by Sandi Ward
He is sick. Under severe stress. Something is wrong.
I meow! If I can get him to pick me up, maybe I can listen to his heart properly through his chest. And that will let me know if he’s okay.
“C’mere, funny face.” He reaches out to pick me up with two hands so he can hold me while he watches Annika twist a corkscrew into the top of the bottle. He tucks my tail under and curls me against his chest. “You’re a cutie.” I close my eyes while he rubs the top of my head, between the ears.
I listen. And feel for it. I can sense his heartbeat through the waffle texture of his thermal shirt. The muffled beat.
Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump.
Everything sounds okay. Yet . . .
My nose twitches.
I feel dizzy. It’s not his heart that’s the problem. But I can smell sickness. Something deep in his body is not right.
I bury my head in the cloth of Danny’s shirt. This is awful. What in the world is wrong with him?
What if he dies suddenly, like Peter did? Oh! The heartache is too much.
Danny lowers me gently onto the floor so he can take a wineglass from my woman, and I begin pacing. Suddenly the kitchen doesn’t feel right to me anymore. I’m agitated and overheated.
I trot away from the humans and slink under a chair. And then I feel it—Peter crouching down next to me. Just remembering he’s here helps me calm down considerably.
I know you feel guilty, Luna. But my death isn’t your fault.
I was there, Peter. I could have done more. I could have tried to save you. At least Donovan tried, once he found you.
He shakes his head. No, it’s not anyone’s fault. It’s just something that happened.
But I should have—
His hand moves down my back, and while I cannot feel his touch, my heartbeat slows. Luna. You can’t cling to guilt the rest of your life. Life is too short for that. Believe me, I should know.
I peer up at him, wide-eyed. This is all good to hear. But I’m still sorry.
Danny tries to get the others to have wine with him, but they turn him down. “Cheers,” he says anyway, lifting the glass before taking a big drink.
“It’s nice you guys work together now.” Annika looks at Sam. “Last I heard, you went out to UCLA to get an engineering degree.”
“Oh, yeah. Well.” Sam looks stricken, and the color drains from his face. “I did get that degree. I did. Took me five years. But . . . I got a job in a corporate office, and it wasn’t a lot of fun. I was bored and couldn’t see myself there long-term. California didn’t suit me anyway. So I came back east and started working in the public works department for the town of Newton, which I did for years. But then my dad called and said he needed me to move home to help out.” He pauses. “It’s not exactly what I imagined for myself back in high school. I mean, it’s not really—”
“That’s nice, Sam. I’m sure you guys have a great time together. I bet it’s fun to be here and work with your family.”
He relaxes and smiles. “I guess so. I mean, being back home isn’t the worst thing in the world, right?”
Annika beams back at him. It’s the first genuine, relaxed smile I’ve seen her give since the men arrived. “You know what? I’m glad you’re here,” she says. “I never would have imagined you here in my kitchen in the middle of this snowstorm.” She pokes Sam’s arm for emphasis. “You’re the first person I’ve run into from high school since moving here. I don’t think many of our classmates are left.”
“There’s a couple. Maybe four or five in town. I can help you connect with a few people, if you want.” Sam nudges her with an elbow. He’s standing very close to my woman, and—now, this is interesting—she hasn’t moved away. “But I’m glad you ran into me first.”
Danny watches Sam, an eyebrow raised. When Sam catches his brother staring at him, he adopts a neutral look on his face and slides a few inches away from Annika.
“Maybe we should get back out there, before we get too comfortable in here,” Danny suggests gently.
Out? Must they go back out now? I’m worried about Danny. I don’t think he should be going back out into the howling bitter wind and snow.
“One more for the road.” Danny refills and drinks fast. Sam frowns, but doesn’t say a word.
I come out from under the chair and meow! But the men start back down the hallway toward the front door. They pull on their coats and begin to bundle up with scarves and hats.
