by Lindsey Hart
“Tongs?”
“What?”
“Tongs. To get the chicken out. Or a fork?”
I scurry back into the kitchen, already feeling completely humiliated. How the heck did I think I was going to get the chicken out? Does Luke always have to prove he’s smarter than me? And better at everything? I choke back my annoyance and pass him a pair of tongs through the patio door. I’m not going to stand around and watch and let Luke see how he got under my skin, so I join Shade back in the living room. He’s fiddling with the tree, repositioning ornaments, so I watch him create and sort. It’s much more soothing than thinking about his father barbequing out there.
I’m kind of lost in my own little world, but I get shaken out of it pretty darn fast when Shade yells, “Fire!”
I leap off the couch and immediately look at where he’s pointing. Yup, the barbeque is on fire, and Luke is nowhere in sight.
“Oh my fucking god!” I forget all about word substitutions. This one calls for a definite fuck.
“What do we do?” Shade yells frantically.
Big orange flames are pretty much engulfing the whole barbeque by now. “I have no idea. It’s probably a grease fire, so don’t put water on it.” At least I know that much. “And I doubt a towel is going to help.”
Suddenly, Luke is back from god knows where. He opens the lid of the barbeque, and great big billows of smoke erupt from the inside. Choking on the smoke, he quickly shuts everything off, and what do you know, it pretty much takes care of the fire. The flames go way down to a tiny little sizzle, and the smoke thins out. Shade and I gingerly creep closer.
I smile wickedly when I see the black lumps. Every single one of them is charred. I think there were probably twenty pieces of chicken drumsticks. It was a family pack of chicken.
“Ewwww,” Shade whispers to me. “Do we have to eat that?”
“No, sweetheart.” I take my phone out of my back pocket just as Luke turns around to face us. When he meets my eyes, I make sure he can see the gloating satisfied look on my face. A look that says, obviously, it’s not just me who burns everything. “What do you want for dinner tonight, Shade? How about we try tacos?”
“Yeah! Tacos!” He starts rattling off all the things he’d like on his tacos—a whole long list of them.
Luke gives me a dark look, but after Shade is done with his requests, he asks me, in a politely strangled voice, to order him two chicken and two beef tacos.
CHAPTER 11
Feeney
With Luke off to work the next morning, I’m sure we’ll finally have a day of smooth sailing. Hmpf. As if. Why can’t I be right about these things for a change?
After lunch, I really want to call Sam because she’s been texting me non-stop all morning since I haven’t given her an update about how things are going. I pull the classic babysitter move and send Shade out to play in the backyard. It’s fenced, it’s safe, and things are good. I’m watching him from the window while I debrief Sam about how things are going. She’s told my parents I’m safe and that they don’t have to worry. She also promises me she hasn’t told them anything else, and she weirdly asks me if I think Luke is hot. I tell her no, I don’t think he’s hot. But she says I’m lying, so I passionately, but not so passionately that it’s suspicious, refute her claim.
I’m doing good—picking up steam to tell Sam about how I’m going to apply for a few jobs I saw late last night when I was on my laptop up in my bedroom—when Shade throws open the patio door and comes running in. I swear I just took my eyes off him for a second. Okay, I think this is what everyone says right before disaster strikes, but really. I think I looked away from the window for a minute, two at most, while I loaded dishes into the dishwasher and balanced the phone between my shoulder and ear.
“Feeney! Feeney! There’s a stray cat in the backyard, and he doesn’t look good! There’s something wrong with him! He’s missing hair in places, and he looks sick!”
“Holy shit! I mean, shoot.” I rip my phone away from my ear but then bring it back and say in rushed tones, “Sorry, I have to go. We’re having an emergency with a cat over here.” I hang up on Sam and toss the phone on the counter. It clatters hard enough to make me wince, but I’m already running toward Shade. “How the heck could a cat get into the backyard? It’s fenced!”
“It could have climbed.”
