WISHBONE

by Brooklyn Hudson

  “The bathroom…” The more he tried to speak, the more he realized how weak he was.

  Rachael went to the closet and produced a pair of crutches. “C’mon,” she said. “I’ll help you.”

  The sound of the baby crying down the hall reached them. His heart sank.

  The baby is still here.

  She could not have wished us back to the ladder incident.

  Why would she do this to me?

  “Shit, I’ll be right back. Don’t get up without me,” she insisted, placing the crutches on the floor beside the bed and rushing from the room.

  For a brief moment he had felt hope, believed he might have gotten through to her. He would have dealt with repeated surgeries in exchange for that.

  Reaching down, he searched blindly for the crutches on the floor. He managed to get hold of them. He took a deep breath then exhaled, preparing himself for the worst. He managed to sit up, confronting the device with a much closer inspection; its screws disappearing into him, he grimaced in disgust.

  It would be worth it to erase the wrongs.

  But she didn’t.

  Why?

  Any reason to do this to him, other than to erase their mistakes was unfathomable. He wouldn’t allow himself to think about it now. He manually slid his leg from the bed, moaning more for the anticipation than actual pain. He saw paperwork on the nightstand and picked it up, hoping for a clue.

  Scanning a pink sheet first…Hospital discharge papers.

  I did have the surgery…?

  A yellow sheet of thicker bond paper…Caring for Your External Fixation Device.

  He studied the illustrations and tried to comprehend the information. The apparatus reminded him of an Erector Sets he had as a child. It fastened to the entire length of his leg through a series of circular halos, pins and screws jutting out in various directions, attaching to the framework. He tossed the paperwork onto the floor and slumped forward feeling defeated.

  Pourquoi, Rachael?

  Why would you do this to me?

  Rachael returned to the bedroom. “I think she’ll be okay for a few minutes,” she announced, motioning down the hall to the baby’s room before returning to Julien’s side.

  He looked up at her. “Why do you do this to me, Rachael?” he asked despondently.

  Rachael was taken aback. “Jules…what are you talking about?” She placed a hand under his chin. “Dr. Lind told you they would need to do surgery. When Dr. Ptak came out to talk to me, I wasn’t given a choice. He had no choice.”

  He angrily pulled away from her, looking away and shaking his head. He felt hopeless, he was too tired to make heads or tails of the situation and he knew that asking would get him nowhere. She was lying to him now and she would continue to lie. Overcome with indignation, he held both crutches in one hand, using the other hand to brace himself against the nightstand.

  Rachael took his arm, but he shrugged himself free. “I’ve got it,” he declared. “Just go take care of the baby.”

  “She’s quiet now.” Rachael pouted.

  “Well, I’ve got this. Go do somethings.”

  “It’s your first time getting up,” she said sadly. “I am not leaving you alone.”

  He ignored her and steadied himself before purposefully avoiding her and heading into the bathroom. He closed the door and grabbed onto the sink, irritably tossing the crutches to the ground.

  Startled by the crash, Rachael inquired, “Are you okay?” She moved closer and tapped lightly against the wood with a knuckle. “Jules?”

  Julien did not respond, but the baby began to wail. She reluctantly backed away from the bathroom door then went to the nursery.

  Julien braced himself against the wall and studied the mirror, examining his reflection. All the bruising from the fight with his father was gone. He tried to put the pieces together.

  I’m like this…

  The baby still exists…

  There is no remnant of the fight…

  Rachael is not angry...

  It doesn’t make sense.

  Nothing is making sense.

  He could have been staring at a stranger; eyes set in dark circles, his face gaunt and his hair considerably grayer. He splashed water on his face then turned to grab a towel hanging behind him. Clumsily, the apparatus caught the lip of the sink. He felt bone shift, as the metal jerked free from the porcelain fixture.

  The excruciating sensation allowed him an immediate understanding of how the device was attached; there was no mistaking what he was dealing with now. For a moment, he thought he would lose consciousness, vomit or both, but he fought against the urge and the internal vibration within his leg gradually waned. He finished his morning routine more carefully and to the best of his hampered ability.

