Christian Kiefer - The Animals

I haven’t told anyone at all in twelve years.

Goddammit, Bill. Or Nat. Or whatever I’m supposed to call you now.

Bill, he said.

Whatever, she said. You should have called Earl as soon as Rick called you the first time.

I was hoping he’d just give up and go away.

Christ, Bill. What if he does something? What if he does something to Jude to get to you? Isn’t that what he’s saying? That he can get to Jude?

That’s why I’m telling you, he said. His eyes had brimmed over with tears and they flew hot and fast down his face but his voice was steady. There was that small victory over himself at least.

You should have told me before.

I know.

I mean all of it.

I didn’t want you to know.

She fell silent again. Then she said, I need a drink.

All right.

Come on. She rose from the couch and he followed. The clock in the kitchen read two in the morning. It’s late, she said.

He said nothing in response.

She removed a bottle from the upper cabinet and he pulled out two glasses and cracked a dozen cubes onto the counter and then filled the tray at the sink and returned it to the freezer. She poured both their glasses and then splashed hers with some water from the tap and took a long drink. He did the same.

I’m sorry, Grace.

You lied to me.

I didn’t want you to know.

Why not?

Because it doesn’t matter anymore. I left all of that behind.

Not all of it, she said.

No, I guess not.

Why’d you do all of that?

Honestly, it feels like someone else did all that stuff. I know a lot of it was just flailing around trying to find some way out.

Out of what?

Out of myself, he said. I guess that sounds pretty stupid.

No, she said, I know how that feels. Everybody knows how that feels. She sipped at the whiskey.

I’m just trying to be a good person, Grace. He stopped, faltered, then said, Or a better one.

Good people don’t lie to their girlfriends.

I know that too.

I was already married to a guy who lied to me.

This isn’t the same thing.

She looked at him, her mouth open.

It’s not, he said. I promise. It’s not the same thing.

He promised too.

He was fucking around on you, he said. This isn’t that.

Goddammit, she said then. Is that everything now, or is there more?

Yeah, that’s everything.

She paused a long moment and then blurted out: Christ, gambling?

Yep.

You won’t even put money in the grammar school raffle.

And now you know why.

A silence fell over them. Outside the kitchen window, snow fluttered like moths against the glass.

You want me to go? he said.

No, I need you to stay here.

He looked at her without comprehension.

She set her glass on the counter and wrapped her arms around him and when her head fell to his shoulder she began to weep, huge, racking sobs that shook her against him, his own arms already around her. He whispered in her ear: It’s all right, baby. It’s all right. Everything’s gonna be fine.

What if he does something?

He wanted to tell her that such thinking was absurd but he had the same fear and the best words he could find were to tell her that he would not let that happen.

She was quiet against him now, her breathing slowing into a more natural rhythm. Their bodies rocked together in the center of the room.

I love you so much, he said. I swear I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.

But he’s here, she said.

Yeah, he said. He’s here.

BY MORNING, the snow covered everything, not with the dry shifting flakes of a cold-weather storm but in heavy wet clumps that fell like packed snowballs from a gray sky. The trucks in the driveway had been already rendered into nearly shapeless masses and he knew it would take a good long while to dig out the short driveway enough to make it onto the road where the snowplow would clear a path.

She had said almost nothing to him that morning and neither of them had slept more than a few quick hours. He felt broken and exhausted and the sight of the snow filled him with dread. So much to do at the rescue and now each task would be so much more difficult to complete.

Snow day! Jude yelled from the hall.

Maybe, Bill said. Why don’t you turn on the TV.

The television lit up for about a minute and then the power went off.

I’ll get the radio, Grace said from the kitchen, perhaps the first words she had spoken since the darkness of the night before.

She dialed in the local weather station and they sat listening to it. A foot of snow had fallen in the night and the storm would continue the rest of the week.

Dang, Bill said, not even Thanksgiving yet.

Was this in the forecast? she said.

I don’t think so.

So it’s a snow day? Jude said from the living room.

Guess so, little man, Bill said.

Awesome! Yes!

Bill stood there for a moment longer, sipping at his coffee, watching as Jude disappeared into the hallway toward his room. The house was suffused with a dim glowing light, a gauziness that seemed to come from everywhere at once, as if they had entered some liminal space that was both this world and the next. Well, he said, I guess I’d better get up there and see what’s going on.

Are you ready for winter yet?

Barely started.

Are the kids coming up there today?

I don’t know now, he said. Hope so. There’s a lot to do if it’s gonna snow all week. He stood there for a moment. Then he said, You want me to get your snow tires put on before I go?

No, I’ll do it later. You’d better get up to the rescue. She rose from the chair she had settled into. Be careful today, she said.

I will.

He turned and then she said, I just need a little time to figure all this out.

I know. I mean, I get it.

She nodded briefly.

I’m gonna take care of this, he said. Everything’s gonna be all right. He did not really believe this was true but it was the only thing that came into his mind and he knew that even though he had told her the truth at last he had started the day with a lie.

THE ROADS were slick with snow and already there were cars and trucks scattered into the ditches that lined the highway. He drove up the slow rise south out of Bonners. The flat plain that held the town and the farm fields had become an endlessness of white that disappeared into low clouds and it was into those low clouds that the road took him, a wash of gray that seemed to run at the windshield and through black trees in tatters amidst the blowing snow. The road had been plowed but he was worried about getting up to the rescue itself and of course to the trailer, a separate driveway that snowed over long before the rescue road would have. He knew he could make it had he already changed out the truck’s tires for the studded tires he used in the winter months, but he had not done that yet. None of them had. It was only November, a full month or more before the winter snows generally began.

Nonetheless, he made it to the rescue’s parking lot and was relieved to find Bess’s car there and a moment later the pickup containing Chuck and Bobby. Snowing, Chuck said when they walked up toward where Bill stood looking in on the mountain lion enclosure.

We’ve got our work cut out for us.

You know it, Bobby said.

The lion moved in swirls through the thick flakes, its body ever in motion.

Cinder’s having a good time, Chuck said.

Sure is, Bill said.

Snow day for everyone, Bobby said.

The lion swept past the outer wall of the enclosure, its body sleek and swift, like a current, like a tan river moving over the snow.