“Right, yes. You’re right. Why didn’t I think of that?” I take a deep breath. God, I am so not equipped to deal with something sick and dying. I wonder if Luke’s credit card would cover it if I took the poor thing to the vet. That is if we can catch it and if it’s not feral. Jesus Murphy. Why does this have to be happening?
“Are you coming?”
“I’m coming.” I let Shade nearly rip my hand off as he drags me across the deck and into the yard.
“It’s over here.” He points to a shady strip by the fence to the left. “It was there.”
“I’m sure it still is. Let’s have a look.”
“It looked bad, and it hissed at me. Is it dying?” Shade looks up at me, his eyes huge and already filling with tears.
“No! No, it’s not going to die. I’m not going to let it happen.” I really hope that’s true. This kid has experienced way too much death and disappointment already. I can’t be a liar. This poor, freaking cat has to live.
Shade tugs me over to the fence, and I rush as fast as I can while trying to come up with a contingency plan in my head. Finally, we reach the fence, and there is something—a hideous-looking creature with a long snout, pink ears, a scaly-looking tail, and grey hair all over its rather large, round body.
We get close, and all of a sudden, the cat turns around and hisses frantically at us.
“Holy chicken nuggets! That’s not a cat!” I back grab Shade frantically and drag him back four or five steps. That is a freaking wild animal. “That’s a…a…I think it’s a swamp rat!” I make that quick evaluation based on the wiry-looking gray hair and the long, scaly tail. Plus, the creature’s body does kind of have a rat shape.
“What’s a swap rat?” Shade giggles.
I don’t know what’s funny about that. “I…uh…well, maybe it’s uh…ah…”
“I think it’s an opossum. We’ve seen them before. Me and Dad.”
Well, bloody hell. I guess I know when I’ve been played. Shade knew all along it wasn’t a cat. I think. Or maybe it just dawned on him right this moment.
“Yeah. I think you’re right. It’s a possum.” I’ve never seen one before, so I don’t know anything about them. But I’m pretty sure they’re not supposed to be loitering around in anyone’s backyard. The animal looks confused and scared as he stares at us. His pointy nose twitches, and his whiskers vibrate like it’s trying to sense whether we mean it harm or not.
If it does get scared and think we’re going to do something, will it spring at us? Attack us? Do they have sharp teeth? Can they jump off their tails? Are they dangerous? Why is it out in the middle of the day? I’m pretty sure that’s not a good sign.
“We don’t have possums,” Shade says patiently. “We have opossums. They’re different.”
“Okay, Mr. Internet. Thanks a lot. If you know there’s a difference, how come you thought it was a cat?”
“Because I knew if I told you there was an opossum back here, you’d freak, and you wouldn’t help me. He looks bad. Maybe there’s something wrong with him.”
The opossum backs up until its bottom hits the fence. Then, it hisses again. Violently. God, it’s actually kind of cute, and it doesn’t look that bad. Shaggy, yes, but not skin and bones. It’s well filled out. I think it’s just scared. And maybe they’re supposed to look like that—a little bit mangy.
“I think he’s fine. He seems lively enough. He probably just climbed into the yard and can’t figure out how to get out.”
“We could help him out. Show him the way.”
“No! Don’t get close! It could…it could bite you or something. It’s a wild animal
, and it’s scared. We shouldn’t touch it.”
“What are we going to do then?”
“I…I don’t know. I’ll call someone. A wildlife rescue or something because it needs to be relocated somewhere safe. This is the middle of the city. This is so not cool.”
“I think it’s pretty cool.” Well, yeah, he would. He’s freaking four.
“Come back into the house with me so I can get my phone.”
“No, I’ll wait here. You go get it.”
I’m ready to argue, but I figure it will be faster to just run and get the dang phone than to try and reason with a four-year-old. Kids always win. They’ll bring out the B-bomb. The Because-bomb. Or the W-bomb, which is the whole Why-bomb. You try reasoning with that. It’s impossible.
