“No.” Blue’s voice shook on that single word, a flick of a gaze at me, keeping Tanaka in his sights as though the doctor was actually some kind of poisonous snake. “He can stay.”
Tanaka started by doing that thing doctors did, which was to get Blue to sit on the padded exam table, the miserably thin paper covering rustling, serving no purpose. He cupped Blue’s head and pressed his fingers beneath Blue’s jaw, while Blue sat utterly still, frozen, watching Tanaka exactly like he would a snake who had unpredictable strike patterns. When Tanaka cupped the back of Blue’s head, Blue winced.
“There’s a bump here. A little swollen,” Tanaka said. “But not too bad. I see the cut. It’s clean and healing nicely.” He took a light and flicked it across Blue’s eyes, and turned it off, nodding. “Good pupil reaction. I don’t believe you have a concussion.”
He took the stethoscope from around his neck, placed the ends in his ears, and held the scope in his hands to warm it. “Can you take off your shirt?”
If Blue was resistant before, he was frozen now. I’d only seen the curve of his naked body when I’d helped him with the bath, looking away, giving room for privacy. A flurry of helpful movements. But here in this room, all was still, and all eyes were focused on Blue.
“Um,” I said, intending to step in, to say,That’s enough now, to take Blue to the truck so we could be on our way. So I didn’t have to see Blue’s face turning white the way it was, his shoulders coming up in a hunch, the jitter of his knee. He certainly expected something bad to happen.
I stepped closer, my hand reaching out. In another heartbeat, I was going to put an end to all of this and get Blue the hell out of there, even though, in reality, it was a simple exam from a doctor with the best intentions.
All at once, Blue ducked his head and pulled off the shirt I’d loaned him, a thick gray Henley, oversized on his thin frame. And hewasthin.
With the shirt bundled in his lap like a talisman of protection, I stopped myself from drawing a breath. You could see his spine. You could see—I closed my eyes, but I’d seen the marks on his body. In prison, you could tell when someone had been burned with cigarettes. Or hit with something that left permanent marks. White lines on a diagonal across his back. Red raised skin, a thin rope where the skin had been opened by a belt buckle, or something with built-in stiffness.
“Do these hurt?” asked Dr. Tanaka. “You have a lot of scars.”
“No,” said Blue, his voice a little wobbly. Like he wasn’t sure whether or not they hurt, or maybe he was surprised to learn he had scars, since he couldn’t see them.
I opened my eyes. Tanaka was touching one of the circular burn marks on Blue’s left shoulder blade, and I could see the compassion in the doctor’s eyes. Blue was shaking his head, turning his head to look at me.
Maybe he was worried I would find him hideous, but that could never be true. I wanted to take him home and wrap him in a blanket and feed him until he filled out and his ribs didn’t show. And I’d find something, some potion or tincture to rub into his scars and make them go away. But they never would. Only death could erase scars like that. But they could be made soft so they wouldn’t hurt when the body turned and skin stretched.
Tanaka quickly listened to Blue’s heart and lungs, perhaps rushing a bit to get it over with.
“You can put on your shirt now,” he said, and as the cloth settled over Blue’s shoulders, Tanaka laid a gentle hand on his arm and looked at me. His eyes were dark, and he seemed to ask,Who did this?
I shook my head because I didn’t know. Blue had once known, but maybe it’d be better if he forgot forever, because if I found out, it might result in a murder worth going back to jail for.
“What I found works is jojoba oil,” said Tanaka, directing his words to me as though we were in the middle of a general conversation about scars. Like two housewives in a commercial, filmed in the vegetable aisle. “Any kind like that. Jojoba. Castor oil. Blackseed oil. A combination. Maybe a bit of scent added in. Essential oils, to mark the healing each time the oil is used.”
“I can get those,” I said, the promise steady in my voice. I helped Blue with his hoodie and coat. “I’ll be working on that hatband as soon as we get home.”
“I look forward to the result,” said Dr. Tanaka, and he showed us out of the clinic.
Once in the cold, bright, sunshiny air, I could take a deep breath.
“Okay?” I asked, looking over the hood of the truck at Blue, at the puffs of frozen air coming out of his mouth, the dark depths of his eyes. “I’m glad to know you don’t have a concussion, but if you’re going to hate me forever, then it won’t have been worth it to make sure.”
“I don’t hate you,” he said without a second’s hesitation. Then he looked to the side, eyes glancing at the sky, maybe thinking of the layers of mountains that you could have seen, if not for the buildings in town and the way Billings was built in the lee of a low rise. “It just brought back memories, and they’re not good.”
“Memories?” I asked.
“Flickers,” he said, an inscrutable answer that I suspected he didn’t want to dig deeper into.
“Let’s go get you those boots,” I said. “And sneakers,” I added when a hint of a glare grew in his eyes. “Maybe pizza before we head back. You up for that?”
“Yes, please,” he said, utterly polite as always. “I remember I like it.”
“So, a good memory,” I said. I got in and started the truck, shivering as the heater’s warmth filled the truck’s cab like the embrace of an old friend.
“Yes,” he said. I felt the focus of his attention. He was looking at me as though making a list of memories that were good, so he could focus on those rather than the bad ones that gave him nightmares. And I felt it in my heart of hearts, the wish that I was on that list. Maybe somewhere near the top.
CHAPTER 11
blue