  Leaving the bathroom, he expected to find Rachael waiting for him, but the room was empty. He moved slowly out into the hallway where he stopped by the nursery—also empty. At the top of the stairs, he listened for Rachael down below. He could hear her in the kitchen. The staircase had never seemed so long and steep as it did at that moment. He figured out how to descend and took it one risky step at a time, all the while trying not to alert Rachael to his approach. He reached the bottom winded, and with hardly enough strength to make it to the dining room table a few feet away. He managed, and sat for a moment before lighting a cigarette.

  He weakly called out to her, “Rachael…” She appeared in the doorway with the baby.

  “You weren’t supposed to come downstairs,” she said, approaching him and petting on him like a child. She looked at the staircase then back at him. “How the hell…and you shouldn’t be smoking.” She tried to catch the cigarette, but he moved his hand through the air out of reach and she shrugged it off, instead fixing his hair lovingly.

  Julien kept repeating the same details to himself, longing to figure out a plan, but continuously coming up empty.

  What is this?

  The surgery is real, the baby is still here and Rachael is being kind.

  “Did they give me anything?” he asked. He wanted to see a pill bottle with a doctor’s name, hospital…something tangible.

  “Anything…?” she repeated, moving the baby out of the wafting smoke.

  “Pain, Rachael. Medication?”

  “Oh my gosh…yes, of course.” She rushed off and returned with two bottles. “One’s an antibiotic. I’ll get you some water.”

  “Café,” he corrected.

  She paused to argue then thought better of it before briefly disappearing into the kitchen. She returned with his coffee. “I can’t sit here with you if you’re going to smoke,” she declared, motioning to Jessica.

  He glared at her. “Don’t then. You don’t have to sit here with me.” He would not give her the satisfaction. “Get the baby away from here. Go.” He shooed her with a waving cigarette clasped between two fingers.

  Rachael thoughtfully chewed her lip then moved to open the front door, allowing a warm breeze to flow through the room.

  “You were asleep for days,” she told him, attempting to make conversation. “You should have started those antibiotics two days ago.”

  Julien swallowed three pills with a swig of coffee.

  “The chickens?” he asked drunkenly.

  Rachael, puzzled responded, “What about them?”

  “They’re out there…in the coop?”

  She laughed. “Yes, why wouldn’t they be?”

  “I don’t know. I thought they might have gotten out…run away.”

  “Julien, are you all right?” she probed. She moved closer to him and placed her hand to his forehead. “I really don’t think you should have come down here. It’s too soon…”

  His first thought was to slap her hand away, but he didn’t. “No,” he snarled and jerked away from her hand, “I’m not all right.

  Rachael’s expression slowly dissolved into a frown. “I know Jules,” she conceded. “A couple of months, honey, and you’ll be back on that bike.” She
put forth her best effort to encourage him, and glanced at the motorcycle parked in the driveway. Randall moved past her view heading for their porch. In a hurry, she left Julien, who was grateful for the distance but wondered what the sudden urgency was about.

  Rachael entered the mudroom and placed the baby in her car seat.

  The front door slammed and Julien nearly spilled his coffee. He was nervous, jumpy, embarrassed by his newfound fears and weaknesses.

  Randall walked into the dining room. “Hey!” he announced loudly and grinned at Julien. “There you are. I didn’t expect to see you today. How ya feelin’?”

  Julien only nodded and stole another sip of coffee just as Rachael returned, wiping her hands on a dishrag.

  Randall turned to Rachael. “All done out there,” he informed. “Ladder’s good as new. Oh, and it’s on the house, of course,” he added sheepishly.

  Julien scoffed and Rachael discretely shook her head, attempting to excuse her husband’s behavior for the carpenter.

  “Thank you, Randall. Are you sure we don’t owe you anything?”

