Young Enough (The Age Between Us Book 2)

by Charmaine Pauls

  Opening a new window, I type Jasmine’s name and the year of her attack into the search field. A list of headers appears, her name being in the second one. I open the page and read through the article. It gives an account of the assault, but it’s what’s written toward the end that grabs my attention. The two suspects who were arrested weren’t convicted due to a lack of evidence. The only evidence was Ms. Michaels’ identification of the men. The attorney who defended the accused pleaded that Ms. Michaels had been in a state of shock and unlikely to have seen the faces of her attackers in the dark. The article links to another one about the suspects. I follow the link and go still. One year ago, the bodies of the men were found in a deserted train tunnel. Both victims had both been shot in the stomach. Due to the nature of the fatal wounds, police suspected a connection to Ms. Michaels, who had been shot in the stomach, with revenge as motive, but no murder weapon or evidence to link a suspect to the crime could be found.

  My hands shake as I close the page. Did Brian have something to do with those men’s deaths? Did he avenge his unborn brother and his mother? Is he capable of killing? Am I sleeping with a murderer? Guilt churns in my stomach for thinking this about the man I love even as doubt infiltrates my heart.

  A blood-curdling scream rips me from my thoughts.

  Abby!

  Jumping to my feet, I run for the washing line. Scream after scream rises from the side of the cottage.

  Abby. Abby.

  My breath is ragged from exertion and fear. I round the corner in a sprint and come to a halt in a cloud of dust. Abby is yelling and sobbing, the heels of her palms pressed against her eyes. A short distance away, stands a cobra.

  5

  Jane

  I act on instinct. Grabbing Abby’s collar, I jerk her toward me, away from the snake. He lunges, hissing fiercely. I drag her backward so fast we trip and fall on our butts. The snake lowers its head and crawls into the thick grass around the rock garden.

  “Abby!” Getting onto my knees, I twist her around. “Did it bite you?”

  My hands go over her body, looking for twin holes. A part of me is eerily calm, while another part is dangerously close to falling apart.

  “It hurts, Mom! It burns!” She presses her fists against her pinched eyes.

  I give her a shake. “Did it bite you?”

  “No!”

  Thank God. Oh, thank God. “Did it spit you?”

  “Yes! Mom, it hurts,” she bawls.

  My head functions on autopilot. My heart is shocked to a standstill. I push to my feet and haul Abby with me. “It’s going to be all right, honey.”

  I say it for both our benefits as I guide a screaming Abby to the garden table where I left my phone. Pushing her into a chair, I unlock the phone with shaky fingers, getting the damn code wrong twice. On the third try, I manage to dial Hilda.

  “A cobra spat Abby in the eyes,” I say when she picks up.

  “I’m on my way.”

  Thank God she’s home. Thank God it’s not a bite, but Abby can be blind. Refusing to think about it now, I take my daughter’s hands and squeeze them tightly in mine.

  “Mom! I can’t see.”

  “Hilda’s coming. She’s a doctor.”

  Hilda comes running down the hill, her doctor’s bag in her hand and a woman in a housekeeper’s uniform following on her heels.

  “Get some milk,” she tells me in a calm voice when she reaches us.

  I run into the house, bumping my shin against the corner of the coffee table, but I barely feel the pain.

  “You’ve got to help me,” Hilda instructs when I return with a bottle of milk. “Hold her hands down so I can rinse her eyes.”

  Abby screams louder when I peel her fists away from her eyes. It hurts me with every ounce of feeling inside to pin her arms at her sides while the housekeeper grabs her head and tilts it back. Hilda pries open one eye between a thumb and forefinger and pours a stream of milk into it. Abby fights like a tiger. It’s hard to hold her down. Her crying and screaming rips me open. Hilda rinses the other eye and then repeats the milk bath for both eyes.

  By the time she’s done, Abby is still crying, but not yelling the roof off.

  “I can give her something for the pain,” Hilda says, taking paracetamol from her bag.