I dash across the grass and nearly miss a step on the deck and kill myself. I’m more careful when walking back. I’m not even halfway there—since I’m trying to look up wildlife groups—when Shade starts yelling and crying. He runs up to me and takes my hand. His cheeks are stained with tears.
“It died! You said it wouldn’t die!”
“What?” I yelp. “No! No, that’s not possible.” I drop Shade’s hand and run over to the animal. Yup. It’s fucking dead. “No, no, no, no, no!”
Shade’s behind me. Of course he is. He’s trying to see the poor thing, so I quickly thrust my phone into his hands and spin him around so he can’t look at the animal. Maybe it was so scared that it had a heart attack or something.
How could this happen? It was fine. It was hissing and spitting and acting just like it probably should when it’s scared and cornered, and then bam! I leave for under a minute, and it up and fucking dies. Why does the whole entire world fucking hate me so fucking much?
FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!
I realize I’m getting hysterical, and I really have to calm down. I have to look for a shovel. No. NO! I refuse to let this happen. This thing is not going to die. I’m going to revive it. I’ve seen a few videos on the internet of people giving animals CPR. I can do that, can’t I?
Fuck it. I’m doing it even it means giving it mouth to mouth.
I drop down to my knees and grab the creature. It’s curiously shaped and, oddly enough, still warm. It’s not stiff, but then I guess there hasn’t been enough time for rigor mortis. God, why do I even know that term? I turn it onto its back and tilt the head up. Which side is the heart on? I stick my fingers across the chest in what I think is the approximate direction. It’s just a gentle press with the fingertips. That’s how I’ve seen people do it. The right or the left side? The left, duh. But which is the left? Why can’t I tell right now? Why can’t I see anything? I blink furiously to clear away the tears blinding me.
“Dead opossum!” Shade screams from behind me.
Yup. That would be why I’m crying. And the poor thing. It’s actually not that ugly. The longer I look at it, the more it appears pretty cute. And it doesn’t feel strange. He’s kind of soft underneath my fingertips, and his long mouth is gaping open to reveal teeth. There are also lots of whiskers all over the place. Jesus, I’m going to have to put my mouth there if it doesn’t respond. I think. Do you blow breath down an animal like you would a person?
“Wait!” Shade runs over and holds the phone in my general direction.
I’m about to tell him I don’t have time for that when the tinny, electronic voice starts talking—talking about opossums.
About. How. They. Play. Dead.
“Oh my god!” I back away from the animal in horror. “You think it’s still alive?”
Shade nods solemnly. I back him up because now I’m worried the thing might have some kind of disease or might revive and bite him. Please let it just be faking it. Please. Please don’t let it actually have died.
My god, I almost put my mouth on its mouth.
What would it have tasted like? What do they actually eat? Christ, why am I even considering this?
I snatch the phone and shut off the voice that’s reciting facts about opossums. I find a wildlife rescue in no time and hit the call icon. The phone rings and rings, then a sweet voice comes through on the other end. That voice sounds a lot like salvation at the moment.
“Hi! I found an opossum in my backyard. It was hissing a second ago, and now it’s died. I mean, I think it’s just faking it. It…it’s the middle of the day, though—broad daylight. Um, and we’re in a subdivision, which is not where it should be. I think maybe it’s acting strange, and I also think it might be diseased or have something seriously wrong with it. I think it has rabies.”
“Actually, opossums can’t get rabies because their body temperature is too low,” the girl on the other end of the line chuckles.
Why the hell is she laughing about this? This is so not funny. She’s supposed to be a wildlife rescuer or something. Shouldn’t she actually care? If the animal isn’t faking it, it is going to be a real tragedy over here.
“It’s perfectly normal for it to be doing what it’s doing. I guarantee you, it’s fine,” the girl goes on.
