Grover sags to his knees beside Amelia, checking the soggy plantain leaves. He pinches the slime between thumb and finger, gently scraping away the extra goo. “Swelling’s down a bit,” he says, “cuts look a lot better too. Let’s try the poultice and wrap her up.” He’s acting all friendly, but I’m not sure how I feel about this new Grover—I liked the old one. This guy? Not so much.
He smears the pre-chewed mossy stuff over Amelia’s leg. If she knew Grover’s spit was the secret ingredient of her leg treatment, she’d go nuts. We’re talking a major hissy fit.
But none of that matters right now. I need answers. “I’m waiting for an explanation, Grover. You owe me that much. And it better be a good one. A really, really good one.” I cross my arms and legs tight, like one of the bats hanging from the ceiling.
Outside, the wind howls. There’s a loud crack, and we both jump. A search party? Did our messages get through?
He mumbles something under his breath, then hurries to the entrance. When he returns, his face is drawn, shoulders pulled in. He lowers himself onto the rug, staring at the floor. Stiff—like a statue.
“Everything okay out there?” I ask, hoping that it’s not.
“Yeah, just a branch. Wind.”
He waits a few beats and then sighs, long and heavy, like he’s been carrying this story for a thousand years. “What do you want to know?” He turns toward me, ready to talk.
“Walmart?”
“I grew up in Silver Pines—a foster kid.”
I let this hang in the air for a minute, my brain sliding the first puzzle piece into place.
“The cabin you were in?” He picks at a loose thread on the blanket. “We used to live there.”
He wraps Amelia’s leg with strips of cloth, securing the poultice. His voice is bitter. “When I was five, rangers showed up with social workers from Child and Family Services.”
“So…” I lean forward, “you’re the baby they took from her? Does she know that?”
Amelia snores next to me—some promise keeper she is.
He lets out a quick breath. Not quite a laugh. “No. I mean—maybe. A long time ago.” He rubs his face. “Now? Not really. She doesn’t know much of anything.”
Part of me wants to comfort him, but I want him to keep talking, so I keep my mouth shut.
He jerks his chin toward Mommy’s corner, “Those quilts? My—” He stops. Tries again. “The lady who raised me made them. They were good to me.”
“If they were so good to you, why would you come back here? To this?” I sweep my hand over the space inside the cave.
Another pause. “I came back when I turned eighteen.” She was already…like this.” He swallows. “Wouldn’t see a doctor. Won’t trust anyone who isn’t me.” Grover’s eyes droop—could be sadness, could be exhaustion—probably both.
My hand finds his sleeve. “That’s really sad, Grover. I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair. But it still doesn’t explain why you took Andrew.”
“I know.” His head sinks down further. “I know it doesn’t.” He presses his palms together. “I messed up. I did. But she—” He glances over his shoulder. “She’s been calmer. Since he got here. I haven’t seen her like this in…I don’t know. Years.”
“So that makes it right?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “No, it doesn’t.”
Mommy’s coughing starts up again, and Grover moves to head her way.
“Wait,” I grab his arm. “Are we the first?”
He raises an eyebrow.
“You’re the Shadow Man, right?”
His head snaps up. “The—what?”
“People have seen you around the cabin. They think you’re trying to kidnap kids.”
He straightens his back. “No! I would never—” He hangs his head again, then rubs his hands over his face. “I only took Andrew because I thought he was in danger.”
“Danger? From who?”
“From you.” He winces right after he says it. “I didn’t know who you were. I saw the lights, heard yelling. That cabin. It has memories. I—” His hands come up like he’s replaying it. “Andrew put his arms up and…I just—I didn’t think. I just grabbed him and ran.”
Okay, maybe I can see how that happened. Maybe. “What were you doing at the cabin, anyway?”
“I go there.” He shrugs, “Every day. Or most days.”
“For what?”
Amelia groans, swishing her head from side to side. Bending forward, Grover brushes the hair from her sweaty face. “It’s okay, Amy. You’ll feel better soon.”
My mind frantically searches for the puzzle piece that connects this to the rest of the story. It’s the second time I’ve heard him call her that.
“Who’s Amy?” I say.
“What?” His head jerks. “No one. Just a slip—it’s Amelia, I know. I’m just tired.”
Grover covers Amelia with a quilt, and the coughing on the other side of the cave starts up again. He nods his head toward the sound. “She’s awful, I know. But I love her.” His voice cracks a little. “I just—” He presses his lips together. “I should’ve come back sooner. Maybe she wouldn’t be like this.”
He sniffs, wiping away the drip on his nose. “She was a good mom. Used to sing and play with me. She didn’t deserve what happened to her.”
I start to defend my point, but he holds up a hand. “Your parents don’t deserve it either.” He turns away, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll take you home in the morning.” His feet drag as he walks away, like he can’t take any more weight than he’s already carrying.
I lay down next to Amelia. She’s no longer on fire, and her breathing has evened out. I try to sleep, but the coughing from across the room gets worse and worse. I keep thinking about Mommy being a young woman. Child Services snatching her baby away. How are you supposed to win when no one ever taught you the game?
Tears come flooding, and I let myself cry. I cry for Mommy, the young woman and the old one. I cry for Grover, the boy and the man. For Amelia, who thinks her family doesn’t care. And for my parents, who trusted me to look out for Andrew.
Rolling onto my back, I let the tears roll into my ears. If Grover can be trusted to follow through with what he said, by this time tomorrow, I’ll be staring at the constellations painted on my bedroom ceiling instead of the grey stone of the cave. This nightmare will be over, and we can go back to normal.
Amelia stirs. “Mama? Thank you for the blanket.”
Mama? She must be dreaming. “You’re welcome,” I say, patting her. “Go to sleep.”
“Good night, love you.” She drifts off, and if it’s possible, I’m even sadder than I was before.
In the distance, the coughing has stopped, replaced by a wheezing rattle, like a raccoon full of rabies.