  It’s a struggle, but we get Abby to swallow down two pills with the milk.

  “She needs to get to a hospital,” Hilda says. “The hospital best equipped to deal with snake venom is The Willows. It’ll be faster to drive her than to wait for an ambulance to come out here. Would you like me to drive you, so you can sit with her in the back?”

  “Yes, please,” I say gratefully.

  The housekeeper motions at my laptop. “You better lock that inside before you go.”

  “Who’s going to steal it out here?” Hilda asks.

  Her eyes dart in the direction of the compound where the migrant workers reside. “You never know.”

  My laptop is the last thing I thought about, but she’s right. It’s a company laptop and it contains confidential information. I gather my laptop and phone, almost dropping the laptop in my haste. “I’ll get my bag.”

  “I’ll bring the car around.”

  We bundle Abby into Hilda’s Land Rover. I buckle her in and take her hand. Hilda’s breaking the speed limit, flying over the gravel, but she’s handling the vehicle well. Abby has stopped crying and is moaning softly. I’m a ball of anxiety.

  Please, God, don’t let her lose her eyesight.

  Hilda glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Did you get a look at the snake?”

  I know a cobra. I know the way they stand upright and spread their flanks, but I don’t know the different species. This one had a brown body with yellow markings.

  “It was definitely a spitting cobra.”

  “Brown and yellow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mozambican Cobra.”

  I don’t ask how she knows. I’m too focused on Abby and that after the Black Mamba, the Mozambican Cobra is the most dangerous African snake.

  “The hospital will ask you what type of snake it was,” Hilda continues. “Call and warn them we’re on the way with a spitting Cobra victim.”

  Letting go of Abby’s hand, I fish my phone from my bag and do as she suggested. Thank goodness for Hilda’s levelheadedness. All I can think about is how much Abby is suffering.

  A team is waiting for us when Hilda pulls up at the emergency unit twenty minutes later. From the way she greets the doctor on duty by name, they know each other.

  “You did right to drive them,” he says as a male nurses help Abby into a wheelchair. “All our ambulances were out on calls.”

  “Did you get the info?” Hilda asks, her face tight. “Mozambican Cobra.”

  “Got it,” he says. “Let’s go.”

  They rush Abby to an examination room where the doctor introduces himself as a medical toxicologist. His colleague is an ophthalmologist.

  “We’re going to take a look at her eyes,” the ophthalmologist says, “to determine the extent of the damage.”

  In other words, if my little girl has permanent vision damage. I clamp an arm around my stomach.

  The doctor peers into her red, swollen eyes with a light. “Did you rinse her eyes?”

  “With milk,” Hilda says.

  “A saline solution is better. I recommend using one liter with pressure, but we’ll have to sedate her. It’s very painful.”

  The toxicologist is preparing a hypodermic needle. “Next time, rinse the eyes out with running water. Twenty minutes at least.”

  There won’t be a next time. I’ll make sure of that.

  The nurse holds a clipboard with a disclaimer to me. I take it with trembling hands.

  “If you’ll be so kind as to sign that and fill out your contact and medical fund details at reception?”

  “Of course.”

  “The nurse will show you the way.”

  “That’s all right,�
�� Hilda says, “I’ll accompany her.”

  “Thank you. When you’re done, you can wait in the reception area. I’ll call you when we’ve finished the examination.”

  I hold Abby’s hand until they’ve administered the sedative and throughout rinsing her eyes. When the ophthalmologist applies local anesthetic eye drops for the pain and Abby is calmer, I leave them to finish their examination and allow Hilda to walk me through the hallways and up and down staircases. I fill out the paperwork and send Francois a text to let him know what has happened. A reply comes immediately.

  I’m on my way.

  In the waiting area, Hilda fetches me a Coke from the vending machine and makes me sit down next to her in the plastic chairs.

  “Here.” She hands me the can. “Drink this. Sugar is good for the shock.”

  “You knew what kind of snake it was.”