  “No, those eggs and the chicken are more than enough. I should have reinforced that ladder better, I guess.” He removed his baseball cap and scratched his head. “To be honest, I don’t know how it happened.” He moved toward the front door. “Those rungs broke straight down the center…nothing to do with the reinforcements on the sides…strange,” he huffed.

  Rachael shrugged. “Who knows? A freak accident. Shit happens, right?” she asked rhetorically as she led him the rest of the way out the door. “Well, thank you again.”

  “You’re welcome, Rachael. Have a great day.” He yelled past her, “Take care Julien. Feel better.” Randall stomped down the porch, a clamoring of tools and keys clanking loudly around his hips.

  Rachael walked back through the room passing Julien en route to the kitchen.

  Julien was feeling worse by the minute and had hardly enough strength to remain seated at the table.

  Rachael peeked in on the baby, fast asleep sucking quietly on a pacifier. She picked up the baby and rocked her. Jessica remained undisturbed in her arms. His voice barely audible, Julien muttered groggily, “You will wish this on me, but did you wish for Lily and Matt to be alive again?”

  She glanced through the kitchen window to see Randall’s truck disappear through the trees. She turned and rushed at Julien, who did not see her coming; the baby woke and began to cry. Without hesitation, she gripped a tight hold of his hair, pinning his head back with a harsh yank.

  “Let it go, Julien,” she growled. “Let it fucking go.” She released him and smoothed her clothing then looked down at the sobbing baby. With a smile and a soft hum, she rocked her again.

  Nothing’s fucking changed.

  * * * *

  Julien awoke slumped over, his ear pressed to the dining room table. He faced the window overlooking the porch into the darkness outside. He pushed himself to an upright position, startling Sarah, who scooted backwards on the floor away from him. Rachael hurried into the room.

  “No, no, no, Sarah…it’s okay.” She dropped beside the girl and held her close. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” She rocked her. “No more running away, okay.”

  Julien looked down at the pan full of soiled q-tips, a squeeze bottle of blue liquid and a box of clean swabs. Once again, the girl had been on him, touching him while he was insensible.

  “What the fuck is she doing?” he asked incredulously, beginning to examine himself.

  “Shhh…you’re scaring the shit out of her,” Rachael retorted.

  Julien pointed to his own chest and bellowed, “I’m scaring her?”

  “They have to be cleaned…the screws.” Rachael motioned to Julien’s apparatus while holding tight to Sarah.

  “Oh no,” he said, violently shaking his head. He could not believe Rachael would allow the girl near him. “What the fuck, Rach?” he asked again, his voice cracking. He was weak, frustrated and feeling defeated at every turn.

  “Julien, she’s been assisting her father in this town for years. Dr. Lind assured me…”

  “Assured you!” he hollered and vehemently shook his head. “Oh no…you keep her the fuck away from me!”

  Sarah buried her face into Rachael to hide.

  Rachael continued, “She’s been doing it three times a day since you came home. If she hasn’t hurt you yet, she’s not going to.” Rachael stood up holding Sarah’s hand and encouraging the girl to get to her feet. “Sarah, go watch the baby,” she instructed.

  She walked the timid girl to the kitchen doorway. “Go on, it’s okay,” she insisted. “Watch the baby.” She patted the girls back and Sarah obediently disappeared into the room.

  Don’t let her near the baby.

  Julien was surprised by his reaction and the immediate concern he felt for the child, but chose his battles and said nothing.

  Worry about yourself.

  Rachael collected the scattered medical supplies from the floor then knelt before him. She wet the tip of a clean swab with the blue fluid and dabbed at one of the screws where it burrowed deep beneath his flesh. “I really want you to get to know Sarah,” she entreated.

  Julien felt trapped and his frustration was mounting. He looked at the bottle of pain medication and contemplated how quickly he could consume its contents and if Rachael would be able to stop him before he swallowed each pill. Depressed, he sat quietly while Rachael finished what Sarah had begun. When she was done, she removed the supplies and walked into the kitchen. Julien took the bottle and spilled some of the pills into his palm. He paused.

