In an Instant(70)

“Do you remember any of this?” Burns asks my dad when he is done.

My dad shakes his head. “I remember asking Oz to take care of Bingo. Oz was good if he had a purpose. He would have taken the responsibility very seriously.”

“How seriously?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, was Oz dangerous?”

“He was thirteen,” my dad says.

“But he was big for his age, yes?”

“Bob’s forty-five and a man. Oz wasn’t that big.”

“Bob was hurt, his ankle severely sprained.”

My dad stands suddenly, drawing himself up to his full height. “My leg is broken—you think I couldn’t control a thirteen-year-old?”

Burns remains sitting. “Sit down, Jack. I’m not excusing what Bob did, just trying to understand it.”

My dad’s fists are balled at his sides. “Bob took Oz’s gloves and sent him to his death. What more is there to understand? My son was thirteen. Thirteen!”

Burns nods, yet he repeats his question. “Was he dangerous?”

My dad shakes his head and slumps back to his seat. “Oz was just protecting Bingo like I asked him to. All Bob needed to do was distract him.”

“Because otherwise, what would happen?”

Vance speaks up for the first time. “Because otherwise Oz would have gotten upset. Oz wasn’t your typical thirteen-year-old. Oz was big and really strong, and when he got mad, it was hard to calm him down.” Vance’s hands are clenched on his knees, his head shaking as if trying to clear whatever’s in it. “And what happened . . . what Bob did . . . it’s not like he was sitting here like the two of you and thinking rationally, telling himself, I just need to distract Oz and everything will be fine. It’s freezing, and you’re freaked out, and you’re thinking, Shit, I’m going to die, we’re all going to die, both of us. I can’t save us. I can’t save her and me. I can only hope to save myself—but then the next minute, you change your mind, but it’s too late, because when you turn back, the snow has already swallowed up the decision, and you can’t change it . . .” He stops, his breath coming in big gulps and his shoulders quaking. Then his eyes wander around the room until they find my dad and Burns looking at him. “I bet Bob wishes he would have done it different, but sometimes, you just make the wrong damn choice.”





82

The kittens are old enough to drink on their own, so today Chloe and Finn will say goodbye to Brutus and his sisters, whom Chloe has aptly named Lindsay and Britney for their continual poor decision-making. The two kittens each have used up at least three of their nine lives.

Finn meows up a storm as her brother and sisters are taken from the crate and put into a cardboard box. Chloe sniffles a little as she carries them to the car.

She sniffles even more when she carries them into the shelter.

The boy who greets her is not much older than she is. His hair is dreadlocked, long, and the color of old wheat, his eyes sharp and dark as onyx. Tall and thin, he wears leather sandals, two dozen colorful woven bracelets, and a T-shirt that says MY KARMA RAN OVER MY DOGMA.

“What do we have here?” he says as Chloe sets the box on the counter.

She lifts the lid, waving her deformity around like a flag and pretending not to care, challenging the kid to react. The boy barely glances at her stubby pinky.

“Oh, look how young.” He strokes Britney, then lifts her up. She twists awkwardly, nearly squirreling out of the boy’s hands and using up another of her lives. “Shhh,” he soothes, and amazingly, she does. The kid is a cat whisperer, or something like that. Britney nudges his hand with her nose, then licks his palm.

“You nursed them?” he says.

“How’d you know?”

“Kittens this young don’t normally take to humans so quickly.” He looks away from Britney and straight at Chloe and gives a crooked grin. “Impressive.”

“Thanks,” she says, a blush rising in her cheeks.

“You want a job?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, obviously you like animals enough to save three kittens, and obviously you’re good with them and had the time to take care of them, and it’s Monday and you’re not in school, and we need help during the week. So are you looking for a job?”

“I’m not a dropout,” she defends.

Technically this is true. Chloe has until the end of summer to complete her coursework and take her exams, though she has yet to crack open a book.

The kid shrugs. “Don’t care if you are or aren’t, just stating the facts. It’s the middle of the day on a Monday, and now that you’re done helping out these little guys, you probably have some time on your hands.”

Chloe’s brows slash over her eyes, miffed at his presumption that she has no life, and I watch as a grin spreads across his face and as his eyebrows arch, baiting her to tell him he has it wrong, and amazingly, her anger vanishes into a giggle.

He’s positively charming.

I look closer at him. He’s kind of cute, or was at one time, or could be again if he got a haircut and shaved the tufts of brown fuzz on his face that stick out like mold spores on his cheeks and chin. He has a nice profile, with a long greek nose and high cheekbones. He’s one of those people you don’t realize is good looking until suddenly you do.