In an Instant(22)

At first he called out for my mom. When he was deep in the trees and utterly lost, he began to call for my dad.

For two hours Bingo has loyally trudged beside him, but now I watch as the dog groans and stops, sitting and then flopping down on his belly on a piece of snowless granite.

Oz looks down at him. “You tired, Bingo?”

Bingo puts his head between his paws and looks at Oz like he is sorry.

“It’s okay,” Oz says as he sits down beside him. “We’ll rest.”

Bingo is nearly eleven. A psychiatrist recommended we get a dog to keep Oz company, and the dog has been a fiercely devoted companion to my brother ever since.

Oz pulls the two packages of crackers from his pocket. One package he feeds to Bingo; the other he eats himself. Then he lifts Bingo’s head onto his lap, puts his freezing hands in his pockets, and tells the dog that things are going to be okay.





18

Mo is utterly alone now.

She continues to sit beside my dad, shivering, every few minutes forcing her fingers and toes to move and grimacing with the pain. Her eyes continually slide to the door as the minutes tick by, her panic growing as she realizes that something has gone horribly wrong and that Oz is not coming back.

Uncle Bob, Aunt Karen, and Natalie sit huddled together in the spot they’ve been since my mom and Kyle left, Natalie now wearing Oz’s gloves.

Natalie fidgets from Mo’s glance, sliding her hands beneath her thighs, then, a moment later, wedging them into her armpits, while Uncle Bob glares defiantly.

Mo looks away and sucks in her bottom lip, a habit she has when she is in trouble or caught in a lie. Guilt. Grief. Fear. All of the above.

Mo has a giant soft spot for my brother. Oz has always had a crush on her and constantly does sweet, dopey things to prove it. Last summer he spent over three hours and a year’s allowance at the fair throwing rings at bottles to win her a giant stuffed cheetah with spots shaped like hearts. The game was rigged and nearly impossible, but Oz was crazy determined because he knew Mo loved cheetahs. Finally the kid working the stand took pity on him and nudged a ring onto a bottle when Oz wasn’t looking. Oz’s grin when he gave Mo that cheetah was priceless.

Mo sniffs back the tears and wiggles her toes again, the pain temporarily stopping the emotions that threaten to overflow and destroy her.

Meanwhile, Uncle Bob’s guilt festers. He sits beside Aunt Karen seething, his agitation growing. I can see it, his shame like acid that consumes him before spoiling into anger. Mo knows he did something, and he knows Mo knows. I see his mind ticking. If they get out of this, when they get out of this, because she knows, others will find out. He didn’t consider that when he tricked Oz, but now he does. He sits beside his daughter and wife with nothing but miserable time to contemplate what will happen when they are saved.

Mo has now melted enough water that none of them are thirsty. Half the novel and the maps remain if they need to make more. It’s a sad realization to know that, had they all stayed calm, there would have been enough for everyone, including Bingo and Oz.

The afternoon settles into an excruciating monotony of awful existence, and the hope of being rescued before nightfall begins to fade. My mom and Kyle have been gone since morning. If they had been successful, help would have already arrived.

They all hold their dwindling faith differently. Mo worries over my dad, soothing him with quiet promises that help is on the way. He doesn’t respond. For hours he hasn’t moved, not even to moan. Natalie stares blankly ahead, no thoughts at all, relying wholly on her parents to worry for her. Aunt Karen’s mind spins endlessly and goes nowhere. Completely overwhelmed with the idea of being stranded for another night, she mutters in circles, “We need to get out of here. Maybe we should start a fire. No, we need to save our supplies. Maybe someone should look for Oz. We need to stay put. Someone’s going to find us. Oh God, we won’t make it another night . . .” Every half hour she pulls off Natalie’s boots and rubs her daughter’s toes, murmuring about circulation and blood flow. I wish she would shut up. I think everyone wishes she would shut up. Uncle Bob has given up on responding and just lets her blather, his mind now occupied with the shifting future and the looming reality of facing another night in the cold and the hard choices that will need to be made. I watch as his eyes slide to my dad, roaming over his North Face jacket, his wool hat, his jeans, and his snow boots.

Mo shifts slightly, obstructing his view.

“We need to get out of here,” Aunt Karen wails.

Uncle Bob doesn’t answer. He’s already explained half a dozen times that leaving is not an option. Five have tried, and none have returned. Uncle Bob is a smart man. Five of the ten who survived the accident remain, his wife and daughter among them.

The minutes tick toward another night of hell, and the factors and probabilities for survival continue to shift, Uncle Bob’s eyes sliding again to my dad, his face unreadable as he studies the thin mist puffing from my dad’s lips, the only proof he’s still alive.





19

There is no celebration when Kyle and my mom finally reach the road, only the briefest shared pause and tremble of relief.

Now that they are on solid ground, the scarf between them is untied, and they quicken their pace. Every few minutes my mom pulls out her phone to check for service, and twenty minutes later, the screen mercifully lights up with a single bar, and her eyes leak with gratefulness.