Tony’s hospital room was so crowded that there wasn’t space for another person to stand, but still they kept coming. His Aunt Irene, his Uncle Mike, and his three cousins were there. His sisters were all sitting on his bed. Flo was writing something on his cast. His mother was sitting by his side, stroking his hand. At the door, his father was shaking hands with people as they came. Uncle Leonard winked at him from the foot of the bed.
There were flowers on the windowsill, and the telephone ringing with calls from relatives in Akron and Chicago, and his father’s other brother in St. Petersburg, Florida. “He’s all right … yes, he’s perfect except for his ankle … Yes, he lost quite a bit of weight, but other than that … Yes, I know it’s a miracle … We thought the worst these last few days.…”
Following his mother’s whispered directions, Tony was sitting up for the people smiling and saying something to everyone. But after a while it was hard for him to focus. He let his head go back against the pillow and his mind drift the way it had so often when he and Cindy were trudging through the deep snows. Part of him was still there, in that other world.
His Uncle Mike thrust his pale, heavy face close to Tony’s. “Did you see any big animals, Anthony, any bear or mountain lions?”
“Just dogs, Uncle Mike.”
“They must have run for their life when they seen you corning, Anthony,” his uncle said, nudging Tony’s father. “The Laportes would scare the bejesus out of anybody.”
His father laughed. “You don’t think there’s another boy who could have done what my boy did.”
Tony closed his eyes. The sound of the voices in the background rippled over him. “He’s tired … poor kid … we better go.” He heard his mother saying goodbye to the people until only his family remained. He opened his eyes. “Don’t go yet.”
His mother and father sat down with him. His older sister remained, but the two younger girls went off to buy cokes from the machine. Alone with his parents, Tony felt a little awkward. He wanted to say something to them about getting into a rage over the dog and taking the car. “I’m sorry about the car. I really wrecked it.”
“It was an old car,” his mother said. “We bought it for seventy-five dollars, so don’t worry.”
“What about the tires and battery?” his father said. “They cost something.”
“Oh, Fred,” his mother said.
“I want to pay for it,” Tony said. “You tell me how much it costs, and I’ll pay it all back.”
“How you going to do that, you crazy kid?” his father said. “We’re just glad you’re alive. So forget about the money and the car. I don’t know how you did it, in that weather for eleven days. How’d you keep from freezing?”
Tony shook his head. He’d told them about the fires they’d made and the things they’d done to keep warm, but somehow he never got to say what he wanted to say about what those eleven days had really meant.
The car—he could talk about that. He’d taken the car and wrecked it. Now it was up to him to make it good. They kept saying it didn’t matter, that having him home alive and whole was all they cared about. They didn’t understand that it did matter to him. When he’d taken the car he’d acted like a spoiled, punk kid. He wanted them to know he wasn’t that way anymore, but he didn’t know how to say it. He knew Cindy would understand. If she was here, she’d be able to explain it better.