I follow them and HOWL. Hey! It’s too cold! This is ridiculous. These men shouldn’t go out there in this severe weather. Danny is sick, and he seems to have no idea. He should be home, in bed, getting proper care and taking pills, like Annika does when she doesn’t feel well. I wonder how it’s possible Danny doesn’t know his body is damaged. Doesn’t he feel it? Aren’t there always aches, pains, or telltale signs that let humans know they’re sick?
YEOW!
“Luna!” Annika scolds me. “Shhh. They have work to do.” She turns toward the men. “Sorry. She’s very loud sometimes.”
Umm . . . yes, I am. I have something to say!
When Sam yanks open the door, I scamper away. I don’t want that cold air biting at my nose and delicate whiskers. I sprint to the front window and perch myself on the windowsill so I can look out. I can hardly see anything. Snow batters the glass and has started to pile up, blocking my view.
Eventually, I see lights flashing. I hear the low grumble of an engine and the sound of men’s voices yelling into the wind in the distance.
The house itself is quiet once the men are gone, other than the sound of the twins upstairs. When I touch my nose to the glass, the window is freezing. I’m happy to be inside.
* * *
A while later, the red front door swings open, hard. I watch from the couch. Sam lumbers in, wrapped in layers and coated in chunks of snow.
“Everything okay?” Annika strides down the hall from the kitchen.
“Annie, does Rich keep any sand or salt in the garage? We ran out.”
Annika rubs her hands together. “I have no idea. I’m sorry.” She pauses. “You can call me Annika now. I don’t really go by Annie anymore.”
Sam stops short. “Oh. Sure. Sorry.” Delilah’s voice carries down the stairs as she talks to Donovan about something with enthusiasm. “Do you think we could get a bucket of water? Lukewarm? The handle on the truck is frozen.”
I feel bad. Sam is making a lot of requests. Annika likes things quiet, not chaotic. I don’t appreciate Sam stressing her out.
But after I take another glance at Sam’s face, my heart softens. After all, his older brother is ill. And from the way Sam looks at my woman, I can see he needs her help. He’s covered in ice, like a snowman.
“Of course.” Her heels click on the tile as she walks down to the kitchen. “I’m sorry this has turned into such an ordeal,” she calls over her shoulder.
Hopefully the men will get their truck going and be on their way shortly. But I know in my heart that this storm is a long way from over.
Prone to Exaggeration
ANNIKA
I can’t believe Sam Parsons is standing on my front mat, melting snow dripping from his boots and gloves.
He yells to me, “Do you need anything? Milk or bread? If we get the truck going, I can bring you whatever you need tomorrow.”
I glance down at Luna, who sits at my feet by the kitchen sink. She watches me warily. I understand how put out she must feel. We don’t usually have strangers in the house.
“No, thanks, I think we’re okay,” I shout, so Sam can hear me. I roll up my sleeves, locate a bucket under the sink, and fill it.
I make my way back toward the front door, where Sam is looking down into his phone. It gives me a moment to study him.
Sam has taken off his hat and face mask. When he was in high school, he had a mop of brown hair, a little too long. It’s now shorter, and I can see more of his face. I always thought he was good looking. It’s hard to be p
opular in high school without being attractive in some way, isn’t that true? Objectively speaking, he’s fine to look at. Yet it took me a while to fall in love with him. When you’ve known a boy since kindergarten, he seldom becomes appealing to you personally, I suppose because you know all of his quirks and faults. I could see why some girls thought he was cute; but at the same time, I couldn’t see it—not at first, anyway—because my history with him got in the way.
Oh, for the love of God. Why am I thinking about this now? Sam is older, that’s the truth. He’s the same person, with more years on him. There’s some gray in his hair, there are wrinkles around his eyes, and I’m sure he has a wife and five kids and that’s that.
When he sees me coming, waddling as I try to carry the heavy bucket with two hands, Sam puts the phone back in his pocket and starts to pull his gloves on. “Thanks.” He steps up to take the bucket from me. “I’ve gotta get back out there. Danny is going to give me hell if I spend too much time in here warming up with you.”
I glance out the front window and see the truck headlights in the distance. But I’m not sure the headlights have actually moved since the last time I checked. “How’s it going with the truck?”
