Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
CLARA
Three and a half months since the flash flood.
Why does it feel like I’m still falling apart?
And not falling apart enough?
All at the same time?
Why did fate have to take Bryson? God, how do I live without him? And why does it scare me that some days, I feel like I’m starting to learn how?
Why do I miss Virgil when he’s away?
And look for him before he shows?
God, I can’t think about this.
S hrieks come from the backyard. Helen and Luke play hide-and-go-seek with their Halloween costumes on.
I warned the kids not to get them dirty or torn up. Not before the Halloween Carnival at Hollister Elementary tonight.
But kids never listen. Not really.
And I can’t blame them. Because listening, doing what’s right isn’t what it’s cut out to be.
I stare at my journal, then out the window again. Luke streaks by in his black and gray Batman costume. Helen follows, her Little Red Riding Hood cape scarlet against the green of pine and gold of mid-fall aspens.
It’s been days since we last saw Virgil. I still make extra coffee just in case. I don’t know if the distance is him pulling away. Or him mad and disapproving of me. He doesn’t think we can make it up here alone this winter.
And I don’t see why we have to be alone.
All I know is he’s not explaining.
Another burst of dark catches my eye. Luke’s energy never ceases to amaze me. But when I look up, the breath rattles in my throat.
“Oh. God.”
The two syllables come out percussive. More hisses than words. I’m at the door in an instant, broom in hand.
In front of me, a black bear cub sits, fat and clumsy. My eyes dart around the property, locating Helen and Luke off to the side, completely oblivious.
“Hey,” I scream, trying to get their attention.
It takes longer than it should. A second dark ball gets my attention. My stomach drops, a cold sweat breaking out all over me.
I white-knuckle the broomstick.
Helen and Luke’s eyes snag on the cubs, curious and sniffing at the coop, like they’re thinking about climbing it.
Helen takes a step toward the cubs.
Luke grabs her cape.
Hard.
“Don’t.”
His voice is suddenly small. Serious. "Papa said never go near baby bears."
That’s when I see the mother, about thirty yards off. Between me and the kids. I immediately step forward, raising the stick and hollering to get her attention. But what I’m screaming is for Helen and Luke.
“Helen.”
Her head snaps up.
I work hard to keep my voice calm. “Take your brother and go to Virgil. Get help.”
The words leave before I think about them.
Go to Virgil.
As if there was ever anyone else.
“Mama—”
“Now.”
The mother bear lumbers forward, her head swinging toward Helen and Luke.
“No.” It comes out strangled. Violent. I stomp my foot, entire body shaking to the bones in my spine. My boot makes a loud, hollow sound against the porch wood, getting her attention back on me.
I step closer, off the stairs. Trying to break the bear’s gaze off my children. Finally, she turns toward.
“Go,” I manage.
Because what comes next, I can’t have them see.
"Mama—"
“Go. Fast. Don’t look back.”
Helen grabs Luke's hand. For one second, he lets her. Then they vanish around the side of the house.