Christian Kiefer - The Animals

Afterward he and Grace stood outside in the dark with the other parents, each waiting for their children to be released. Her arm was wrapped through his, her fingers interlaced with his own in his coat pocket. The weekend’s snow, the first of the year, was piled up along the path in tall berms and the concrete sidewalk upon which they stood was crusted with salt and sand. It had been a brief heavy snow, early in the season but enough to remind Bill that he was running out of time to prepare the rescue for the true winter to come, the thought of which reminded him, once again, of the impending issue with Fish and Game. In some ways he knew he had been dragging his feet, that Grace was right about him already feeling defeated, but he also knew he would not let them lead his animals to slaughter. He could not. They had saved him and he would do the same for them.

He shivered.

Cold? Grace said beside him.

A little. You wanna stop and get a hot chocolate or something?

I don’t know, she said. Jude’s already half crazy today.

Is he?

You didn’t notice?

Excited about the show, maybe.

She looked at him and for a moment he thought she must have found him out somehow but then she only said, Maybe, and looked toward the room where, at any moment, Jude himself would emerge. Around them, other parents and grandparents were talking among themselves, laughing, telling stories about their children.

That was fun, he said. Thanks for inviting me to come.

I always want you to come.

Do you?

Of course.

I’d come to all of these. I mean, everything.

Would you?

Well, I guess, he said. If I don’t have anything else to do.

Oh shut up, she said, laughing and pinching his belly through his coat.

OK, OK, he said, smiling. Dang, that hurt.

Sissy, Grace said.

So?

Jude appeared a few seconds later, bounding out of the classroom and then telling them both that he was ready to go.

You want to stop for some hot chocolate? Grace asked him.

What? No, the boy said.

No?

No, let’s go home.

You don’t want hot chocolate? What kind of kid doesn’t want hot chocolate?

This kind, Jude said. I just have something important. He glanced up at Bill when he said this and his mother looked from him to the boy.

Bill shrugged. All right, then, let’s go home.

Jude practically pulled them to Grace’s truck and then leaped inside and sat waiting for them. What’s all this? she said.

No idea, he said.

Really?

He did not answer now and when Jude entered the truck she looked over at him and said, You sure no hot chocolate?

Positive, the boy said, his eyes fixed on the windshield as if something of intense interest were just outside the glass.

Weird, his mother said. Very weird.

Soon they were moving up Main toward the North Hill, where Grace’s house sat on its small acreage of cleared land at the edge of the forest, their voices momentarily falling quiet as houses and businesses and trees and heaps of plowed snow flashed across the turning glare before disappearing behind them.

And then Jude spoke. Bill did not hear the words at first, or perhaps did not understand that Jude was speaking to him and not Grace, or perhaps he knew somehow, already, that he did not want to hear what Jude was about to tell him.

What did you say? Bill said.

I said I met one of your friends. At the hamburger place.

Who’s that?

And now it came, that single syllable: Rick, Jude said.

What did you say?

Rick, the boy said again. Your friend Rick.

You met my friend Rick? His mind was blank. Outside the windshield, dark and angular trees rotated in the headlights. Where?

In town with Jimmy.

Today?

No, yesterday when we went for hamburgers with Jimmy’s mom.

In Bonners?

At the hamburger place.

Who’s Rick? Grace said. Do I know him?

Uh, Bill said, hunting for words, for any words at all. You don’t know him.

Someone you know from the rescue?

Yeah, uh … not even really a friend.

He said he was your friend, Jude said.

We’ve talked about this before, Grace said to the boy. Remember? Stranger danger?

But he’s Bill’s friend, Jude said. So he’s not a stranger.

He’s a stranger to you. Maybe he just said he was Bill’s friend.

Right, Jude said, although his tone implied that he did not feel this particular maxim applied to the situation at hand.

Bill said nothing now, could think of nothing to say. He could feel Grace looking at him but his eyes were outside in the forest where it rolled toward them out of the night, the headlights rendering everything before them flat and colorless.

He seemed really nice, Jude said. And he knew about the animals and he said he knew your mom from a way long time ago.

He said he knew Bill’s mom?

Yeah, aren’t you guys listening?

The car bumped onto the bridge that spanned the Kootenai. All beyond its walls rode blank empty space.

What else did he say? Bill said, not turning his gaze from the black window.

He didn’t say anything, really, Jude said. Just to tell you hi.

Jimmy’s mom let you talk to this man? Grace said. There was an edge in her voice.

She talked to him a little too. Why are you mad?

I’m not mad, honey, she said. Just no more talking to strangers, OK?

OK.

I mean really. I’m serious. No talking to strangers.

The boy was silent now, watching out the window between them on the bench seat. He reached his hand into Bill’s and squeezed it, something Bill could not recall him doing ever before, and Bill looked down at him there, this boy, and smiled at him, all the while his heart twisting in his chest. He wanted the truck to stop so that he could flee somehow into the empty space outside the glass.

Somewhere out there was the river with its loops and turns. The boy’s hand warm in his own. That black snowy river: he did not know if it ever reached the sea.

WHEN THEY reached Grace’s house, the boy would hardly leave his side, hovering next to him in the kitchen and then sitting so close to him on the sofa that he was nearly in Bill’s lap. The Jeff Foxworthy Show was on television and Bill laughed when Grace and Jude laughed.

When the program was over, Grace stood and disappeared into the bathroom and Bill turned toward the boy. Listen, pal, he said. We’re gonna have to do that thing later.

No, Jude said, his head shaking from side to side. You said after Fall Festival. You promised.

Shhh. It’s still a surprise. I don’t want her to find out.

Why can’t we do it tonight?

I have to talk to your mom about something first.

What?

Something important, that’s all.

Something else?

Yeah, something else.

When will we do it then?

I don’t know. I’ll have to figure that out after I talk to her.

But you’re not gonna do it without me, right? Don’t do it without me, OK?

I won’t.

Grace had returned, sitting on the other side of her son on the sofa, her arm draped around behind the boy so that her fingertips rested on Bill’s shoulder. On the television, the actor Brian Dennehy stood in front of a dark house telling the viewer to take a pill called Zantac 75. What are you boys talking about? she said.

Nothing, Jude said quickly.

Sounds fishy, Grace said.

Just talking about homework and stuff, Jude said.

Homework and stuff, huh? She leaned over and kissed his head. Time for shower and bed, little man.

He was staring at her now. At her and at Jude. How beautiful they both were. How lucky he had been to have them in his life at all.