Page 121 of Forfeits

Annie started crying. “I don’t— I can’t— She’s not moving… Oh, God!”

“Shit. Is Brian there?”

“No. No. He went out. I don’t know what…”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I grabbed my car fob and jacket and headed out of the door, skidding on the step that I’d forgotten to salt and almost falling. The dogs didn’t even have time to notice I was leaving.

I pulled into Annie and Brian’s drive a short time later. I was in such a rush that I snagged my jacket on the door of the car and cursed my clumsiness. The panic in Annie’s voice had me very concerned.

I knocked twice and tried the handle. It wasn’t locked, so I pushed it open and went inside.

“Annie?” I yelled. “It’s Fletcher.”

I heard a cry and then, “The bathroom. The bathroom.”

When I got there, I was hit by the smell of cat piss and shit, and the sight of Annie sitting on the closed toilet, staring at a tiny strip of fur on the wet floor. She raised her gaze to mine, and it was full of so much sorrow and so much dread that I felt my heart ache for her. The animosity that I’d had for her and Brian somehow vanished in this one desperate moment, and I put everything else aside.

The kitten lay in a puddle of fluid—urine, feces and even a bit of blood.

“Can I use one of these towels?” I asked, pulling a soft-looking blue towel out of the cabinet.

Annie nodded, her eyes wide, her hands over her mouth and nose.

I stepped forward and bent down, trying to scoop up the kitten without getting the towel wet with everything else. The poor creature didn’t weigh anything and didn’t make any sign of life, limp and floppy in my grasp. I held her to my chest, crooning words to soothe her if she were able to hear me, the way I did to Lucy when she was upset or ill.

I glanced at Annie, who was in the same position, her gaze still on the floor. I wondered if she’d gone into shock. “We need to take her to a vet, Annie. Where’s the nearest animal hospital?”

Annie didn’t respond. She took her hand from her face and opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“Annie?”

I stuck a finger into the towel against Lilly’s tiny throat. I felt a very faint pulse and she made a tiny mewl, then her chest inflated and collapsed, and I stood there as the life left her tiny body. I wondered if I should try CPR, but she was so little and I’d probably break her tiny ribs. She’d already suffered enough.

“Shit,” I said. I lowered her into my lap and unwrapped her. “She’s gone.”

Annie stared at me with a blank expression.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. But she’s dead.”

Annie shook her head. “No. No. I can’t…” She covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. She started to rock back and forth, her head going side to side, and her mouth moving.

“No. No. No. No.”

I saw the reflection of my own grief in Annie’s crazed, sorrowful eyes. I put the kitten down and moved toward Annie.

“It’s okay, Annie. It’s going to be all right.”

This wasn’t about the kitten anymore.

“No. No. No. No.”

Annie’s breathing was ragged, and I was worried she might go into cardiac arrest or have a stroke. I had to calm her down.

“Annie,” I said, putting an arm around her, “I know. I know…how it feels…” I said, my own voice breaking.

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