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Our final stop is the apothecary. Glen marches in with gusto. Meanwhile, while one of the other mentors snickers to a guy beside him that he hopes the reenactor inside this building who plays the doctor has something to put us out of our misery.
I hold the door, laughing under my breath. Glen’s a good man who has forgotten what a grown-up finds fascinating is loads different from a bunch of boys who haven’t made it out of elementary school. This place may be mildly more interesting to me if it were adults only.
And there was a beer tent.
Bhodi waits at my side with raised eyebrows and a furrowed forehead.
Or maybe not,I think.
If the kid who got his groove on to Billy Ocean while we put the finishing touches on the Colony Park so we could drive it here today is bored, it’s probably a sign. And, while we’re on the subject, what the fuck does Holly keep on her playlists that Bhodi has those lyrics memorized? I’m glad we weren’t detailing a red Corvette.
A chorus of “Woah!” fills the musty space and my half-pint darts in to see what his friends are interested in.
Kids cram around a butcher block counter in the humid room while a man in period costume and a white apron explains herbs to them.
“But what are the slugs for?” A boy pipes up.
“They are leeches and we’ll get to that in a moment.” The older man cautions.
The same boy makes his fingers walk like a spider up Bhodi’s arm. I see Bhodi’s body make a slight shiver and he leans away, lip snarled.
The old “apothecary” makes the boys sit on the wooden floor and starts his rehearsed spiel about the rigors of life in the eighteen hundreds. The boy’s eyes glaze over. They won’t answer the questions he poses. The reenactor understands his audience is all about the creepy crawlies and cuts to the chase.
“Leaching,” he marks with gusto, “was a common practice to help with humors.”
Three minutes into the speech, I can tell Bhodi doesn’t find it the least bit funny. He’s turning green and swallows with urgency.
“Hey, Glen, I’m taking Bhodi outside for a few minutes.”
“Good call,” he replies, watching Bhodi scoot back against a cabinet.
Bhodi has tucked his knees up to his chest, resting his forehead on them. I have to squat and duck-walk across the floor to get his attention. His eyes are wide and there’s perspiration on his upper lip. I clasp his hand, pulling him after me, hoping I’ve gotten there in the nick of time. Lord knows I don’t want the kid to get embarrassed by puking in front of his buddies.
Outside, I sit the half-pint down on the cool granite slab atop the entry stairs, letting him get his bearings. It’s only a fractional degree cooler than the stuffy room, but the air does him good as he hangs his head between his knees, taking deep breaths.
“That was pretty gross stuff they used to do back then,” I say to break the ice. “How about while they’re finishing up we go see if the gift shop has any water or if there’s a vending machine nearby?”
He peers toward the apothecary window. “How will they find us?”
“I’ve got my phone and Glen’s got my number.” We’re his ride home and he’d already mentioned texting me if we got separated.
Bhodi sluggishly ventures across the road with me. I take his hand out of an abundance of caution. Holly will kill me if I call her with the news her son has passed out in the middle of a street.
Thank goodness we’re hit by a cool blast of air conditioning as we enter the little shop down the block since I’m peeved at the person who decided a Pepsi machine outside would break the ambiance of this place. I pay cash for an overpriced bottle of water. Unscrewing the cap, I move to the side so the cashier can ring the next person in line out.
“Sip on this.”
Bhodi takes the bottle and chugs the water down, collapsing the plastic.
“Slow down, Half-pint.”
“Want some?” he asks, droplets dripping down his chin. The bottle is half empty.
“All yours.” I’m not into backwash. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah.” He tucks his chin, using the short sleeve of his shirt to wipe his face.
“Missed a spot.” I grab the hem, pulling it up over his forehead, and attach my hand to his face like an octopus.
