In an Instant(17)

Tears freeze on his blistered cheeks, until finally he wipes them with the back of his frozen hands, turns, and staggers away. And as much as I hate him, part of me also understands. He is only a boy, and he is lost in a blizzard, and he doesn’t want to die. And if he stays, that is what will happen. Both of them will die. And so he takes one step away and then another.

After a dozen, he stops, and I watch as he realizes what he has done and his shame slams into him. He spins, his face a mask of panic as he squints into the swirling darkness, desperate to figure out the way back so he can undo it and reclaim the man he thought he was. But like so many things you wish you could undo, it is simply too late—his footprints are erased, and she is gone.

He thinks he sees the path and follows it, but he is a few degrees off: close but too far for her to hear him and too far for him to see her. I see them both and want to guide him, but though I am with him, he is alone and has no idea he is so near.

Finally, defeated and numb, he gives up, and I watch as he staggers back in the direction he believes is the right one, his only hope now for salvation to somehow find a way out so others can come back and save her.

As I watch, I consider for a moment that perhaps this is hell, an invisible and silent existence where you have no ability to help those you love, forced to watch them struggle and suffer. In life, I did not pray, and my family did not go to church, and I wonder if this is the reason for my damnation, punishment for not worshipping the way I should have or for not offering repentance for my sins.

I offer it now. With all my heart I pray, begging God to spare my family and Mo and Aunt Karen and Uncle Bob and Natalie and Vance and Kyle from any more suffering and to deliver me from this world, if not to heaven then at least to a place where I can find peace, to relieve my anguish and to save me from having to witness any more of the destruction of everything I love.

Chloe remains as she was, kneeling in the snow, her hands still in her pockets and her breath puffing in front of her.

Fight, Chloe, I plead. Please, Chloe. You have to. You have to try.

And she does. With heroic effort, she pushes to her feet, staggers to a great pine to her right, and slumps against it, sliding into a hollow at its base and curling into herself so she can rest.





12

Finally the eternal night begins to brighten from black to gray, and when it’s light enough for my mom to see her breath steam in front of her, she rolls stiffly from my dad and forces her frozen muscles to unfurl.

My dad is so pale I worry he’s dead, and grief begins to overtake me, but then Mo lifts herself as well, and he moans. I sniff back the tears and watch as my mom does the same.

Injuries from the accident have settled during the night, and this morning it is obvious that my mom is in serious pain, her body crimped at the waist from her damaged ribs. My dad’s face is swollen and so bruised he is unrecognizable. His jeans are black with blood and his breathing shallow. Uncle Bob pulls Natalie’s feet from the sleeves of his coat, a creative idea to stave off the freeze of her toes, and he winces as he lifts his damaged foot, his ankle swollen to twice its normal size.

The left side of Kyle’s face is bruised, and he rolls his shoulder to work out the soreness. Other than that, he seems okay. The others—Aunt Karen, Natalie, Mo, and Oz—are fine other than exhaustion, thirst, hunger, and cold.

Uncle Bob hops to the door, climbs onto the edge of the table, and manages to push it open, letting in a gush of cold air. He’s tall enough that his head sticks through the opening, but with only one leg, he’s not strong enough to hoist himself out. He fidgets uncomfortably, his bladder in obvious need of relief.

Kyle climbs onto the side of the bench beside him, makes his hands into a stirrup, and gives him a boost.

“You need to go to the bathroom?” Kyle asks Oz.

Oz nods, and Kyle says, “Come on then.”

“Bingo too,” Oz says.

“Bingo too.”

Mo watches, her eyes welling with Kyle’s kindness.

Oz doesn’t need a boost. He climbs onto the table edge, then easily pulls himself out. Kyle lifts Bingo, and Oz reaches down to pull the dog onto the camper. Then Kyle hoists himself out behind them and closes the door.

My mom examines my dad. She looks at his maimed leg and checks his pulse, and then, more tenderly than I’ve ever seen her with him, she brushes her lips over his. “I’m going to get help,” she whispers as she reaches into his pockets, pulls out his gloves, and tucks them beneath her coat.

For a flicker I wonder how she knew about them and why she didn’t wear them during the night, but the answer is in the slide of her eyes toward Mo, who still looks at the door where Uncle Bob, Kyle, and Oz disappeared a moment before. Trust. Mo told her about them. They trust each other, but neither entirely trusts the others.

The boys are back. Kyle comes in first and holds his arms out for Bingo, who Oz lowers, and then they help Uncle Bob.

“Stay out there, Oz,” Kyle says. “It’s the girls’ turn, and you need to help them up.”

Kyle gives each woman a leg up, and Oz pulls them out the door. Each time, Kyle says, “Good job, buddy,” and Oz grins with pride.

The blizzard is only half as bad as it was last night, and though still blustery and cold, it is possible to see the trees and to differentiate up from down.

Aunt Karen and Natalie finish their business quickly and hustle back into the camper. My mom holds Mo’s sleeve to keep her from following. Oz stands beside them, waiting to give them a boost onto the camper.