’s a joke, isn’t it?”

I clap her on the arm as I propel her back into the house. “Yes, April. It’s a joke.” I pull shut the door before she can protest. “Don’t worry—I’m not coming in for tea. I found something else, which I’d rather not broadcast.”





SIX


After I explain, we head out April’s back door and across her yard to the clinic’s rear entrance. As we do, she says, “I hope you’re not thinking of adopting this child, Casey.”

I tense so fast my spine crackles. “No, I’m not stealing someone’s baby, April.”

“The mother is dead. That is not stealing.”

“Presumably the father is alive, and potentially other family, which I’m going to find.”

“Good. This isn’t a stray puppy.”

My teeth barely part enough for me to say, “I’m aware of that,” but one of my sister’s cognitive challenges is interpreting body language, so she ignores that and continues.

“There is no place in your life for a baby, Casey. I realize you’re comfortable here, and you’ve settled into a long-term relationship with Eric, but this is not a situation for motherhood.”

“I found a baby with a dead mother. Buried under the snow. Alone and in distress. I brought her back to Rockton so she doesn’t die, not to fill a hole in my life.”

“There is no hole in your life. You have Eric, and you have Storm, and you have Rockton and your job. You are happier and more satisfied than I have ever known you to be.”

I answer slowly, keeping my tone even. “I appreciate the fact that you recognize I’m happy, April. And there isn’t a baby-size hole in my life. I just happened to find a child, whom I intend to return to her family. Just because I’m a woman in a happy romantic relationship doesn’t mean my ovaries go into hyperdrive seeing a baby.”

“Good.”

I push open the back door of the clinic with a little more force than necessary. I tell myself that April isn’t being patronizing. I’ve spent my life dealing with this from her, and I’m trying to understand that she doesn’t mean it the way it sounds.

Yet it’s also a constant reminder that my sister put me into my box when we were young, and nothing I’ve done since then has—or possibly ever will—let me escape it. I’m reckless. I’m impulsive. I’m thoughtless, rushing headlong into every bad decision life offers. My sole consolation is that anyone who knows me would laugh at all those descriptors.

Inside, Dalton and Anders have the baby on the examining table. As soon as I see that, I barrel into the room and snatch her up.

“You can’t leave her on that,” I say. “What if she rolls off?”

“She can’t even lift her head, Casey,” Anders says.

“Which doesn’t mean she can’t wriggle. Or slide.”

He snickers. “Slide off a flat surface?”

“You are both correct,” April says. “It is almost certainly safe, given the child’s lack of mobility, but a slippery metal table still doesn’t seem like the safest place to set a baby.” She aims a look at Anders.

“Hey, I’m not the one who put her there,” Anders says. “And Eric literally just unwrapped her as you two came in.”

April nods at Dalton, as if to say that if he did it, then it’s fine. The first time they met, she referred to him as my fuck toy, and I’m not sure what was more shocking, the word coming from my very proper sister or the sentiment coming from my very straitlaced sister. In the last six months, she’s done a complete about-face, and now, if Dalton does something, then it’s the right thing to do. I’m totally on board with her not treating my lover like trash, but I can’t help wishing I could get a little of that approval thrown my way.

“Eric?” she says. “It’s a bit chilly in here for the baby. Could you…?” She looks over to see he’s already starting the fire, and she nods, pleased that her trust is so well placed. Anders and I exchange a look.