He shakes his head. “Not great.” Sam shifts the bucket from one hand to the other and puts it down at his feet. “Look, Annika. While we have a minute, I just want to say—I’m sorry. For the way things went on prom night. I was stupid. And what I said before still stands. We don’t have to talk about it. But I just want you to know I missed you so much after I left. I had regrets. But it was a long time ago. I’m just really sorry.”
As he stares at me, looking forlorn, my heart loosens up a bit. And then it starts to open, my protective layers peeling back.
I loved Sam so much when we were together that it’s hard to look at him now and not feel something. He’s standing on the front mat in the same spot where he once hugged me good night and called me sweetheart for the first time so many years ago.
“Sam. You’re right—it was a long time ago. Everything’s fine. I don’t want you to worry about it.”
I have a sudden memory of getting frustrated with Sam in high school sometimes. But that’s what happens when the stakes are high and you really care for a person, isn’t it? You get stressed out when things aren’t going perfectly.
“Is Lisa doing okay? I mean, did everything turn out all right with her?”
“She’s fine. She was living in New Hampshire, but when we moved here this summer, she rented the house across the street. I’m sure you’ll see her around town soon, if you haven’t already.” I pull at a strand of my hair, anxiety gripping my stomach.
“Are you guys getting along these days?”
“Sure,” I say, although I don’t know how convincing I sound. “Honestly, we had a falling out for many years. But I’m trying to reconnect and be a better person now. A better sister.”
“You always were a good sister. And I get it. I’m the same way. I’m always trying to be a better person. I feel like . . .”
Sam’s mouth opens, but he doesn’t go on. It makes me want to rush over to him. I want to make him feel better and smooth things over, just as I always did. With Sam, I always had the sensation of wanting to run to him, to chase after him, even when he was standing right in front of me.
“Never mind.” He nods at me. “I’m really happy to see you.”
“I’m happy to see you, too.”
He smiles. His eyes are still dark and warm, just as they were in high school.
There’s a noise behind me, and I turn. It’s Donovan, coming down the stairs. I can see he’s not ready for bed yet, as he’s still wearing jeans and a sweater. “Hey,” he says cautiously to Sam.
“Hi.” Sam’s eyes light up. “I’m Sam.” He turns to me. “Your son?”
Donovan and I both nod. I fight off the urge to put my arm around Donovan when he stands right beside me, shoulder to shoulder. I don’t know if Donovan would find that insulting, like I’m trying to protect him from something. Which is silly, because he’s taller and bigger than me.
“I heard you guys talking.” Donovan’s face is calm, but I know there’s discontent simmering right below the surface.
Delilah comes running down the stairs next. She nearly runs into her brother. “Hi! Again.” Delilah looks back up at Sam. “So, this is Donovan. We’re twins. Even though we don’t look alike. So you’re Sam? Like, Sam from high school?”
I study her. She’s breathless with excitement.
I never mentioned that I knew a Sam in high school to her. Did I?
What are these two up to?
“Yeah, that’s me.” Sam smiles at her. “Sam from high school. And the neighborhood. And the school bus. I lived just two blocks from here.”
“So.” Delilah holds her hands behind her back. “You were Mom’s boyfriend?” She puts so much emphasis on this last word that it sounds like something shocking or illegal.
Sam is caught off guard. “Uhh . . .”
He glances at me. I shrug.
“Yes, I was her boyfriend.”
“Was it serious? Like, a serious relationship?”
Sam hesitates. “Yes, it was. But it was also a really long time ago.” He bites his bottom lip. I feel myself squinting, as I try to figure out why Delilah is wearing an expression of glee.
“Wow.” Delilah gives a quick shake of her head. “How crazy is that?”
“You look surprised. Am I not her type?”
Delilah thinks about it. “No. No, you’re not. You’re not her type at all.”
Donovan smirks.
“Oh,” Sam says, lumbering backward a step, starting to look nervous. “Okay. Well, like I said, it was a long time ago. It was nice to meet both of you.”
