Roman from the bed and turning to face my mom, hoping to block her view of the bloody smudges.
Dorothy finishes the second Band-Aid.
“We couldn’t imagine what was taking you two so long.”
Roman squirms out of my arms and runs toward the stairs.
“Sorry. We were talking … that’s all.” I smile my very best oh-shit-I’m-in-trouble smile.
Dorothy stands and Mom inspects her. “Dear, you have blood smeared all over your knees. Didn’t Eli clean your knees first?” She clucks her tongue and shakes her head.
Dorothy remains statuesque, eyes wide.
“Sit, Dorothy. I’ll get a wet washcloth.” Mom points to the bench at the end of the bed.
“Don’t speak. Okay?” I whisper after Mom leaves the bedroom.
Dorothy nods stiffly.
I move the gray throw blanket up the bed to cover the blood smudges and quickly turn back toward the door when Mom comes in with a wet washcloth. She squats down in front of Dorothy and cleans the dried blood around the Band-Aids.
“There. Much better.” Mom stands straight, smiling at Dorothy. Her smile fades when she sees the throw blanket situated in the middle of the bed.
“Thanks, Mom. I need to use the restroom. Can you take Dorothy downstairs? Maybe package up some of those leftovers for her. She loves leftovers.”
“Sure …” She steps toward the bed.
“What are you doing?” I block her attempt to move toward the bed.
Mom narrows her eyes at me. Yes, I’m acting incredibly weird—extremely paranoid. “I’m just fixing the blanket on the bed.”
“I thought you were going to get Dorothy leftovers.” I plant my fists on my hips to widen my body like a gate she can’t pass.
“Yes, Eli. I just want to straighten the—”
“Mom! Dorothy doesn’t have all day.”
The room falls silent.
Mom’s head jerks backward as Dorothy grimaces, trapping her lower lip between her teeth, wringing out her hands in front of her.
“Elijah Alexander, what is wrong with you, child?”
“Nothing,” I say as calmly as possible. “You just … go. I’ll fix the blanket and use the restroom. You get Dorothy some leftovers.”
“What is under that blanket?” She crosses her arms over her chest?
“What?” I narrow my eyes.
“I wasn’t born yesterday. You’re acting like you used to act when you broke something and didn’t want me to find out. You might be a grown man now, but you still lie to your mom like a ten-year-old boy. What is under that blanket? Did Roman get it dirty with his bare feet?”
“Yes. Just let me have it cleaned. I don’t want you to worry about—”
“No!” Dorothy yells before cupping her hand over her mouth.
My mom turns toward her while I shake my head so hard it makes my neck hurt. Dorothy’s eyes ping-pong between us. I silently plead with her.
“No … what, dear?”
“It wasn’t Roman,” she mumbles from behind her hand.
“Dorothy, it’s okay. He’s not going to get into any trouble.” A nervous laugh infiltrates my words.
“It was me,” she says, dropping her hand from her mouth. “I got blood on your quilt. I’m really sorry. I will replace it if it doesn’t come out in the wash.”
“Dorothy, I’m not worried about a few drops of blood. I’ll get them out.” Mom shoulders past me and removes the throw blanket. “Oh … I guess it’s more than a few drops. Did you faint face-first or something?” She cocks her head, inspecting the smudges too much … way too much.
“Yes, a little lightheaded.” I grab Mom’s shoulders to steer her out of the bedroom.
She brushes me away, shooting me a scowl before returning her attention to Dorothy. “Well, looks like you have plenty of color in your cheeks now.”
Dorothy presses her palms to her cheeks, patting them gently.
“Better get used to a little blood, dear. You could potentially see a lot of it as a nurse.”
“I’m fine with blood.” Dorothy acts a little offended.
It’s not the right time to get offended.
“Just not your own. That’s pretty common.” Mom heads toward the stairs.
Thank god!
“No. I’m fine with my own.” Dorothy chases after my mom like she has a point to prove.
No points need to be proven. We just need to get the hell out of here.
“I didn’t get lighthea—”
Dorothy claws at my hand covering her mouth.
“Let it go!” I whisper in her ear.
“Elijah Alexander!”
Here we go …
I remove my hand.
“What in god’s name are you doing to her?” Mom stands halfway down the stairs with a look of horror etched into her face.
Dorothy curls her hair behind her ears and lets her hands flop to her sides as she releases the world’s