  She looks past me at the other people who are waiting like us. Waiting for a verdict. “We’ve had some on the property.”

  “Some?”

  She sighs. “A lot. It’s the snake that’s the most common in our area.”

  “The most common?” I ask on the verge of hysteria.

  “It’s the dam. The frogs and mice attract the snakes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before I signed the lease?”

  “I thought you knew.”

  “How could I know?”

  “Oh, come on. You’re a savvy woman. Where we live is practically the wilderness.”

  “You should have told me. I would never have rented the cottage if I’d known.”

  I shouldn’t have let Abby hang out the washing. I shouldn’t have given her chores. Dear, God. Can I fail any more as a mother? I feel sick. Like vomiting. Bile pushes up in my throat.

  “Has anyone ever been bitten on your property?”

  She scratches the back of her neck. “A migrant worker.”

  My gut turns to stone. “What happened?”

  “He didn’t make it,” she says softly.

  I don’t want to believe it. I don’t want to believe someone died on our beautiful, rented property. “Didn’t you bring him to the hospital?”

  “It was too late.”

  “Too late? How long do you have if you’re bitten?”

  “Jane…”

  “Answer me, Hilda. How long?”

  “It depends.”

  “On fucking what?”

  “Jane, calm down.”

  “I won’t calm down. My daughter could’ve been bitten. She may go blind! On what?”

  “The age and size of the snake. The younger they are, the more potent the venom. Where on the body they bite. The closer the bite is to an area of high blood circulation, the faster it spreads. It also depends on if multiple bites were given. In the case of the worker, he didn’t come to us immediately. He rushed to the compound where they stayed. It took the overseer fifteen minutes to drive him back to the house. Twenty was already too long.” Her voice softens. “Believe me, this case was an exception. Fatalities are rare.”

  “Tissue damage is not. Neither is neurological damage. Am I right?”

  She sighs. “Neurotoxic effects are slight, but yes, the local tissue damage is serious. It often requires skin grafts.”

  “We can’t stay there. I’m not risking my daughter’s life. I want out of the contract. I’m not giving three months’ notice, and I want my deposit back.”

  “Jane, you’re not thinking rational, right now.”

  “I assure you, I’ve never been more rational.”

  My phone pings. I glance at the screen in case it’s Francois, but it’s Brian.

  Where are you?

  Damn. He must be at my place. He was supposed to come over for lunch with Sam. We agreed it was a good time for Sam and Abby to meet. In my panic, everything else slipped my mind.

  I type a message to tell him about Abby and where we are.

  “I’ll let you think about the cottage,” Hilda says. “It’s not a decision you should make today. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She pats my hand and gets up. “I’m going to call Gustaf to let him know where I am in case he gets home early for lunch.”

  “You don’t have to stay. Abby’s father is on his way. He can give me a lift home. I appreciate that you brought us.”

  “I want to stay. It’s the least I can do.”

  She’s not back yet when Francois and Debbie charge into the reception area. Francois glances around the room frantically. For some weird reason, I can’t raise my hand and signal him. I’m simply too tired for even the mundane task, and I want to crawl into a hole and hide in shame. I let this happen to Abby. It’s my fault she’s in pain. It’s my fault she’s suffering. God forbid, if she loses her eyesight, I’ll never forgive myself.

  It’s Debbie who spots me first. “There she is.”

  They rush to my side.

  Francois’ face is white. “Where is she?”

  “In the examination room. The ophthalmologist is examining her eyes.”

  “What happened?” Debbie asks.

  “What I told Francois in my text.”

  “I know, but how?”

  “She was hanging up the washing…” I bite my trembling lip, unable to continue.

  “It’s all right.” Francois touches my shoulder. “It’s going to be all right.”

  I stare up at him, tears blurring my vision. “It’s my fault. It wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t moved there. I…” I battle to speak past the knot in my throat. “I shouldn’t have made her hang out the washing.”

