Chapter 54
These feelings of pure connection were unfamiliar to Kate.
When it was time to meet the others, she found herself not wanting to leave the house without Clementine.
Online literature regarding the rescue of wild animals encouraged the rescuer to place the animal in a warm, quiet, dark place where it wouldn’t be disturbed.
Kate had found the perfect corner of her loft and done that.
But when she knelt on the floor and saw Clementine lying on her side, watching her with those wide velvet-brown eyes, she fought the urge to take her along.
“You’re coming with me,” she said after a minute, not even feeling foolish for speaking out loud to a rabbit.
She put Clementine’s crate on the car seat beside her and turned up the heat.
Popcorn squeezed into the back. She drove straight to Mathilda’s.
All the leaves were off the trees bordering the private road up toward the house.
The bare branches interlocked overhead, forming a dark canopy against a white sky.
Snow was forecast. Kate could feel it coming.
The air was charged with static electricity.
The first snowflakes fell. She glanced down the hill, pictured how it looked when it was covered with deep snow.
She felt a pull back to childhood. She could see children on sleds.
Beth in a red snowsuit, Kate in blue. They would tear down the hill, top speed, hitting bumps, steering the best they could and hoping the long glide at the end would stop them short of the lily pond.
The pond usually froze solid by mid-December, but Kate still worried about breaking through the ice.
Rescuing Clementine helped her remember how protective she’d felt of her sister, of how it had helped to care at a level deeper than words, to feel it in her skin.
They had had so much fun, sledding down and running back up the hill, but Kate’s mind would be busy formulating plans for what she’d do if Beth went into the icy pond.
Kate weighed whether it would be better to kick off her boots, toss her down jacket aside first—without them she’d be more buoyant—or whether the extra seconds would mean less time to save Beth.
It wasn’t actual fear, just a measure of how seriously she took her responsibility as a big sister.
“You ready?” she remembered saying to Beth. Kate was nine. She sat behind Beth on the sled—a Flexible Flyer that had been their mother’s when she was young—her arms and legs wrapped around her sister, holding her tight.
“Don’t go so fast this time,” Beth said.
“You don’t have to be scared.”
“I don’t want to fall off,” Beth said.
“I’ve got you.”
And they pushed off and flew down the hill again, shrieking with the thrill of it all.
After that, Beth couldn’t get enough. The speedier they went, the better. Kate had loved watching Beth find her inner daredevil.
When Kate had filled her basket with enough grass and clover, she checked her watch.
The others should be arriving at any time.
She continued up the hill on foot, leaving her car parked on the side of the driveway.
She opened the door to the garden shed, where the sleds had been stored.
They were still there—their red runners rusting, the oak boards weathered and lettering nearly invisible with age.
The shed’s interior was colder than the outside; she saw her breath.
Ice skates hung from pegs on the wall. Six pairs: Mathilda’s and Ruth’s, Kate’s and Beth’s, and Kate’s parents’.
There was a time when the whole family had been happy together.
Kate closed her eyes and saw her father building a bonfire down by the pond.
Mathilda had filled thermoses with hot chocolate, and after skating, everyone drank from green pottery mugs, blowing on the steaming chocolate to cool it off while warming their frozen fingers on the hot cups.
Kate and Beth had always squeezed together on the rough wooden bench. They’d shared warmth through their jackets, arms pressing together, listening while the grown-ups talked. Back then, Kate had always been happiest when there was as little room as possible between her and Beth.
When she heard tires crunching on the gravel, she called Popcorn and drove the short distance to the turnaround in front of the house.
She saw Pete’s car parked there. Her blood boiled.
She had told him he couldn’t stay, but typical Pete, doing just what he wanted.
She didn’t want him here ever but especially not on Beth’s birthday.
She reached into Clementine’s crate, gently touched her soft fur. It reassured Kate to feel her breathing in and out. Lulu pulled up the drive, then Scotty. Kate saw that Scotty’s car was full—Isabel in front, Sam and Julie in back. They’d all come to celebrate Beth. Popcorn bounded out of the car.
Everyone piled out, hugged each other. They all wore warm coats, and they squished together in a big circle and didn’t want to let go.
“I didn’t expect him to be here,” Kate said, gesturing at Pete’s car when they broke apart. She glanced at Sam, not wanting to hurt her, but unable to hold back her real feelings—especially today.
“Should we go somewhere else?” Lulu asked.
“Well, he is Sam’s dad,” Scotty said. “Beth’s widower.”
“He said he didn’t want to celebrate,” Sam said. “Maybe it’s better we leave.”
“We’re not leaving,” Kate said. “He is.” She had started toward the house when she heard Julie squeal.
“Bunny, a bunny!” Julie said, her palms pressed to the passenger-side window of Kate’s car.
“That’s right,” Kate said.
“What’s wrong with her?” Julie asked. “She sleeping?”
“She got hurt,” Lulu said. “Kate rescued her.”
“Want to see her; let me get close,” Julie said.
“Oh, come on,” Isabel said. “It’s freezing out here.”
Kate agreed, but Julie was so insistent, and she had planned to carry Clementine inside anyway.
“Her name is Clementine,” Kate said, crouching beside Julie.
“Little rabbit,” Julie said, reaching out one finger but not quite touching Clementine’s twitching nose. At the same time, she glanced nervously over her shoulder. “Don’t want to go in there.”
“In where?” Kate asked.
“Inside the house. Reminds me of Sam’s mom.”
“It’s good to remember people we loved,” Kate said.
“It was strange, very,” Julie said. “Don’t want to go in. I will stay with Clementine.”
“God, Julie,” Isabel said. “Don’t be so annoying! This is about Mrs. Lathrop. We’re thinking about her on her birthday.”
“I will stay with Clementine,” Julie said, scrambling into the car.
“Julie, get out here right now,” Scotty said.
Kate leaned past her, face to face with Julie. The girl who never looked her in the eye suddenly did.
“Are you afraid of something?” Kate asked.
“I don’t like pretend talk. To Sam’s mom.” Her eyes darted to Lulu, then to her mother.
“Did something happen?” Kate asked, alarmed by Julie’s panic. “That makes you feel this way?”
Julie put her hands over her ears. “Stop it, stop. Mommy, no one listening like before, no one listening. Just talk to air, talk-talk.” Again, she looked at Lulu—whether in fear or a sort of pleading for understanding, Kate was unsure.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Scotty said, hugging Julie, “everything is fine.”
“Hey, where’s Sam?” Isabel asked.
Everyone stood still and looked around. Sam wasn’t there.