Say You'll Be Nine

“I’m going to make us some lunch,” Cooper finally said as I began removing all the leftover bits and pieces to the supply area I’d designated on one side of the clearing.

I waved an acknowledgement as I headed out into the trees to take a leak. I was just closing my pants back up when I heard Cooper cry out my name. It sounded different than the bird incident, more like he was in pain. I raced back to the RV and stormed up the steps to find him clutching his side. Underneath his grip was a growing patch of red blood set off starkly against his light pink T-shirt.

“Fuck, what happened?”

“I…” His breath was heaving like he was mid-panic.

“Shhh, slow down and take a breath while I wash my hands.” After a quick scrub, I peeled his hands away to see what was wrong. There was a three-inch gash on his side that looked pretty deep. It was right about counter height, so I turned to look for what sharp edge could have caught him.

That’s when I saw the big foldable tripod on the floor that I’d left on the counter earlier. “Was it the tripod?” I looked up at him. There were fat tears balancing on the edge of his lower lashes. “Baby, was it this? I’m so fucking sorry.”

He nodded, and the tears spilled over. “It’s not your fault. I thought I saw another bird in here, and I kind of freaked out and then tripped. Knocked the tripod off and somehow it got me. I don’t know. It hurts like a mother.”

I grabbed a clean dishcloth and held it in place. “You need stitches. Hold this. I’m going to see if I can butterfly it closed for now, but I doubt it.”

When I stuck my head into the lower cabinet to find the first aid kit, I heard him sniffle and let out a shaky breath.

“Just scared me, you know?” he said between breaths.

“Yeah. Those things happen fast.” I knelt in front of him and used some supplies from the kit to clean him up and try and bandage it as best I could until I could get him better help.

“You sure it needs stitches? Can’t we just—”

“I’m sure. Believe me. We’ve had plenty of injuries like this on the farm. It’s way better to get stitches now and get it over with than hope it stays closed on its own.” I finished padding the area with extra gauze before slipping his pants and underwear down off his legs and unlacing his boots.

He just stared at me. “What’re you—”

“Getting you clean clothes. Hang tight.” I stood up and went back to our room to get a clean T-shirt, a loose pair of sweats, and underwear that weren’t covered in blood. I grabbed some socks and his running shoes too. When I got back and finished sorting him out, I loaded us all up in the truck.

I held his hand in mine the entire drive back to Shale Falls, shooting quick glances at him every few minutes to make sure he wasn’t too pale. Even though my brain knew he wasn’t going to bleed out from the gash in his side, some lizard hindbrain insisted I get him help as soon as possible.

“I think I’m going to die,” he said in a shocked voice about halfway down the mountain.

“You’re not. I promise.” But the conversation made me antsy regardless.

“No, I mean, if you’re playing Lady Gaga instead of Kenny Chesney, it must mean I’m on death’s door.”

I did a classic double take before realizing he was joking. “Haven’t lost your sense of humor, hm?”

He gave me a half smile even though he was clearly uncomfortable. “Guess not.”

“Shame,” I said, shooting him a wink. “We’ll be there soon. Close your eyes and breathe deep.”

After a few minutes of only the sound of Gaga’s voice in the truck, Cooper spoke again softly. “You’re a good man, Isaac Winshed.”

He’d said that to me before, but it never ceased to make me proud, as if all I needed was for this one human to think that about me and my life would be okay. I’d always wanted to be needed, but as the ninth kid—and the last boy—in my family, no one ever really needed me. Being able to help Cooper was a gift. Plus, the idea of him ever being alone and needing help made my stomach hurt. Thankfully, I’d been there when he’d needed someone.

“Almost there,” I assured him, squeezing his hand.

“I don’t want stitches. Can’t we go home? Please?”

“Mpfh.”

When we finally pulled up in front of the emergency clinic, I let him out before parking the truck in a shady spot and cracking the windows for Nacho. “Stay here, bud. I’ll bring you some water in a bit.” I scratched his head before taking off at a jog to the front slider doors of the one-story building.