How would she know? She can’t even see it. I debate texting her a picture and asking if she finds it so funny now to laugh at the unfortunate creature.
“Uh, I…can you send someone? This thing shouldn’t be here. It’s in the middle of the city. I mean, not the middle, but it’s probably not safe here. There are cars and stuff. Can it be relocated?”
“Sure, we can send someone. Can you stay with him and watch to make sure he’s okay for an hour or so until I can get someone out to you?”
“Yes. Sure. Absolutely.” Dear god. An hour? What if it revives and attacks us?
I give the girl our address, then take Shade’s hand and march him back ten feet or so. We sit down on the grass, and we’re completely silent as we wait. Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I start looking up facts about opossums just to keep us busy. Shade’s cheeks are stained with tear tracks from before, back when we thought the creature had died. I want to take him inside and clean him up, but that would mean leaving the opossum, and I don’t want it to wander off and get hit by a car on the road or have someone freak out and do something terrible to it in their panic. Even in my panic, I would never have done anything like getting a broom or…or something else. I would have tried to make sure it was okay.
“Did you know that opossums are actually immune to some snake venom or something like that?” I quickly paraphrase the super long science article without really even reading it. “They provide the anti-venom for a ton of different snake bites.”
“That’s cool,” Shade says.
“I always thought they got anti-venom from the actual snake. Wow. I guess we learned something today. That and they eat ticks. So they’re doing something right.”
“What’s a tick?”
“A gross bug. You don’t ever want to find out. Always wear socks in your shoes if you go camping, and tuck your pants in.”
“Why?”
“Never mind.”
“I wish we could keep it.”
“Absolutely not! It’s a wild animal.”
“I wish I could have a cat or a dog, but Dad says no.”
“Take that up with your dad. I’m not going to interfere.”
“That sucks.”
“It might, but it’s not happening. I already stuck my neck out for the tree.”
“Did Dad not want it?”
Shit. I’m not going to explain this one to Shade. He already gets way more than he should about all of this, so I’m not going to break his heart that much more. “He wanted it, but he didn’t like the color I chose.”
“But it’s green.”
“Yeah. He wanted pink.”
“Pink?” Shade giggles. “Dad wanted pink?”
“Or purple. I can’t remember.”
Thank god the gate opens then, and some dude in a dull green uniform with a pole or noose thing and a cage comes walking in like he owns the place. Thank. Freaking. God.
Shade and I point i
n the direction of the opossum together, mutely. I think we’re both holding our breath. If the opossum has revived, we haven’t seen it happen. Dang, those things really can fake it until they make it. Now those bumper stickers make so much more sense.
The guy works fast and gets the opossum into the cage. Then, he throws a heavy-looking blanket over it after and turns and gives us the thumbs up. “Thank you for calling him in. We’ll make sure this guy gets relocated somewhere safe.”
“He’s going to be okay?” Shade asks with so much uncertainty that it breaks my heart.
The guy smiles. “Yup. He’s going to be fine. Thanks to you.”
He shows himself out the back gate then. After we both stand there in stunned silence for a few moments, I swallow and smile. Did that seriously just happen?
“How about some lunch?”
“We already had lunch.”
“How about a second lunch? Or a snack. How about ice cream?”
“Yeah!” Shade goes yelling wildly back into the house.
Bribery 101. Kids love ice cream. It would probably work every single time. Whatever, I’m not his parent, so I don’t feel bad. And we totally deserve it. That opossum gave me the scare of my life. For a second, I really did think it was a cat, that the thing had rabies, and we were in mortal danger. For a second, I thought the world was going to end because the thing had died on me, and I wouldn’t have been able to take it. I don’t think Shade would have either, and I want, more than anything, to protect him from the pain. Already. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t known him very long. He’s a kid, and kids shouldn’t have to go through this kind of shit so early in life. Kids should be innocent and happy. Kids should get to think that life is good, and the world is good. They shouldn’t be proven wrong about that for as long as possible.