In an Instant(55)

My dad frowns at Vance’s hope. “So, pain me as it does, Chloe needs to see you so she can get over it. But unfortunately, right now, you’re more loser than punk, and that’s not going to cut it.”

“And if I refuse?” Vance says.

“There’s the door. Same door that was there last night. Same door that will be there tonight and tomorrow and the day after that.”

Vance turns the choice in his mind, then pushes to his feet. “When do I get to see her?” he says, and my heart swells with how much he still loves my sister.

“When you find Oz.”





66

I know I promised not to visit the dreams of those I love anymore, but I can’t help it. Mo’s having a tough time because of what Natalie told her, and Mo and I have always helped each other out when it comes to Natalie. Even in death, that girl is a royal pain in my rear.

Mo doesn’t know what to do with Natalie’s confession about Bob trading crackers for Oz’s gloves. The exaggerations and lies Natalie has been telling, Mo was willing to let go, knowing Natalie’s diarrhea of the mouth would run its course and that everyone would eventually grow tired of it. But in the same way the gloves disturbed Mo as she sat in the camper waiting for rescue, they disturb her now, and she doesn’t know what to do with it.

My dad is in Big Bear. Chloe is fragile. And my mom and Bob are thick as thieves. She considers telling her own mom, but Mrs. Kaminski wouldn’t want Mo to get involved. She’s a practical woman. Oz is dead; what good would come of it?

Mo tries to tell herself this, but her conscience is haunted. Perhaps it’s because her own guilt over what happened to Oz weighs on her. She knew something had happened that caused Bob to have the gloves and that caused Oz not to return. She knew it then and did nothing; she knows more now, and it eats at her to do nothing again.

If I were alive, I’d deal with it in the way I always deal with things. I’d tell the world what Bob did, how he sent Oz into the cold and manipulated him out of his gloves. I’d drive through the streets with a megaphone and broadcast it, describing the cowardice and selfishness of all the Golds. And everyone would believe me because I have one of those straightforward personalities that people believe. So if I were alive, that’s what I’d do. But Mo isn’t me, and calling someone out in public isn’t her style, so when she goes to sleep, I sneak into her dream and offer a suggestion that will work for her.

My whisper is simple and disguised as a breath. “Write it. Write the truth.”





67

My dad and Vance stand in the awful spot where it all began: the narrow curve in the road where we saw the deer and life changed. Though today the road is clear of snow, and so is the sky, and there is no deer in sight. It doesn’t feel dangerous or remarkable, just a bend in a road like a million other bends in a million other roads.

“This will be our base camp,” my dad says. From the back of Vance’s truck, he pulls out a harness and a long line of rope.

Vance is outfitted to the nines, wearing so many layers his face is beaded with sweat. “We’re going down from here?” he says with a glance down the sheer cliff of rock.

“You’re going down. I’m out of commission,” my dad says with a glance at his braced leg. “You’ll rappel down, then work a grid reconnaissance to look for Oz.”

Vance shakes his head and looks at my dad like he is nuts. Vance is a boy from suburban Orange County who grew up without a dad. He’s never been camping or mountain climbing, and his idea of outdoor adventure is hoofing it to Starbucks because his truck is in the shop.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he says. “Several problems with your plan, Mr. Miller. First, there’s no way I’m going down there by myself. Second, I have no fingers to do this rappelling thing. And third, there’s no way I’m going down there by myself.”

“That’s only two problems,” my dad says, adjusting the harness. “Rappelling is easy; it’s the climbing-back-up part that’s hard. You still have most of your fingers, so you should be fine.”

“Should is not an encouraging word.”

“Worst that will happen is you’ll fall a few feet.”

“Not happening.”

My dad sighs. “First things first. You need to learn how to secure an anchor into the mountain. You’ll carry rope with you, tie on, rappel down, then do it again until you reach the accident site. Four lengths should get you there.”

Vance rolls his eyes like this is never going to happen, but what he doesn’t realize is that my dad has that look in his eyes, the one he gets when he is determined. And once my dad gets that look in his eyes, nothing is going to change his mind. So Vance had better pay attention because, whether Vance agrees or not, whether he thinks this is totally nuts or not, after the lesson, he is going down that cliff, even if my dad needs to throw him over the edge to get him there.





68

My mom has taken up running. It’s not jogging; that is too gentle a term for what she does. Arms and legs pumping, each day she races through the streets and onto the path that winds beside the golf course, tearing along the asphalt until it’s impossible for her to catch hold of another breath; then she stumbles to a stop, wheezing and dizzy, her hands on her thighs as she gasps.