In an Instant(77)

I watch as he sets the food—nine wings and nine celery sticks—on a plate. Just one plate. Carrying it to the couch, he turns on the television, and I take my spot beside him, imagining the smell and taste of the chicken wings and feeling very sorry for myself.

It happens in the eighth inning. Albert Pujols hits a homer to drive in two runs and tie the game, and my dad’s fist punches the air in victory. For a miraculous moment, he forgot about us, and my heart both celebrates and seizes at the breakthrough. My dad yanks his fist down as a flash of guilt crosses his face, causing my own guilt to rage. No! I cry. Be happy.

And maybe God is listening because in the next inning, with two outs, Kole Calhoun rips a double off the wall, and again my dad can’t help but feel alive and applauds with the audience. He leans forward, and I lean in with him as Mike Trout steps to the plate. I can’t think of another player I’d want more at the dish.

“Come on, Trout,” my dad says.

It’s a three-balls, two-strikes count.

Please don’t walk him.

The delivery.

The ball is outside and low.

Trout swings and connects, a blooper between first and second.

Calhoun takes off, pumping it around the bases.

Joe Panik goes back as Andrew McCutchen runs in from right field.

Panik dives and doesn’t get there, and the ball falls inches from his glove.

McCutchen hurls it home, but the throw is too late.

The chicken wings and celery sticks are gone. Our mojo worked. The Angels won.

“We did it, Oz,” my dad says with another fist pump just as the door opens and my mom walks through.

Bingo leaps up as my dad turns to look at her.

My mom scans the scene, taking in the empty plate on the coffee table and the clicker set beside where Oz used to sit, and her eyes slide to my dad’s.

“I’m going for a run,” she says, walking past, her jaw tight, and my dad lowers his fist, and desperately I wish she would have walked in one minute later.

By the time she comes down in her running clothes, my dad is gone. He is in the garage talking to my jersey and telling me about the game. My mom glances at the door and hears him mumbling, and with a heavy sigh, she sets off, sprinting through the streets until she can’t catch a breath.

An hour later, she stumbles home to find my dad in the kitchen washing the dishes he used to make his chicken wings.

“They’re gone,” my mom says.

He doesn’t turn, and only the tightness of his shoulders betrays that he heard her.

“You need to get past it,” she continues. “If you insist on dredging it up constantly, then it will never be behind us.”

The glass dish he’s washing squeaks as he presses too hard with the sponge.

My mom inhales deeply, then sighs. “If you want me to clean out the garage, I will.”

He whirls, causing water to slosh from the sink. His eyes dark, he says, “Stay out of there. They’re gone but not forgotten, and I don’t need to get past it. Unlike you, I can’t just forget them. I won’t forget them, and they will never be behind me.”

My mom pivots and marches away, her hands balled at her sides, and I tremble. Five days. That’s how long they made it before it all fell apart again.





89

It’s Sunday. The shelter is closed to the public, and no one is there except Chloe, Eric, and the animals. They go about their business of cleaning the cages and tending to the animals, both pretending that them being alone together is no big deal.

Halfway through the morning, Chloe makes her move. She will probably claim it was Eric who moved first, but it was definitely her. Eric sets a crate against the wall, and she walks toward him, a mischievous grin on her face.

“What?” he says.

With a lack of inhibition that awes me, she backs him against the crate, causing him to sit down, and then she steps between his legs and kisses him. He does not seem like a boy with much experience, and at first he looks a bit frozen and shocked. Fortunately, he is a quick learner, and his arms wrap around her waist to pull her to him. He is a man starved and now confronted with a feast, and his mouth opens to devour hers.

“Slowly,” she says with a giggle as she pulls away, and then she smiles coyly. “We have all day.” My heart nearly pounds out of my chest. I had no idea my sister was so sexy.

She lifts her T-shirt over her head, revealing an indigo-blue bra so dark her skin glows against it, and despite her admonition, Eric ravages her again, first with his eyes and then with his lips, causing her to laugh out in delight.

With surprising strength, he stands, lifting her with him. And with her legs wrapped around his hips and their mouths attached, he carries her to the cot beside the stacks of dog food. He pulls off her sneakers and then her socks. She tenses as her toes are revealed, but Eric doesn’t notice. He sees her wounds but pays them no mind, his attention already moving back up her body and his mouth back to her lips.





90

It had been a week since my mom and dad fought: seven nights that my mom had slept in Aubrey’s old room instead of her own. But last night my mom decided she’d had enough. Dressed in pj shorts and a thin T-shirt that showed her nipples, she walked from Aubrey’s room to her own, stopped at the threshold to smooth her hair, and stepped inside.

This morning, they wake in each other’s arms.