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“Just don’t do anything too strenuous,” she cautions me, making me smile.
The position Xander had me in on the couch this morning. Would that be classed as strenuous?
Not sure, I’d have to ask a doctor, but there seems to be a sudden shortage of those around here for the moment.
A younger girl reminds me a bit of myself at her age hobbles up and plants herself in the chair next to mine.
She’s overweight with old-fashioned pigtails on either side of a round, freckled face.
“How’d you break your leg?” she asks with a slight lisp, her two front teeth missing, and a heavy cast on her own leg telling at least part of her story.
“I fell down a ledge,” I tell her, not bothering to explain it’s my ankle, not my leg and she frowns a nod, mildly impressed.
“I fell off my bike, have to have the cast for six weeks” she announces loudly, almost proudly.
I crease a smile, reminded again how all my life I’ve never broken a sweat really, let alone a bone.
Most kids have a break or surgery, some sort of trauma that they survive. Giving them a scar or at least a tale to tell.
This girl’s earned her stripes but I don’t feel like I’ve missed out on anything. Two hours in this bandage and I’m over it. The thought of six weeks in a cast?
No thanks.
“You have pretty hair,” she remarks next and I thank her for the compliment, returning it in kind.
“You have nice hair too, did you braid those yourself?” I ask and she flushes with pride.
“I did,” she remarks triumphantly. “All by myself.”
There’s a note of defiance in her voice. An edge to her whole demeanor.
“You waiting for your mom?” I ask, making conversation while we both wait.
She shakes her head hard to either side.
“Someone’s coming for you though, right?” I ask, sounding responsible.
“Yeah. They’ll be here soon,” she tells me and looks away.
Conversation over.
It suddenly registers why she reminds me so much of myself.
She’s alone, but unlike me, she’s more of a survivor than a crier.
My dad always provided for both of us, but he was hardly home because of it. Still isn’t.
I never had a friend or neighbors or other relatives to fill the gaps, and like this little girl, I spent a lot of time alone or learned to do things for myself.
A white van pulls up out front, and a friendly-looking couple steps out. A man and a woman, likely in their thirties, professional looking.
Not like the crowd of suits from before.
“Alright, Jenny?” The woman asks. The girl only shrugs, looking away again.
“Can you manage to the van okay?” The man asks.
I notice the girl’s hesitation again.
“Umm, are these people supposed to be picking you up?” I ask Jenny, a little concerned now.
Both of them look at me with sympathy. “Yes, we’re here for Jenny,” they chime.
She murmurs, “Bye” to me, and with one of them on either side, she hobbles to the van with them, letting herself in the back after refusing their help.
There’s something about this I don’t like and struggling out of my own wheelchair I reach the sliding doors of the medical center in time to see the van pull away.
State Child Protective Services in subtle but bold print on the driver’s side door.
I feel something catch in my throat, realizing maybe Jenny and I aren’t so alike after all.
I mightn’t have seen my dad as much as I could or should have. But he was and still is there for me.
And now I’ve found Xander.
I silently wish little Jenny well as the van pulls away, knowing myself the twists and turns life can take.
Making it all better. Working itself out in the end.
Chapter Twelve
Xander
Hank Stanton is an ex-cop, but campus police are no joke. They still have plenty of authority.
I wouldn’t say I know him, or rather, he doesn’t really know me. But that’s the whole point of why I do a lot of what I do, nobody knows me or what it is I do.
It bugs me though that someone saw me carrying Gillian through the woods and all the way back to my cottage?
That would mean we were followed, and it’s a wily cat who can shadow Xander Sexton without him knowing it.
“Somebody made a big mistake linking me to whatever cases the FBI wants closed,” I remark casually, snorting a laugh over a side comment how much trouble someone might be in over there, keeping or losing a job even.
“Yeah, well. It happens,” Hank’s voice drawls again. “We’re all human after all,” he adds.
I let him catch my smile in the rearview mirror, holding his eyes with mine until he swerves back to correct the car.
All human indeed.
“Aww c’mon, Hank?” I whine. “Throw me a bone will ya?” I ask, pouting and looking more like the man he knows me as.
