Cherry, Mia, and I are ready for turkey. Gobble, gobble.

Thanks for checking out Granma Dee's birthday one-shot. You ppl are amazing.

Readers- First person to make me gravy-covered cupcakes gets a shout-out!

(See what happens when you don't wake up at 7 am?) lol

Chapter Twenty: Concoctions & Compassion

The next day, it's time for Rowdy to go home.

I make sure I'm at the hospital as early as can be, before AJ hogs the bathroom and before Jessie starts wailing that she wants pancakes and not eggs.

Carlisle and the nurse are helping Rowdy put on his normal clothes, so Esme and I waste time in the waiting room, flipping through magazines.

"My boy sure is sweet on you," Esme says to break the silence.

I blush, my cheeks turning shades of red that love doesn't even come in. "I reckon. He just has a funny way of showing it."

"Too much pride," Esme replies. "Men are like that. They don't want any help when they need it the most. And he needs you, Cotton. You can get through to him. Get him talking about his feelings. When he's upset, he just won't speak to us. But he's different with you."

Not exactly, I want to say. I'd felt the wrath of his silence and it hurt more than anything I'd ever experienced before.

"'Sides," Esme continues. "It's going to be real hard for him coming home. We set up the downstairs so he has somewhere to sleep and can get back and forth, but I don't think he's going to like it too much."

"I suppose not." I didn't think about that. Rowdy can't go up and down stairs, he can't take walks outside, and he can't even use the restroom properly without someone helping him. He's free to go home, but he isn't free at all.

When I pray tonight, I'm going to ask God how come only the innocents are imprisoned? It seems like Rowdy hasn't done anything wrong, but yet he's locked up in his own body.

"Esme? Rowdy said the doctors could take the plasma out of his blood cells. What did he mean by that?"

"Plasmapheresis," she answers. "It means the plasma is the liquid part of the blood. For his syndrome, they want to remove the cells that are attacking his nerves. But it's expensive and we can't do it right now. Carlisle's going to work some extra hours and as soon I'm able, I'm going to find a job."

Esme shouldn't have to work; she's got Harley Gene to take care of, and Carlisle is already working sun up to sun down. There has to be something else they can do.

"Did you ask the church? I'm sure Reverend Weber would help."

"He did," Esme says, embarrassed. "They gave us most of that money from the fundraiser and at the time, it paid for all of Rowdy's medication. Now we've got these hospital bills, plus all those tests they ran…"

It wasn't enough, she wanted to say. It would never be enough. Rowdy would go on, getting sicker and sicker, and they would always play catch up. Only the rich could afford all these treatments.

Someone rich like…

A wide grin spreads across my face as I concoct a plan. Maybe the church couldn't afford to get Rowdy better, but there was one man in Mississippi who could.

I just happen to call him Papa.

.

.

.

Carlisle tosses my bike into the back of his rusty truck and the four of us squeeze into the cab like a can of sardines. Rowdy and I don't mind it though. He grins all the way home, talking excitingly about all of the real food he's going to eat. Esme joins in, saying she cooked him a big ol' pot of gumbo, with shrimp the boys caught themselves.

But life has a mission and its number one goal is to shred Rowdy to pieces.

"What the hell?" Carlisle curses, looking at the disturbing mass of vehicles and people that linger on his property.

They're there in droves, so many that cars and trucks and TV vans are parked all down our road. Carlisle has to squeeze through, his truck narrowly missing the ditch. Rowdy's face falls as he glances around in horror, possibly wondering how so many people could fit into his yard.

"Mama, what are they here for? I don't want to be interviewed!" He's like a scared child, and I don't blame him. I'm beyond infuriated that grown adults would ever think this was okay. Aren't there privacy rights? Didn't they think Rowdy already had a lot to cope with?

"Keep your head down, Son." Carlisle tells him. Esme fumbles behind her seat, finding a blanket that must have been used for hunting on cold, early mornings. She covers Rowdy with it, prepared to protect her child at all costs as Carlisle parks.

Carlisle and Esme open the side doors and the cameramen and reporters come running. Others are there too—members of the community, business owners, and all the church folk I've grown up with. A female news anchor is just off to the side being filmed.

"Forks County, we're live here at the Masen home where 16-year-old Edward 'Rowdy' Masen, has finally come home. According to witnesses who visited him more than a week ago, Edward has a rare autoimmune condition. The illness, Guillain-Barré syndrome, has left him paralyzed from the waist down. They also confirm he suffers from seizures, which they were able to see firsthand. For a small community where everyone knows everyone, this is extremely shocking. We've spoken to doctors who are not treating young Edward who can confirm that the disease is debilitating and death is possible…"

Esme and I struggle to help Carlisle lift Rowdy into his arms as church members step forward, snatching the microphone away.

"I tell ya, that boy is as sick as can be! Arriving in church, attending functions, and spreading his germs! How much longer 'fore the rest of us catch it? I've got a family to protect!"

"I've known his mother Esme since they day they moved here. Been keeping secrets, they have! What else don't we know about them?"

"I think Child Protection Services should come and take the boy! Just look at him! Child is living in filth and those parents don't have the right mind or the money to care for him. He needs a good home, with folks that care and ain't got a hundred other mouths to feed!"

We stumble through the crowd and when we arrive at the door, Jasper lets us in with people following directly behind us. Jasper tells me to hurry and tries to coax me inside, but I can't. I refuse to let the Masen name be tainted like this.

I tell him to shut the door, but he leaves it slightly open as I twist on my heels.

"My name is Annabella Rain Cotton Swan. But ere'body here just calls me Cotton…" Standing on the porch, I try to be strong even though I'm shaking from nerves. "I just wanted to say that Rowdy Masen and the Masen family are good people. Carlisle works himself to the bone trying to take care of his family. Esme had a baby and she still manages to care for her son. They may not have much, but they've got a lot more than the likes of you folks!

"You come around here with your judgments and lies and cameras, talking about stuff you don't know anything about! It's ignorant! How would you feel if this was your child? Your parent? Your brother? Your son? Show some compassion! He's sick with something he can't help! It's not contagious, it's a condition that's come upon him, but you know what? It ain't for him!

"My Ma once told me that when bad things happen to good people it's so that other folks can learn from it. So today, I hope you learn sympathy. I hope you learn love, respect, and the ability to give to others who don't have. And above all, I hope you learn kindness. Rowdy can't walk right now, but he knows how to be kind. And that's more than I can say for the lot of you folks. So I want you to leave! Don't you come back until the words you say do more good than evil!"

I begin to turn away from the shocked, open-mouth crowd, but I've got just one more thing to get off my chest.

"That fella there was right," I tell them, pointing to the man in overalls. "You think you're going to catch something, but I think you've already got it. It's starting at your toes, going up your legs, and right into your heart…"

The crowd looks side to side, wondering what disease has possibly befallen them.

"You keep it up—judging others with your ill will and hostility—and one day it's going to knock you right off of your feet. Rowdy may be unable to walk, but at least he isn't crippled with hatred. I pray to sweet Baby Jesus that you change your ways, Forks County. Otherwise, your bitterness is going to paralyze you all."