  Covering my face with my hands, I let the tears flow. I can’t stop them. I don’t want to stop them, because I deserve the emotional pain. If I could take Abby’s physical pain, I would.

  “None of this would’ve happened if you didn’t have to move,” Francois says. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

  “It happened,” Debbie says. “Let’s focus on dealing with the situation instead of wasting energy on blame.”

  The toxicologist enters the waiting area just as Hilda steps back from outside.

  I jump to my feet, but I can’t speak.

  It’s Francois who asks the question. “Will she be all right?”

  The doctor glances at me as if he’s waiting for my permission.

  “This is Abby’s father and his fiancée,” I say.

  “Yes,” the doctor says. “The good news is that there shouldn’t be permanent damage. I prescribed an antibiotic ointment.”

  “Thank God,” Francois says.

  “Her eyes will be scratchy for a couple of days,” the doctor continues, “but it should clear up within forty-eight hours. I suggest letting her rest. She’s ready to go home if you don’t have further questions.”

  “Nothing for the moment,” I say. “Thank you.”

  When the doctor walks off, I introduce Hilda to Debbie and Francois.

  “I’ll let you go,” Hilda says. “I know you’re anxious to see your daughter. Now that I know she’s all right, I’ll head back home, unless you want me to wait for you?”

  “I’ll be fine, thank you.”

  We say our goodbyes to Hilda and hurry to the examination room. Abby’s sitting in a chair with patches of cotton wool over her eyes.

  “Hey, honey,” I say. “How are you feeling? Your dad and Debbie are here.”

  “Daddy?”

  She holds out a hand, which Francois grips.

  “How are you?” he asks.

  “I’m okay,” she says meekly. “It still hurts.”

  “It’ll be over in a day or two,” he replies in a soothing voice.

  I want to say how sorry I am, but the door flies open, and Brian all but falls into the room, dragging Sam by the hand.

  His face is tight, and his voice strained. “How is she?”

  Abby stills. She turns her head in the direction of Brian’s voice. “It’s all because of you. It’s all your fault!”

  “Abby,” I gasp.

  “If you did
n’t choose the place my mother wouldn’t have moved there. I hate the cottage. I hate you!”

  “Abby!”

  My daughter is distraught. She went through a traumatic experience, but I can’t allow her to speak to anyone like this, not even under these exceptional circumstances. It’s not how Francois and I raised her.

  “It’s all right.” Brian holds up a hand when I open my mouth. “I’m sorry for what happened, Abby.” He nods at Francois and Debbie in greeting. “I’ll wait for you outside, Jane.”

  The door closes with a click behind him and Sam.

  “I’m not going back to that place,” Abby says.

  “I understand, honey. We’re moving. I promise.”

  “Dad, can I stay with you and Debs for a while?”

  Francois looks at me. The court granted me full custody. Francois has visitation rights every second weekend, which is the norm in divorces cases in our country. Francois didn’t contest due to the third-party breakup of our marriage. Doing so would’ve meant dragging Debbie into a drawn-out and scandalous court fight. If Abby wants to stay with Francois for a while, I’m not going to stop her, even if it shreds my heart to pieces.

  I give him a nod.

  “No problem,” he says. “I’m sure Debs will be happy to have you.”

  Debbie hugs my daughter. “Of course, sweetheart. You know your room is always ready. And Dusty will be happy.”

  “Can we please go?” Abby asks. “I just want to get out of here.”

  “I’ll get a nurse to bring a wheelchair,” Francois says.

  “I’ll drop off some of Abby’s clothes later,” I offer.

  When the nurse arrives with the wheelchair, I say my goodbyes to my daughter and watch her leave with her father and Debbie. It’s as if a part of me leaves with her. I don’t feel completely whole.

  Brian is pacing the hallway of the waiting area, and Sam sits on a chair with her hands clamped between her knees. The minute he sees me, he rushes forward and pulls me against his body. A wall inside me breaks. Sobs shake my shoulders. The shock and horrible experience leave me feeling sick, tired, and empty.