Alan gingerly tugged loose the sheet and began, awkwardly, to wrap it around his brother, ignoring the grit of shed skin and hair that clung to his fingers.
Mimi shook him by the shoulder hard, and he realized she’d been shaking him for some time. “You can’t do that here,” she said. “Would you listen to me? You can’t do that here. Someone will see.” She held something up. His keys.
“I’ll back it up to the trailhead,” she said. “Close the trunk and wait for me there.”
She got behind the wheel and he sloped off to the trailhead and stood, numbly, holding the lump on his forehead and staring at a rusted Coke can in a muddy puddle.
She backed the car up almost to his shins, put it in park, and came around to the trunk. She popped the lid and looked in and wrinkled her nose.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll get him covered and we’ll carry him up the hill.”
“Mimi—” he began. “Mimi, it’s okay. You don’t need to go in there for me. I know it’s hard for you—”
She squeezed his hand. “I’m over it, Andy. Now that I know what’s up there, it’s not scary any longer.”
He watched her shoulders work, watched her wings work, as she wrapped up his brother. When she was done, he took one end of the bundle and hoisted it, trying to ignore the rain of skin and hair that shook off over the bumper and his trousers.
“Up we go,” she said, and moved to take the front. “Tell me when to turn.”