The days ran together since the helicopter landed and the medical crew checked me into Metropolitan Hospital. Surgeons diagnosed x-rays. Nurses monitored charts. And I got a steady diet of pureed foods, juice and gelatin. Although I did get to watch as much television as I wanted.

My bones healed, the stitches dried up and I learned more details of that night in Scarlborough. The white hat kid—-his name was Joseph I learned—-was filled with as much rage as painkillers, but my desperation dragged him into the oncoming truck. Had he let go or had my t-shirt not tore away in his hand, the results may have been different.

Dad arrived on the day of my release. Word traveled slowly to wherever he was hiding, but he came back the second he learned of my condition. The police had arrested the other two connected to the white hat kid, allowing my dad to come back without risk of our safety.

“How’s it going?” he asked, sneaking into the room and smiling cautiously.

“Better,” I said.

Kaylee shuffled into the room. An unfamiliar frown was on her face. Dad rested his hand the top of her head. She had spent the last ten days sleeping in Aunt Helen’s basement on her own. She asked if she could go back to Camp Chokochakee. They said no.

Half way into the car ride home, dad turned down the radio to tell us he had a job offer somewhere on the coast, near where my sister and I were born. Kaylee cheered.

“I’ve got all out stuff packed,” dad continued. “And I thought a celebratory dinner would be nice.”

Kaylee cheered again. I didn’t. I was happy we were going home, but knowing what was destined for the menu, I was more concerned with ways to discard the dreaded corned beef. And this time, I’d shut the garage door.