Page 77 of Upstate

Alone now on the couch in the Spragues’ living room, I wiggle my red fingers, wincing as pins and needles shoot up my arm. Beneath the electric blanket, I’m cocooned in a down quilt wrapped around a flannel sheet that’s soft against my naked flesh. I can only hope Joe’s help wasn’t needed to pull off my cold, wet clothes.

Joe’s help. Blinking hard, I let the knowledge that he saved my life sink in. If he’d stayed off my land as I demanded, I’d still be out in the snow, my cold body fallen beside the frozen lamb. How long does it take for hypothermia to be fatal? I’m not sure. Maybe I’d have come to my senses and crawled back to the house in time. Maybe not.

“Wait now, Boo-Boo!” Nancy’s voice does nothing to deter the blur of tan and white fur that streaks toward the couch. The Jack Russell jumps up and smiles at me before turning in a tight circle and plopping down by my feet.

“Sorry about that, Audrey.” Nancy stands beside the couch, hands on hips. “That dog never does listen to a word I say.”

“It’s okay.” I’d reach down to pet him if I weren’t wrapped up like a mummy. Boo-Boo seems to sense this. He stretches toward me, pawing at my knees.

“Joe’s anxious to see you, if you’ll let him.”

“Sure, of course.”

“Okay, Joe,” she calls. “You can come in.”

The man enters the room with a mug between his big hands. “Made you some hot chocolate,” he says.

I squirm to a seated position, the blanket falling to expose my shoulders. Nancy tugs it back up to my neck as I curl my hands around the warm mug. “Thank you, Joe.”

Joe drops into a leather recliner with a sigh of relief. “I thought you were a goner there, girl, I won’t lie. Nancy told me Lucinda said you were away, so I got curious when I saw smoke coming from your chimney. Thought maybe squatters broke in. Well, good thing you stood up and shouted when you did. I might’ve gone right by and never seen you.”

“You saved my life,” I say. Is that four syllables or five? Depends on how you pronounce “saved,” I suppose. I’ll go with four. Better yet, two: life saved. Is there an utterance more generous than that?

“Well,” he says, shrugging, “I am sorry about them bees. Thought they were wasps, didn’t I? But I should’ve asked first, like Nancy said.”

“I’m sorry, too, for what I said. I didn’t know about your brother.”

Nancy and Joe look at each other, their gaze a silent conversation. “Neither one of us will ever understand why such a sweet young boy would do such a terrible thing,” Nancy says, eyes locked on her husband’s. “Like I tell Joe, it’s not for us to know God’s plan. We were brokenhearted when He called Jimmy home, but we have to trust He’d never saddle us with a burden without also giving us the strength to carry it.”

All the usual objections pop into my mind. How can God’s plan include a teenager taking his own life? If God has strength to dole out, why didn’t he give Joe’s brother enough to fight off his demons? And if Jimmy really is in heaven, why does Joe still feel guilty about gifting him that gun?

I shake my head. I’ve just seen my dead husband, had a conversation with my dead parents. Who the hell am I to think I know what’s real beyond this world?

“My mother died like that,” I say quietly. “Not with a gun, though. Prescription sleeping pills.”

Joe’s face flushes. “So why aren’t them liberals in Congress outlawing pharmacies instead of going after the Second Amendment, can you explain that to me?”

I’m pulling together a rebuttal about the opioid crisis and lawsuits against the Sacklers when Nancy interrupts.

“Joe,” she says, one eyebrow raised.

“Sorry.” He sighs. “Sorry for your loss, Audrey.”

“How old were you, honey?” Nancy asks.

“Ten, almost eleven.”

“Well,” she says. “That’s a terrible thing.”

“It was. It is.” I’m so raw, the words tumble out. “I saw her today, before you found me. My mom and my dad and my husband, too. At least, I thought I did.”

“They’re angels in heaven, I’m sure.” Nancy pats my hand. “You’ll never be alone a day in your life as long as they’re watching over you.”

I don’t believe in any of this the way the Spragues do, but when I close my eyes, I can still see my smiling mother as a goddess of rainbows. What does it matter what’s true and what’s make-believe? Like the Velveteen Rabbit, it’s only our belief in love that makes it real.

Once I’ve finished the hot chocolate, Nancy leads me down the hall for a bath. My mind drifts between this world and the next as warm water pinkens my skin. When I’m out of the tub and wrapped in a terry cloth robe, Nancy comes in to inspect my fingers and toes.

“No sign of frostbite, thank goodness. If you were my daughter, I’d send you to bed and call it a day. If you want to see a doctor, though, Joe can take you.”