  Don’t do it.

  You can fix this.

  You’ll find a way.

  He recapped the bottle and swallowed the prescribed amount of medication with the last sip of cold coagulated coffee, left over from the morning.

  Rachael returned with a sandwich and some water. “You have to eat something,” she asserted.

  “I’m not hungry,” he replied, betraying his actual hunger.

  “Julien, eat,” she insisted and edged the plate closer to him.

  He looked up at her. “Please, Rachael,” he begged. “Please fix this.” He reached for her hand and desperately pulled her close, pressing his cheek against her stomach. His pride depleted rapidly and he forced himself on her as he fought back tears.

  Rachael stood emotionless with her arms at her sides. She looked down at him hugging her tight, pathetically clinging to her waist. She slowly raised her hand and reluctantly caressed him.

  “It’s going to be alright, Jules,” she said in an icy, monotone voice. “Just give it some time.”

  He pulled back and looked up at her again. “What is the point of this?”

  “You need some down-time. Some time to think…clearly.”

  “I have to be like this to think?” he pleaded, wishing for her to make some sense.

  “That stunt you pulled the other day…that was pretty fucked up, Jules. Out of control.”

  “Please, Rachael,” he implored. “I will do whatever you say. Just wish this away…please.” He was fast becoming a shadow of his former himself; no display of emotions seemed below him anymore. “We can do it right now…the two of us. We can make a wish right now, non?”

  Rachael looked down at him for a long moment before allowing herself to lean forward and hug him. Worn out and emotional, he welcomed her embrace, though he knew her concern would not last. She let go of him and walked away without looking back.

  Julien sat staring at the food before him.

  How do I get out of this?

  How do I get us both out of this?

  He pushed the plate away and found the crutches propped against the wall behind him where he had left them. He transferred himself to the couch where his body gave into sleep at once.

  * * * *

  Julien woke to the sound of Rachael’s voice in the kitchen.

  “Yeah, well, it’s pretty bad,” she stated. “The surgery took seve
ral hours and he’s in this external fixation thing; then he ends up with a nasty bone infection...everything’s a mess right now. He’s just heartsick that we can’t make it down for the funeral…”

  Phil?

  Matt and Lily’s funeral.

  Rachael’s voice faded as he drifted back to sleep.

  * * * *

  Julien felt her hands on him again, cleaning the monstrosity attached to him. He jerked himself awake.

  Rachael grabbed hold of Sarah’s arm with one hand and placed the other on Julien’s stomach to settle them both and keep Sarah from darting off.

  “Julien…she does a better job than me. You have a serious infection.” Rachael fed him information quickly and calmly wanting to avoid another scene.

  He lay back feeling worse than he had the day before. He buried his eyes in the crook of his arm. “I’m sick, Rach. I need to go back to the hospital.”

  “No, no. I spoke to the doctor—”

  “Which docteur?” he snapped.

  “Ptak. He upped the dose of antibiotics and told us to clean the screws more often. He said this is common,” she assured him.

  The monitor erupted with sounds of the baby’s cries. Rachael stood.

  “Let her do her thing, Jules. I’ll be right back.” She walked away, giving Sarah an encouraging pat on the head then jogging to the steps.

  Julien wanted to chase the girl away, but lacked even an ounce of energy to do so. He was lethargic and running a fever. He struggled to shift so he could at least watch her every move. She worked methodically, cleaning each screw with diligence before moving on to the next. She never looked up from her task. The girl repulsed him, the device repulsed him; worse, he was repulsed by himself.

  A fucking prisoner of war.

  Rachael walked down the steps with the baby in her arms and continued her conversation where they had left off. “When Sarah’s done, we’re getting you back upstairs and into bed,” she told him. “And you need to eat.”

  You want me like this.

  Why are you bothering?

  She loves me.

  Does she?

  Rachael came closer and broke into baby talk: “We’re worried about Daddy, aren’t we?” She held the baby up to her lips for a kiss. She turned to Julien and asked, “Do you want to see her?”