The Beginning of After

one, was still lying there, sleeping.
    Or maybe not sleeping.
    My hand shook as I reached out to pet it, expecting to feel it wake up under the warmth and pressure. But it was cold and stiff.
    “Oh my God,” I said aloud.
    I looked at Lucky, who was sitting under the desk, licking herself. She glanced back at me, and if a cat could shrug, that’s what she did. She just twisted her head and narrowed her eyes as if to say, Stuff happens .
    I wasn’t sure what came next. What was I supposed to do? It was a snow day and I was sitting on the floor of my dead brother’s room with four cats that weren’t mine.
    Nana was shaking her head, trying not to seem as completely repulsed as she was. “Did it even seem sick to you?” she asked. She was doing a great job of hiding the I told you so threaded between her words.
    “No. I don’t think so. I mean, there was some diarrhea in the litter box, but I had no idea whose it was. It seemed like she was eating, but maybe it’s hard to tell.” I felt like I saw her playing with the others yesterday. But maybe that was three days ago.
    I held the kitten wrapped up like a mummy in a towel, so it looked like I was cradling some old rag. It was easy to pretend there was nothing inside.
    “What are you supposed to do with it?” asked Nana.
    “Eve said I should just bring it in to Ashland. They have an incinerator for that purpose.” I winced. “But they’re not open yet because of the roads.”
    Eve had not been surprised, or accusing. She had just sighed and said, “I hate kitten death.” She reminded me that it happened a lot and sometimes there was nothing you could do about it. But I knew from the heavy, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that I should have been paying more attention.
    “You took on too much,” said Nana, reading my mind, reaching out to stroke my hair. I just nodded, biting my lip.
    At three o’clock, Eve called me from Ashland to say that they were finally open and I could bring the kitten in.
    “Laurel, the roads are still bad,” said Nana. “Can’t you put your . . . bundle . . . in the garage and take it in tomorrow?”
    “I have to do this now. I owe it to her.” I placed the towel in a big shopping bag and grabbed the car keys.
    “Please drive carefully,” she said.
    “Nana, just for the record, you can pretty much assume that for the rest of my life. You don’t have to say it.”
    I rushed out to the car without saying good-bye. It had gotten cold now that the sun was sinking out of sight, and the snow that had been brilliant white that morning was already looking dingy, the color of old underpants.
    I drove about ten miles an hour to Ashland, tapping the brakes when I went downhill like my dad had taught me to do on slippery roads. The car fishtailed once at a traffic light, but I got it straight again the way he showed me, by letting go of the wheel for a second.
    When I got there, the parking lot was empty. Inside, Eve smiled sadly at me.
    “Nobody here today?” I asked.
    “Most people canceled their appointments, but we did have a couple of emergencies. A dog who got hit on Spinner Avenue—he’s in surgery right now.” She zeroed in on my shopping bag. “Is that it?”
    “Yes . . .” I was going to tell her what happened; I had a whole story complete with an apology. But she stood up and took the bag from me, then glanced into it.
    “Do you want to come with me?” she asked.
    I shook my head.
    “Do you need your towel back?”
    I shook my head again. Eve disappeared down the hall, and then reappeared about ten seconds later. “Okay. We’ll take care of it,” she said, sliding back onto her wheeled stool.
    “Should I talk to Dr. B? Should we try to figure out why it died?”
    “No. It’ll be okay.” Eve stared at me in a sad, kind way that she usually reserved for clients.
    I wanted more from her, or from someone, but I wasn’t sure what that was. So I said, “Do you need me to stay and help?”
    “I think we’ll be okay,” said Eve. “But we’ll need you tomorrow. It’ll be busy with all the catching up.”
    “Okay. I’ll come in after school.”
    “Take a candy cane,” said Eve, nudging the jar toward me, and I did.
    I got back in the car and started driving home. To get my mind off the kitten, I started to make a mental list of all the things I had to do before school the next day. But the feeling of cold white fur, the image of stick-straight legs that ended in stiff little