There were all these bits of me—not just the obvious bits—that wanted all of Luke’s bits—also not just his obvious bits.
“Feeney? Feeney? What did you draw?”
“Oh!” I start at the sound of Shade’s voice. The crayon in my hand goes skittering across the still blank piece of paper. “Sorry. I was…I don’t know. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I zoned out. Tired people do that.”
I haven’t slept well since that kiss in the kitchen, and not just because my body burns against my brain and better judgment. Okay, yeah, it’s mostly that, but it’s just…I don’t know. I can’t turn my brain off either. I’m not used to endless thoughts, but now that’s all there is. I churn over my problems, but I churn over Luke’s too. I think about him—a lot. I feel guilty about it sometimes, so I make sure I think about Shade a lot too. About what we can do the following day, the things we can see and learn, and how there’s something new to discover every single day. I also think about cooking and the opossum from the backyard.
“I drew our house!” We’re sitting side by side, so Shade spins his drawing around on the kitchen table for me to see. “This is the door, this is the garage, and this is the car.”
“That’s very nice.” It really is. Shade’s very creative. He’s wickedly smart, incredibly perceptive, and super artsy. He loves crafts and drawing. If he could just do crafts all day, I think he would. “Hey, I was thinking. Would you like to visit a wildlife sanctuary? They won’t have the opossum we saw in the backyard since they probably put that guy somewhere safe in the wild, but I thought it would be nice to see the way other animals receive help.”
“Receive help?”
“Yeah. Some of them have problems where they can’t be released back to the wild. Also, sometimes, they get hurt, which means they can’t go back to living where they usually would because it wouldn’t be safe for them.”
“We could see animals?”
“Yes. I think so. I could look one up.”
“Okay! Can we have a snack now?”
I make Shade his snack, and we go outside together and sit in the backyard on the grass to eat. I sliced some apples and got out the container of caramel sauce. I should probably cut out the sugar, but whatever. It’s delicious.
As Shade dips and double dips his apple slices, I look up a few sanctuaries. I find one that’s open to the public on weekends. There are a few others, but this one is closest, so I start looking through their pictures and their stories, and oh my god. I flip through owls, squirrels, skunks, turtles, foxes, a bobcat, a goat who I’m not sure fits the bill, raccoons, all sorts of birds, and so many more creatures that have injuries. They are rehabbed before being released back into the wild. There are some permanent residents at the sanctuary that we can go to see. Some of the injuries are natural, like storms and road accidents, but some are intentional—harm intentionally caused by people—animal cruelty.
There’s a particular story that grabs me. It’s one about an opossum who was harmed intentionally. It doesn’t say how, but there are constant updates on getting him better. His face was pretty bad, including his eyes, jaw, and poor nose and ears. Why? How could someone do that? It makes me feel so much more relieved that we called and got our little visitor out of here and relocated somewhere safe. I was worried about cars, but I never thought someone would intentionally hurt another living being.
Why? Why do people have to be so cruel? Why does there have to be so much bad shit in the world?
“Feeney? Feeney, are you crying?”
Argh! I throw my phone face down on the grass and brush at my eyes with the backs of my hands, but it doesn’t really help. The tears are flowing now, and maybe they’re making up for lost time because I have felt pretty lonely and abandoned and lost. I’ve missed my parents, I’ve been sad for Shade, and I’ve been both sad and frustrated for Luke.
“Feeney! Don’t cry!” Shade stands up and wraps his arms around my neck. He presses into me, all warmth and sticky caramel scent.
I wrap my arms around him and hold him close, breathing against his soft and slightly messy hair. I should say something. Something adult to make sure Shade knows I’m okay, but I just can’t. I have a giant ball in my throat, and there’s nothing coming to mind anyway.
“It’s okay,” Shade whispers in my ear. “It’s okay to cry. Dad says it all the time. But why are you sad?”
“I’m just…I just…I don’t really know. It’s a lot of things, I guess.”