Hold On--Chapter 7

After another day of throwing up everything I ate, I was able to stomach food. My fever still hasn’t broken though, even after being sick for five days. Being cooped up inside has been killing me, but Rose and Olivia refuse to let me out.

This is the sixth day that I’ve been sick. I no longer feel light-headed when I get up, but when I feel my forehead, I find that it’s still hot. Darkness still falls outside. Rose is still asleep. I quietly slide open the front door. The chill of the breeze hits my face. I wander toward the forest.

The sun still hasn’t materialized by the time I reach the woods and take a seat on a log. Everything is so still. So quiet. So peaceful. As I catch the first light of day, a flock of birds in the distance depart from the tree they had all perched on and disperse throughout the forest. In my desire to escape the house, I forgot to bring something to defend myself with. I wrap my quilt—which in my haste I’d brought with me for warmth—more tightly around me.

“Aren’t you supposed to stay inside?” Marcus says wryly. Of course he’s up and out this early. He comes and sits next to me on the log and set a dead turkey on the ground.

“What’s it going to take for you to not tell Olivia?” I respond. He shrugs.

“Would’ve done the same myself,” he replies. As the sun emerges from the horizon, shedding more light on my surroundings, I see Marcus shivering. I offer him my quilt.

“You need it more than I do,” he says. Instead, I just move closer to him. The sun is now low in the sky, illumination everything in our vicinity. I mindlessly rest my head on his shoulder. He jerks away.

“What?” I ask.

“What if Dillon finds out?” he asks.

“Huh?”

“Oh come on,” he gripes. “He wipes your tears, he hugs you, and he’s probably done a bunch of other stuff too.” I think about the night on the train. “He likes you, and you like him.”

“I never said that,” I argue.

“Well you didn’t object when he did that stuff,” he counters. It was true.

“Why do you care so much anyway?” I question. He turns away from me.

“Because,” he whispers, “I want to protect you.” My face softens.

“What?”

“I don’t want you to lose another person you love.”

“But I don’t—” I start to object.

“You’d better get home,” he interjects. He walks me back home, and then goes hunting with Dillon. I’m not surprised to see Olivia and Rose, ready to tell me off. They feed me a small bowl of broth and I go to my room and doze off.

I’ve slept through the morning and into the afternoon, but when I wake, bewilderment still occupies my mind. I think about Dillon’s actions. I never thought of Dillon doing those things because he liked me. At the time, it just seemed like something he did out of kindness. Then I think about Marcus’s words. Protect me? He wanted to protect me? He thought to protect me? All my life, I’d never liked anyone. Ever. Now that the situation has come up, I’m clueless as to how to deal with it. I grasp the mother’s necklace, wishing she were here. I come to the conclusion that I don’t think about either of them that way, but both of them think of me that way.

After a few more days, my fever breaks and I can go outside without trouble. On one particular morning, while we were eating some berries and squirrel meat for breakfast, Rose seemed exceptionally cheerful.

“What makes you so happy?” I ask her.

“It’s my birthday!” she squeals. All of our faces light up.

“Happy birthday!” we all chant.

“Turning thirteen, right?” I ask. Rose nods with gusto. My thirteenth birthday was nothing special. The orphanage didn’t recognize that sort of thing.

That afternoon, Dillon, Marcus, Olivia, and I had plans for a birthday celebration for Rose. Olivia, Marcus, and Dillon, went into the forest. Olivia picked strawberries for a pie, and Dillon and Marcus hunted game to trade for ingredients and a small present. Meanwhile, I was distracting Rose. I roused up conversation about what she did to celebrate before the orphanage.

“My mom made my favorite stew, and we would go to the meadow for a picnic,” she told me. “We never had much money, but once she gave me a handkerchief with roses stitched on it.” Before I can reply, there’s a knock on the door. I rush to get it before Rose can.

“Hey Olivia,” I say.

“Everything’s ready,” she chimes.

“Great!” I exclaim. “But can we do a picnic in the meadow instead?”

“Sure,” I’ll go tell the guys,” she agrees. “You just have to get her there.” I nod and shut the door.

“Hey Rose,” I say as nonchalantly as possible, “I need to pick up something from the butcher’s. Can you come?”

“Sure,” she says without objection. I lure her to the meadow as a look of bewilderment forms on her face.

“Surprise!” Marcus, Olivia, and Dillon shout. Rose’s jaw drops and her eyes are shimmering. On the grass is a frayed blanket with an assortment of game—two rabbits, a squirrel, and a turkey—some more dandelion greens, and a strawberry pie. In the middle of it all is a small brown box.

“Thanks you so much!” Rose exclaims. She runs to give us all hugs and soon has tears running down her cheeks.

We devour the meat and greens. Marcus whips a book of matches and a candle out of his pocket.

“Make a wish,” Marcus says, sticking the candle in the pie and lighting it. Rose closes her eyes, and the flickering flam is put out. We each have a slice. The sweet strawberries and buttery crust fill my mouth. After that, all that’s left is the brown box.

“Open it,” Dillon urges. Carefully, Rose lifts up the lid. Staring back at her is a silver necklace. From the dainty chain dangles a tiny, delicate, silver rose. I was just as surprised as she was.

“But how?” she asks in amazement.

“Friends with a blacksmith,” Dillon explains with a smile. “He has a soft spot for raccoons.” He puts the necklace around her neck and then she grips him in her arms.

Being in the meadow reminds me of my parents and the picnics we used to have. The soft grass and an abundance of flowers in every color imaginable. I didn’t cry though. I had found a new family.