20. Woody

20

WOODY

“What are you doing?” I asked, standing over Stevie, hands on my hips.

“Duh. I’m painting the gate. What are you doing?” she asked, dabbing at the strip of wood. “And why do you have cat-mans on your T-shirt?”

I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. I noticed I’d been doing a bit more of that these days and it had a hell of a lot to do with the McAvoy family.

“Well, first of all, I’m watching someone ruin my fence,” I answered with a smile, then tugged on my stained work T-shirt. “And these are the ThunderCats .”

She snorted and kept at it.

“You’re supposed to paint up and down with the grain of the wood, not punch at it. Hasn’t your dad shown you Karate Kid yet?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

I shook my head, putting on my best disappointed look. “You don’t know the ThunderCats . You don’t know Karate Kid. What are they teaching y’all these days?”

She pursed her lips, slaying me with a tween glare. “Coding.”

God, I loved this kid.

“Okay, fair,” I said, reaching for my wallet. “I don’t know a damn thing about coding.”

After Stevie tucked the dollar bill into her backpack, I held out my hand. “Can I show you how to paint the gate?”

Taking a deep, put-upon breath, she lifted a shoulder. “I suppose so.”

She placed the paintbrush in my hand, and I had to grin. It was a gorgeous day outside, warm enough to toss my overshirt to the side, but with enough cloud cover so that it wasn’t overly bright.

Emery was thrilled that Stevie was helping me paint. Rowdy was around but busy, so Emery asked if I wouldn’t mind watching her while he went shopping for her birthday presents with his mom.

Stevie was turning eleven next week. There was a party and attendance was mandatory. I’d done a good job of keeping my face neutral, but pride bloomed like a flower in my chest. That he’d agreed to leave Stevie with me felt big somehow.

Dipping the brush in the paint, I ran a line down the left side, then reversed course, demonstrating the perfect paint stroke.

I turned the handle back to her. “Now you try.”

After she let out a very dramatic and annoyed huff of breath, I realized she was imitating me, down to the critical way I’d looked at the gate itself. Despite the world-class sass, her stripe of paint was done perfectly.

“I know you’re making fun of me, but doesn’t that look better?”

“ Maybe ,” she said, her tongue sharp. “I suppose if you’re this old, you probably learned a thing or two.”

I busted out laughing. “You, Stevie McAvoy, are a firecracker.”

She giggled, then made hilariously inaccurate explosion sounds with her mouth, dropping the paintbrush into the paint can, splashing droplets on both of us.

“Sorry, Woody,” she said, her eyes big as saucers, but I waved away her concern.

“That’s why I brought a water bucket and a sponge, Stevie-girl,” I assured her. “Can you grab the sponge and wring it out real good for me?” I pointed to the bucket.

She nodded efficiently, as if she were born to do such a thing, then stomped over to the bucket, reached in, grabbed the sponge, and squeezed it with all of her might. I had to bite my inner lip not to laugh at the intense concentration on her adorable face.

She continued to work at the sponge as she made it back to me, intent on getting it as squeezed out as possible. That was probably why she didn’t see the tire lying flat in the tall grass.

Before I could call out a warning, her foot skittered over the sidewall, then caught on the inside lip. She almost fell, but managed to catch and right herself, even as she struggled to free her foot.

Shit. How the hell had I forgotten to pick that tire up? When was the last time I mowed out here? —I raced over to her. “Fuck, are you okay?”

She laughed as her foot came free and held out her hand. “ Fuck is a two-dollar word.”

This girl.

Laughing, I was reaching back for my wallet when her bloodcurdling scream hit my ears. I looked up, and a fog appeared to be rising from the tire at her feet. Only...No. It wasn’t a fog. It was a swarm of bees.

These weren’t my bees. I could tell right away that these were the nasty ones. Killer bees.

I grabbed the overshirt from the ground and swatted the bees away from her, then wrapped her up in it as fast as I could. Remembering that she was at least mildly allergic, and that Emery kept EpiPens in his house, I picked her up and took off for their house as fast as I could.

I was running half blind in a panic, being pursued and stung all over by the goddamned bees, when I realized that Stevie, who always had something to say, had gone quiet. I looked down, even as I ran forward, and nearly tripped.

Her eyes, which seconds ago had been filled with light, were swollen shut.

“Stevie?”

Her throat worked, like she was trying to say something but couldn’t. A tear pushed its way past a swollen lid.

Jesus fucking Christ. Her airway.

I nearly wept when I spotted Rowdy on the front porch. “Rowdy, bees! The door!”

My cousin looked up and was moving before I think he fully understood what was going on. He opened the door just as I hit the steps, then slipped in behind me, slamming it shut. A handful of bees had followed us into the house, and Rowdy grabbed the closest thing he could find, one of Emery’s paperbacks. He hunted them down, smacking them as hard as he could, even if it meant smacking me.

“Holy shit, Woody. You’ve been stung.”