Sam opens the door, picks up the bucket, and makes a quick exit, as he sometimes did back in high school when things got a little too intense. The snow outside the door is deep, and the air that blows in is bracingly cold.
I push the glossy red door to make sure it’s fully closed behind him. Delilah grins at me, while Donovan folds his arms across his chest.
“What are you two up to?” I practically shout. “I never told you Sam was my boyfriend in high school. You didn’t need to put him on the spot like that. That was rude.” I can practically feel my blood pressure rising, as my heart pounds in my chest. “Did you . . . ?” I don’t want to ask, but I have to. I can hear a desperate note start to creep into my voice. “Did you read about Sam in your dad’s journal?”
The twins take a quick glance at each other.
Delilah licks her top lip. “Actually, I met him earlier tonight. But yeah, Dad did write about him in the journal.”
“Dad didn’t like Sam.” Donovan’s voice is hard and indifferent at the same time.
I dig my nails into the palms of my hand. “I don’t think that’s true. Your dad and Sam didn’t hang out together. They barely knew each other in high school. How in the world do you come to that conclusion, with your father not here to explain how he felt, with—”
“How do I come to that conclusion? Hmmm, let’s think.” Donovan clasps his hands behind his back and looks up, as if the answer is written on the ceiling. “Oh, yeah, that’s right. It’s because I’m reading Dad’s diary and learning THE TRUTH. Dad liked you senior year, and Sam told him to back off. He told Dad he shouldn’t talk to you.”
Ugh. I remember hearing about that, after the fact.
I don’t want Donovan reading that sort of thing. Peter’s inner teenage thoughts are not a “story” for Donovan to enjoy as if he’s breezing through a comic book.
“Dad didn’t like him. And I don’t like him either.”
I can’t decide if I want to strangle Donovan, or grab him and squeeze the life out of him in a bear hug. He looks so much like Peter when he tips his head and the light catches his cheekbone, it wrenches my stomach. “YOU DON’T HAVE TO LIKE HIM. He’s just plowing our driveway, for God’s sake.”
> “I kinda like Sam,” Delilah jumps in. “He’s a little scruffy, but I bet he cleans up okay.” She fiddles with her hair. “He sure likes you, Mom. You should’ve seen his face when I came down the stairs before to spy on him. He said I looked just like you when you were younger. He was like”—she opens her eyes and mouth to express a dreamy astonishment—“starryeyed.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay. Enough already. You know what? You’re prone to exaggeration, just like your father. It’s almost eleven. Can you two please go to bed?”
They turn and start up the stairs. But I have one more request.
“Wait. Hold on.”
I motion for the kids to come back, and they reluctantly comply. They stand in front of me, as if soldiers ready for inspection.
I decide to just blurt out what I need to say.
“Donovan, first of all, I just want you to know that it’s possible, in the heat of the moment, that your dad vented in his journal about something Sam did back in high school. It doesn’t mean he didn’t like Sam. In fact, if you read on, you’d probably see that a few months later . . .”
But I stop, because I don’t want to talk about later. I don’t actually want Donovan to read that far ahead in the journal.
“A few months later? Go on, finish your thought.”
Just then, Donovan’s phone pings.
He casually slides his phone out of his back pocket to glance at it. I watch the smile grow on his face as he stares into his phone, a look of bliss. I’m sure it’s the girl, and he’s clearly smitten. It’s good to see him smile. It’s good to see any real emotion cross his face, for him to have a feeling he can’t suppress, because he spends too much energy trying to tamp everything down and act like he doesn’t care.
“Is that—is that Lexi?”
He presses a few buttons with his thumb and then looks up at me. He doesn’t answer the question.
I put my hands on my hips. “So Lexi is your girlfriend?”
I don’t know if he is going to object to that word—I don’t know what the kids call it these days. He just shrugs. “Yeah. So?”
I blink. “So . . . that’s nice.” I don’t believe Donovan has ever had a girlfriend before, and I’m not sure what to say. “What do you like about her?”
