In an Instant(31)

Mrs. Kaminski studies her for a long moment before answering the question with one of her own. “Natalie is not hurt?”

“No,” Aunt Karen answers. “She was lucky.”

Mrs. Kaminski’s eyes remain steady on Aunt Karen’s as she says, “Maureen was lucky as well, though perhaps not as lucky as Natalie, whose fingers and toes are fine. Yes?”

Aunt Karen nods, her concern for Mo stiffening as Mrs. Kaminski continues to look at her for a long moment before saying, “I shudder when I think how cold it must have been out there, and how scared my daughter must have been.”

Aunt Karen shifts her weight.

“Have you seen Maureen’s toes?” Mrs. Kaminski says.

Aunt Karen swallows as she shakes her head.

“They are worse than her fingers.” She looks at Aunt Karen’s feet. “Her toes cannot bear weight like yours.”

I feel Aunt Karen curling her toes inside her shoes.

Natalie’s seven-hundred-dollar coat turned out to be worth every penny. The long, thick down not only protected Natalie from the cold but spared her parents’ feet as well, Aunt Karen and Uncle Bob able to wedge their shoes beneath it.

“Her fingers are still mostly white,” Mrs. Kaminski goes on. “Which I’m told is good. The paleness means only the skin was frozen. Black is bad: it means the circulation was cut off in order to conserve heat for the vital organs.”

Aunt Karen swallows, and the color drains from her face.

“Maureen’s toes are mostly black. Like stone. As if made of hardened lava instead of flesh and bone.”

She stops, her eyes remaining on Aunt Karen’s for a full second before she goes on. “It is hard to imagine the cold that caused that. But yes, as you say, our daughters were lucky. I need to remind myself of that, of how lucky they were.”

Aunt Karen opens her mouth as if to say something, but Mrs. Kaminski isn’t done. Her words honed like daggers, she says, “Every second I sit in that room, I remind myself that my daughter is here while Finn is dead and that we are lucky. But when I look at Maureen’s toes and I think of the cold, I can’t help but also think of Natalie and wonder why my daughter’s toes are so black while your daughter’s are not. And I think, if it is luck, then luck is cruel and unfair. Both of them were in that camper, both of them cold and scared, both wore boots that did not protect them, and yet only my daughter is in danger of losing her toes, and it is hard for me to understand why your daughter was so lucky and mine was not.”

Not waiting for a response, she pivots and returns into the room, leaving Aunt Karen alone and trembling in the hall. I watch as she reaches for the wall to steady herself, her breath shallow as she sucks air through her open mouth and shakes her head as if trying to wake herself from a dream.

I always wondered how it was possible that Mo was Mrs. Kaminski’s daughter, how such a mild-mannered woman could be the parent of such a spitfire. Now I know. Appearances are deceiving, and people are not who they seem. Aunt Karen will never again look at Natalie’s toes without thinking of Mo or look in a mirror without hearing Mrs. Kaminski’s words: It is hard for me to understand why your daughter was so lucky and mine was not. Mrs. Kaminski is not meek, and Aunt Karen is not caring and generous, though if you ask a thousand people who know them, almost all would disagree.





34

If Mo was not as lucky as Natalie, Chloe was outright damned.

The doctors are careful not to tell the truth to the loved ones, their honesty reserved for when they talk among themselves. Chloe is going to lose some toes and possibly some fingers. How many is not clear, but they will not be able to save them all. They are also concerned about her ears, and a plastic surgeon has been called in to consult.

I leave the doctors in the hallway and return to her room to see for myself how she is doing. I am there only a minute when she jerks suddenly and her eyes fly open. Her pupils dart from side to side, her face twisted in panic, and then she collapses back to the pillow and slips away again.

“What was that?” Aubrey asks.

“Fear,” my mom mumbles, sliding her chair closer and taking hold of Chloe’s wrist above her bandaged hand to let her know she is there. She touches her carefully, as though she might shatter, which she looks like she might. Chloe’s skin is so white it looks like crystal and her body so small beneath the sheet it appears brittle as twigs. Chloe mumbles, and my mom’s brow furrows. Only I understand what she said, and it makes my eyes bulge and my heart pound. Clearly she said, Black boots, red stitching.

Chloe groans, waking again, this time more slowly and writhing in pain.

“Get the nurse,” my mom barks, and Aubrey leaps up and darts from the room. Then softly to Chloe, she says, “I’m here, baby. Mom is here.”

Chloe pulls her wrist from my mom’s hand and squeezes her eyes shut, begging to return to unconsciousness, and mercifully a nurse charges forward and injects something into her IV that answers her prayer.





35

I go to Oz. Chloe heard me—black boots, red stitching. In her sleep, she heard me.

I curl beside him and tell him I am here. I tell him about Chloe being found and that she is going to be okay. I tell him Dad is in the hospital and has been asking about him and that Bingo is safe. I tell him how good he did and that he was a big help. I tell him that thanks to him, Mom was found and that his trail led the rescuers to her. I tell him how special he is and how strong and brave. I tell him how much he is loved and how much he will be missed. I tell him about heaven and that it is a beautiful place with no rules and that no one gets mad at you if you make a mistake. I tell him he can put marshmallows on all his food, even steak if he wants, and that all the angels are as pretty as Mo and that they have beautiful gold wings and that they love to have water fights and build snowmen. I talk until the blackness lightens to gray and the horizon glows.