causing him to up the notch on his bravery. He flexed the fingers of the broken arm—fanning them out—making a fist. Finally, he shook the whole thing like the arm was gift-wrapped and shoved into a stocking.
“There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“Let me take off that splint and have a look.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“You just shook the heck out of it.”
Hunter held his arm out. Scout untied the shirt.
“Scout!”
Scout jerked his hands away. “I’m sorry. Did that hurt?”
“No, it didn’t hurt. You cut up my favorite shirt.”
“I needed to make strips to tie the sticks in place.”
“Yeah, but that was my favorite shirt!”
“I could break your other arm.” Scout untied the rest of the strips and the sticks clattered on the ground. He gave a low whistle.
Hunter had closed his eyes, afraid of seeing where the bone had popped through the skin. “What is it?”
“Open your eyes, you big baby.”
Hunter peeked out his right eye. A drop of dried blood was tangled in a patch of arm hair. Otherwise, his arm was healed with just a tiny white scar where the hole was last night. With wide eyes, he poked at his arm again. He gave it another shake.
“What are you two silly boys doing?”
Hunter and Scout jumped as if someone caught them stealing food from the pantry in Brittany’s kitchen. Catherine stood in their midst with Scout’s sleeping bag caped over her shoulders. The sun shining behind her formed a golden nimbus around the little girl.
“Uh…” Hunter stammered.
“He and I…” Scout began.
Catherine bounced up and down, and pointed at Hunter. “Oh looky, your arm’s all better.” The sleeping bag dropped and she did a little dance, her feet kicking up high and her hands clapping a rapid beat. “Hurray! Now we can go home!” She repeated the word “home” as she danced around, singing. “Home, home, home.”
The boys glanced at each other for support. Scout urged Hunter on with a nod. Hunter frowned.
“Catherine,” he said, striving hard to regain her attention by waving his healed arm. She took that as an invitation and twirled underneath his hand until Hunter grew light-headed.
“Catherine, please…” Scout tried, but that only brought him into the fray. Catherine whirled from Hunter and hooked her arm into Scout’s, working them into a circle, singing, “We did it. We did it!”
“Catherine!” the boys yelled.
The dance stopped. Catherine puckered her bottom lip as her eyes watered with tears. She picked up Scout’s sleeping bag and blew her nose.
Hunter knelt in front of her. “Catherine, Scout said you did something to heal my arm. Is that what happened?”
She dropped the sleeping bag again. Scout quickly rescued it from the ground, giving a disgusted look at the snot smeared on the edge; he stuffed the bag away in its sack. Catherine smiled at him.
“Catherine,” Hunter said again.
“What?”
“My arm…you fixed it…how?”
“Oh that was easy, silly. Scout did the hard part. I just helped it along.” She brought her tiny hand up and brushed a strand of Hunter’s hair back. Her expression turned serious for once, giving Hunter the impression that he spoke with someone much older than six. “I didn’t like seeing you hurting. So I made your arm all better.”
Hunter glanced at Scout, who shrugged and stalked off, shaking his head and muttering something about no sleep.
“Okay, I guess the real question we would like to understand is how you healed my arm?”
She stared at Hunter for a couple seconds. “Don’t you believe in miracles?” she said finally, and laughed. “When do we go home?”
Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyes and stood up. The sun had pushed from the eastern horizon and now filled the morning sky like a flaming bowling ball. A v-shaped formation of sandhill cranes flew across the sky. He sighed and answered, “In a little bit.”
“Hurray!” Catherine started dancing again.
Hunter watched Scout make a breakfast of bread, cheese, and a peach for Catherine. For ten days Hunter traveled the Big Bad, from gas station to gas station, living off the land. He explored further than he ever dared before—even running out of gas once. He loved being on his own. Now he looked forward to eating scrambled eggs at Brittany’s.
Scout poured water on the smoldering coals, which hissed and sent up billows of gray smoke. He dug a hole and buried the ashes using a small shovel from his backpack.
“Are you able to drive?” Scout asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“I’ll let Catherine ride with me until we know for sure.”
“Whatever.”
“Take it