In an Instant(62)

Only Bob is unaffected. He sleeps easy, his dreams undisturbed. Each day he goes to his office, jokes with his patients, and flirts with his hygienists. Then he drives his BMW to his home, where his wife dotes on him, the world applauds him as a hero, and my mom is falling in love with him.

He killed my brother.





73

When Mo walks from the sheriff’s office to the pizza parlor down the street for lunch, I decide to check on my mom and Chloe.

Chloe isn’t home. She’s at Aubrey’s apartment working on the playlist for the wedding. The concert inspired her, and she is unsuccessfully trying to convince Aubrey how cool it would be to integrate some classical pieces into the mix.

I leave the debate to look in on my mom and groan when I find myself in the backyard looking at her and Bob sitting at the patio table, a bottle of wine and chicken-salad sandwiches between them. The kittens play in the grass, their eyes now open. With their sight, they’ve gained confidence, and they romp and wrestle and provide endless entertainment.

“They’re so frisky,” my mom says.

“They’re not the only ones,” Bob says, rubbing his bare foot against my mom’s calf under the table, causing her to giggle and me to cringe.

Thankfully the phone rings, disrupting them. My mom goes inside to answer it, and Bob gets down on the grass to play with the kittens. He taunts Brutus with a long strand of grass, causing the little fur ball to leap and spin and somersault. Finn jumps into the action, tackling Brutus as she swats at the blade. I really like that cat, Titanic-size spunk in a dinghy-size package.

Through the glass, I see my mom’s shoulders tighten, and I go inside to see what’s going on.

She glances over her shoulder at Bob, who is now on all fours growling at Brutus. “That can’t be right,” she says into the phone. “Mo must be mistaken. He wouldn’t have done that.”

My mom’s laptop is on the counter beside her. She opens it as she continues to listen. “Captain, read me the web address of the article again.”

The image appears, the same photo Burns pulled from the file earlier when talking to Mo—Bob, center stage with Natalie behind him. My mom stares, her eyes fixed on the purple spot of Natalie’s hand. Her brow pinches, and then the receiver drops from her hand, and she stumbles to lean against the counter.

“Everything okay?” Bob says, appearing behind her, his arms wrapping around her shoulders.

She steps away, breaking his hold. “You took his gloves?” she stammers as she turns to face him, her eyes sliding back to the spot of purple on the screen.

Bob follows her gaze, and the grin drops from his face as his Adam’s apple lodges in his throat. “He gave them to me,” he says.

Like mercury in a thermometer, color rises in my mom’s face. “Go,” she says through clenched teeth.

“Ann . . .”

“Now,” she growls, her hands balling into fists.

“Ann, he gave them to me. I swear. He said he was going to look for you, and he handed me his gloves. I don’t know why he did it, but he did. Then he took off before I could stop him.”

He reaches for her, and she stumbles out of his reach.

“Out!” she orders. She knows, just as I know, just as Mo knows, that Oz never gave anything to anyone ever. Mine was his favorite word, his temperament and sharing mentality that of a two-year-old.

Bob stands his ground, his eyes skittering side to side as he searches for a plausible explanation.

I see my mom reach for the bottle of wine on the counter, her hand wrapping around the heavy glass.

“Ann . . . ,” he starts.

As if her name is a trigger, the bottle rises and swings down, and Bob stumbles back as his arm lifts to defend himself. The glass shatters against his forearm, red wine exploding everywhere. She raises the bloody weapon again, and Bob spins and flees.

Before the door closes, my mom has slumped to the ground, her body convulsing with sobs as she realizes what she has done.





74

Tentatively, Mo drives through the gusting gray weather. The temperature now hovers at forty-eight, and the storm clouds have closed ranks to darken the early afternoon to an eerie dusk. The wind slaps the car with irregular bursts and slams, causing Mo’s shoulders to hitch up around her ears and her speed to slow to a crawl, and by the time she pulls into the parking lot of Snow Summit Ski Resort, she’s a wreck. She puts the car in park and rests her head against her hands on the steering wheel.

Her boots are Sorel hiking boots designed to withstand the cold of Mount Everest, and her jacket is a North Face parka guaranteed to insulate against temperatures as low as twenty below. Before she steps from the car, she pulls on ear warmers, a hat, and Gore-Tex gloves. In her trunk are granola bars, a case of water, and a massive first aid kit.

The lady at the lift-ticket window directs her to chairlift three.

Kyle sees her before she sees him, as if her presence has triggered an alarm in his brain and has caused him to look up and scan around to find her. His head tilts with surprise, and a smile fills his face. He taps the shoulder of the other lift operator and says something that causes the girl to look at Mo; she nods and gives Kyle an encouraging shove in Mo’s direction.

He hurries past the snowboarders and skiers waiting in the lift line to get to Mo, who is cautiously trudging up the snowy slope.