“I don’t want them to be dead!” I wail.
Mom says, “That’s what happens when you don’t take care of them. When was the last time you fed them?”
“I don’t know.” I hiccup in a sob. “I thought you were feeding them.”
“They’re your fish. They’re your responsibility.” Mom’s angry, and I step back out of range. She’d never hit me. She only says, “I guess we don’t have to worry about feeding them anymore, do we?” She nets the last dead body from my aquarium while I crumple on the floor and bawl my head off.
“What’s going on?” Jo bops into my room. She shoves her hard hat under her armpit. “Whoa, there, Saint Nick. Who died?”
That makes me cry harder.
Mom mutters, “Some saint. He killed his fish.”
“I did not!” I scream at Mom. I launch to my feet and rush her; start pounding on her back with my fists.
“Stop that.” Jo grabs my wrist and wrenches me away. “Don’t you ever hit your mother. Don’t you ever hit a girl, period. You hear me?” she snarls in my face.
I cower because when Jo’s mad, watch out.
“Now tell me what happened,” she says more calmly.
Mom answers, “No one bothered to feed the fish. I told you he was too young for pets.”
“I am not,” I shoot back.
Jo takes a deep breath. “This is my fault. We went over the water temperature and how the fish need oxygen to breathe and how the snails keep the tank clean. But I don’t remember talking about how often to feed them. Do you, Nick?”
“No,” I lie. Jo told me to sprinkle the food in once a day, every day. I just forgot.
“Sorry, hon,” she says to Mom. “It won’t happen again.”
Jo jabs me on the arm.
Mom murmurs, “No more pets. I can’t take them dying.” She’s talking about Lucky.
Jo swallows hard. “Uh, yeah —”
A howl, then a squealing like a siren makes us all jump. Jo says, “Don’t follow me,” and sprints for the door.
Mom and I exchange a look. Right. I race after Jo, with Mom on my heels. We run through the kitchen and head to the backyard.
Jo yells, “No! Get back. Back!”
The screen door slams behind me. As I skid to a stop in the grass, a mass of fur comes charging at me, and I scream.
Jo shrieks, “Put him down. Let go!” Jo’s beating on this thing, this animal, this hairy beast. All I hear is hissing and squalling, then I see Savage, our cat, drop to the grass. The beast’s fangs glisten. Savage tears toward me, and I crouch, covering my head. Mom flings open the screen, and Savage barrels for the basement.
Jo hollers, “Is he okay?”
Mom doesn’t answer. I say, “I think so.” I didn’t see any limping or shredded skin.
Mom glares at Jo. “What the hell is that?”
I bound over and slug Mom once for “hell.”
Jo hooks her fingers around something on the beast. A collar. The beast is a dog. A monster dog.
“She likes cats,” Jo says. “She was just playing with Savage.”
“Oh, that’s comforting.” Mom expels a puff of air. “Where’d it come from?” She folds her arms tight across her chest. Meanwhile, I slowly approach the dog. “Be careful, Nick.” Mom thrusts out a hand to snag my shirt, but misses.
Jo says, “Sit,” and stiff-arms the dog. The dog obeys. “I brought her home from work.”
Mom goes, “Jo —”
“She won’t hurt Nick. She’s been hanging around the construction site the last couple of weeks. I think someone dumped her. She’s starving, Erin. A couple of us have been feeding her, then today the big dope chases the forklift and gets her leg caught in the rigging. It looks pretty mangled. I couldn’t just leave her out there.”
I pet the dog’s head, and she licks my chin.
Mom and Jo fix on each other for a long minute before Mom drops her head and shakes it. She pivots and returns inside. Jo and I grimace at each other. We hear Mom clomp on the stairs, and we trail behind.
“Stay,” Jo orders the dog.
“She’s a sweet dog, hon,” Jo says at Mom’s back. “Someone trained her. She knows ‘sit’ and ‘shake.’ Did you see how fast she dropped Savage after I told her no? She’s really gentle; she’ll be great with Nick.”
“No more animals, Jo,” Mom’s voice carries in the basement. “Especially not a dog. You know I can’t go through that again.” She inhales a deep, shaky breath, and lets it out. “Nick’s too young to be responsible, and I’m the one who ends up taking care of the pets. Have you noticed that?” She stops at the bottom of the stairs and twists around. “Either of you?” We almost plow into her.
“What about Savage?” I say.
Mom narrows her eyes at me.
Jo whispers in my ear, “Smartass.” I slug her once for “ass.”
Mom’s the one who let Savage in one night. He was a stray. She’s the one who named him.
She claps her hands and clicks her tongue. “S-a-a-vage. Come on, baby. Where are you? You’re okay.”
Jo sits on the step next to me. “She’s really cool, Nick. A Great Pyrenees, one of the guys said. We could breed her and have puppies.”
I widen my eyes at Jo.
“Okay, that’s probably not my most brilliant idea at the moment.” There’s a scuffling noise at the far edge of the basement, behind a boxful of old toys and Jo’s busted stereo. Savage shoots up the wall to the ceiling joists, and growls.
Mom coos, “It’s okay, baby. Calm down.”
Savage skulks away toward the furnace. He’s feral, a wild-cat. Mom called Jo the same thing once. Jo said, “Yeah, and you’re the only one who can tame me.” It must be true, because Mom’s the only one Savage will let near him. Mom kisses and clicks and eventually coaxes Savage into her arms.
As she hurries toward us, Jo and I jump up and separate to let Mom by.
Jo bends over to give me a pony ride up the stairs. On the way she says, “You know, Nick, everything happens for a reason. Lucky gets killed, and lo and behold, this dog shows up. I think she was sent here to fill up the hole in our hearts left by Lucky. Especially your mom’s.”
I don’t remember all that much about Lucky. We only had her a couple of months before she got run over by a car. I was the one who left the gate open the morning Lucky got out. She ran straight for Mom. She was still a puppy. Mom was already in the car, backing out of the garage. She swore it wasn’t my fault, that she wasn’t looking, but I still hear the squeal and feel sick all over again.
Now, Jo lowers me to the landing and stands with her hand pressed flat against my chest. She’s staring out the back door, where Mom is sitting on the grass with the dog’s head in her lap. Savage is hunched on top of the shed, growling. Mom’s running her fingers down the dog’s front leg. The skin’s all ripped and bloodied, and a length of bone is exposed. Mom hugs the dog’s head and starts to rock her. She must notice us at the screen, because she says, “Call around for a vet. See if anyone can get us in right away.”
Jo balls a fist and holds it out to me for a knuckle knock. She says softly, “Everything for a reason.”
Our new dog ended up having to get her front leg amputated. We named her Lucky 2. While the vet was discussing the operation with Mom, Jo snuck out the film. It’s cool, the X-ray of Lucky 2’s busted leg. I still have it in my scrapbook (not the leg).
Jo said, “You get a lot of extra body parts, Nick. Parts you don’t need to stay alive. You really only need one of everything.”
“Yeah?” I quipped. “So how come I got two moms?”
Jo was quick. “One to bring you into this world, and one to take you out.” She laughed at my expression. If I knew then what I know now, I might’ve answered, “Wrong. You only need one for that too.”