The Boy and His Ribbon (The Ribbon Duet 1)

And my hate grew wings and flew.

You see, I loved her for being so kind to me, for everything she became to me.

But I hated her for taking something from me, for claiming the only thing I had, for stealing the boy I loved in all the perfectly right and terribly wrong ways that a sister ever could.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

REN

* * * * * *

2005

I DIDN’T WANT to be here.

I didn’t want to be under the scrutiny or charity of John Wilson and his family.

But I had nothing left.

I could only accept their assurances that they meant us no harm, bow my head in gratitude as a warm-cooked meal filled the icy emptiness in my belly, and cough my thanks as Patricia Wilson led me into their guest room complete with donkey figurines and crocheted blankets thrown over yellow bedding and left me alone with a doctor they’d called on my behalf.

In my fuzzy state, I permitted them to close the door without Della by my side. In a flash of lucidity and rage, I remembered why Della had to be with me at all times, why I hated strangers, and how I could never trust anybody.

This might’ve been their plan all along—to lull us into a relaxed state, then steal her and kill me.

If my strength was at full capacity, I would’ve left right then.

Then again, if my strength was at full capacity, we would never have been in this situation in the first place. I wouldn’t have slept too long, and under no circumstances would I have ever entered a house occupied by unknowns.

All I could do with my lacklustre brain power and my pathetic excuse for endurance was to immediately storm from the guest room and demand Della to stay with me at all times.

She was only too happy to wrap her arms around my thighs and take my command literally, even as Patricia Wilson tried to argue that I should be examined on my own and for Della to keep her distance so she didn’t get sick.

Their logic tried to undermine my confidence.

A thread of fear filled me that she might come down with what I had, but it was a risk I had to take because I wasn’t risking her in any other way.

I wouldn’t leave her alone to be hurt by them, taken by them, or touched in any way, shape, or form.

Just because they hadn’t punished us for sleeping on their property, shared their food, and called their doctor didn’t mean I trusted them.

The only family I trusted was ours.

And Della would stay with me at all times.

Back in the guest suite with the doctor who’d patiently waited, Della wedged herself in the rocking chair and cuddled a pillow with an embroidered donkey on the front.

With one eye on her and one on the exit, I submitted to the doctor’s many questions. I steeled myself against allowing him to use something that was cold and hard called a stethoscope and gritted my teeth with discomfort as he poked and prodded my chest and belly then felt under my throat.

I let him touch me more than any other human had before, and it drained me of my final reserves. I was a model patient, up until the end when his forehead furrowed and a strange new light filled his gaze—made worse when he found the brand on my hip and missing finger on my left hand.

He didn’t ask questions but did ask to perform a full examination with worry in his voice. He looked at me as if I was worse off than just an annoying cough.

He already knew more about me from reading my body than I’d ever tell him verbally, and I had no intention of letting him guess more of our story than the lie I’d told the Wilsons.

The lie that Della was my baby sister and we’d been travelling on a bus to visit our cousins in some state far from here. The bus had broken down. And we’d hitch-hiked ever since.

I knew the tale had holes—my backpack was well-used and our gear adapted for life in the wilderness. I knew Della wore clothes meant for boys and her hair, even now, had leaves stuck between the strands.

She looked scruffy.

She looked wild.

Just like me.

But the doctor didn’t give up, murmuring how he’d keep our confidence, that he knew there was more to us than we’d said, and his only interest was to help. He went on and on how he only wanted to ensure our full health and that Della needed examining just as much as I did.

He’d lost all my cooperability at that point.

I’d crossed my arms, did my best to stifle my ever-worsening cough, and told him to leave.

To my surprise, he did, with only a final word that he was around if I changed my mind.