“I know,” I spat out, frustrated he’d focus on anything but Stevie at a time like this. I unwrapped the shirt and plucked two stingers from her face.

“No, Woody. You’ve been stung, like, a lot. A lot a lot.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I croaked out. “We need an EpiPen. Fuck, where did he say he keeps it?”

“In the kitchen—there’s two,” Rowdy said, then pivoted and raced to the back of the house.

“Get both.”

I wanted to follow him, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. I dropped to my knees instead—fucking ouch—then awkwardly slumped to the floor, holding Stevie as best I could.

A bee landed next to us and I smashed it with my fist.

Less than thirty seconds later, Rowdy raced back to the front, the two auto-injectors in hand.

“Press it to her thigh until it clicks and hold it for at least three seconds,” I said as he read through the instructions. My voice was still off. “Fucking killer bees.”

“Shit, for real?”

“Mmhmm. Whole swarm of ’em.”

He slid the auto-injector out of the plastic tube, yanked off the blue cap, and jammed the orange tip against her thigh until it clicked. Stevie let out a choked noise as Rowdy focused on the count.

The subsequent silence was terrifying. I had images of Hollywood movies in my head where someone got the EpiPen and then sat up dramatically, but that wasn’t what happened. I tried keeping track of time, but I kept losing my place. Even though it probably wasn’t more than half a minute, it felt like we’d sat there for forever.

Finally, a small, strangled gasp.

“Stevie, if you can hear me, breathe slow. Don’t overdo it, you’re getting plenty of oxygen.”

I didn’t know if I was lying to her, but I knew that her panicking would not be a good move right now. I turned to Rowdy. “Should we use the second injector?”

“It says wait five to ten minutes.” He read the packaging, then stared at Stevie, shaking his head. “I’m not waiting ten minutes.”

“We need to call 9-1-1, Rowd.”

“Shit. You’re right.”

He grabbed his phone from his back pocket, hitting the numbers.

“They put me on hold,” he said, checking the time.

Stevie’s thin, gasping breaths were both a relief and the stuff of nightmares.

Finally, God only knew how much longer later, Rowdy started talking to someone on the line. Checking the time, he continued to give directions as he grabbed the second EpiPen and calmly informed the 9-1-1 operator that he was administering the second pen into her other thigh.

He looked at me, scared. “She said to do what I think is best.”

I nodded, queasy and dizzy, my ears ringing. Rowdy put the call on speakerphone and prepared the second auto-injector. This injection seemed even more violent than the first, and a few more tears slipped from Stevie’s swollen eyes.

Seconds later, we heard a sound that I wouldn’t ever forget. A full, ragged breath, followed by a cry that absolutely broke my heart. I held her to my chest, my tears popping on her hair.

“How long till the ambulance gets here?” I asked the operator.

“Ten minutes.”

I turned to Rowdy and his incredulous look matched how I felt. No way they’d get all the way out here in that short a time.

“Should we just take her in?”

Rowdy shook his head. “If she gets worse, we won’t have anything to give her. We have to wait here.”

“Sir, I agree,” said the faceless voice on the phone. “The crew knows it’s anaphylaxis, and they are speeding.”

“Careful of the Devil’s Backbone,” I warned, breathless.

“Yes, sir. They have plenty of experience with that stretch of road.”

I looked down, taking in the way Stevie’s gangly legs spilled over the crook of my elbow, and her eyes, slightly less puffy, were tracking my face.

“Woody,” she said, lifting her hand. She cupped my face, and I blinked, finding it hard to focus on her.

She glanced to Rowdy.

“Oh, yeah,” Rowdy said to the operator. “I think we’re gonna need a second ambulance.”

“Sir, can you repeat that?”

“We’re gonna need a second ambulance. The guy who brought her in’s been stung at least a couple hundred times.”

The operator cursed. “Yes, sir. I’m diverting a nonemergency from Dripping Springs.”

I raised my eyebrows, or tried to. My face didn’t feel like my face anymore. “What?”

Rowdy gently took Stevie from my arms. “Woody, I need you to lay down.”

“What?” I asked again, confusion mounting.

“The venom, Woody. You need to slow down your heart rate. Lay down,” Rowdy softly commanded, glancing down at Stevie before sending me a pleading look.

Oh. Oh .

He seemed to think I was in some kind of trouble.

As if in a dream, I nodded, and even that simple movement made me wanna vomit. Instead, I lay down flat on my back.

Huh. Emery had put in a punched tin ceiling and painted it white. I wondered when he did that.

“Pretty,” I murmured as the room spun. I blinked and things got darker. “Stop spinning, goddammit.”

“Two dollars,” Stevie choked out.

Rowdy, still holding her, leaned forward, a worried look on his face. Was it already nighttime? Why was it so dark in here?

“Emery,” I whispered. He was never gonna forgive me for this.

I only had enough energy for one more blink, then shut my eyes for good.