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He shakes his head.
Rising, I walk over and switch the bike off, then stand it upright so it’s easier for Hunter to find later.
‘Go home,’ I tell Banjo.
The dog doesn’t move.
I return to Kevin. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up.’
He doesn’t protest as I attempt to get him to his feet. He’s also no help. When I finally get him upright, he leans his full weight on me.
‘I’m going to need you to lock those knees for me,’ I tell him. ‘I’m not as strong as I look.’
He chuckles softly, and it throws his balance slightly. ‘That bloody kid’s always in trouble.’
I’m struggling to get him to walk straight. ‘Hunter?’
He nods.
It appears that Hunter’s earlier run-in with Lee has landed him in trouble once again. I’m fairly certain it had something to do with the rumours. People have said far worse about him though, so I’m surprised he responded the way he did. A part of me wonders if perhaps he was being protective of me, a notion that makes my chest feel light and my stomach tighten at the same time. It’s both mortifying and pleasing. I could barely look at him earlier, yet I haven’t stopped thinking about him since.
Eventually I get Kevin into the house and sit him down on one of the green vinyl dining chairs in the kitchen that looks like something out of a seventies movie. Then I go to fetch a bowl of warm water, adding some table salt to it.
Now to find a clean cloth.
The linen cupboard is filled with everything except linen, but I do find a threadbare hand towel in the bathroom that appears somewhat clean. Returning to the kitchen, I find Kevin half asleep, chin resting on his chest.
‘Pretty sure you’re not supposed to nap straight after a head injury,’ I say, rousing him.
He gives me a confused look, taking a moment to register my face. ‘Annie Wilson.’
‘That’s me.’
He blinks and continues to study my face. ‘You look just like your sister but with red hair.’
I wring out the cloth and bring it to his head. ‘She was probably my age the last time you saw her.’
He nods sleepily. ‘Where’d she go? Melbourne?’
‘Brisbane.’ Talking about her makes my chest feel heavy. I dunk the towel into the bowl and watch the water turn red. ‘I assume she’s still there. She’d be finished with her degree by now. Hopefully working in some fancy art gallery.’
‘She sure could paint. I remember they displayed the year twelve pieces at the local gallery. Bridget’s really stood out.’
I meet his eyes. ‘You went to that exhibition?’
‘God, no. Saw photos in the paper.’
I smile to myself.
‘Always seemed a bit down,’ he adds. ‘I remember that about her.’
My smile disappears. It’s tough hearing that, especially from someone who only ran into her every now and then at the chemist where she worked after school.
He sighs. ‘Not everyone wants to live forever. It’s easy to assume they do, but it’s too long for some.’
I still mid-rinse of the cloth. He’s of course referring to our belief that Jehovah’s people will live forever on a paradise earth. ‘You really wouldn’t want to live forever?’
He shakes his head. ‘Some of us are just trying to survive the short time we’re here.’ Scratching his nose, he adds, ‘And where are all these people going to fit, anyway? The planet needs us to die.’
