Kitty

The Weakest Link

Two days later, the blizzard stopped. They'd closed school on Monday; they'd said it was because of the snow, but when the roads cleared on Tuesday and Holy Infant remained shut, they knew it was also because of Emily. In spite of the two-foot snow drifts, rescue teams went into the large park her family's neighborhood backed up into. They'd given the forty acres as much search as possible the day before, but their efforts had been thwarted, so when at last the weather allowed for visibility and transportation, they were able to explore the difficult places—a tree-filled ravine into which pre-teens attempted to sled each year, a wooded area with nature trails, and a decent-sized pond where children threw bread to ducks in the summer. That was where they found her: in the pond, beneath the frozen surface and twenty inches of snow.

Rescue efforts regrettably became retrieval efforts. Not many were present due to the bitter cold, but a news crew managed to capture footage of Emily's devastated family, her poorly dressed mother being held back by an officer and her husband, her little sister sobbing. The evening news also showed some of the emergency personnel and equipment surrounding the pond as they presumably went about the task of breaking the body from the ice. Helen and her family sat around their television enraptured, horrified, completely silent as the live broadcast played out before their eyes. The reporter on scene went on and on about what exactly was being used to dig, how careful and respectful the workers were being, but the moment it became evident significant progress had been made, the woman grew distracted by her earpiece and sent the viewers back to the newsroom. The anchors made trite comments about tragedy and the dangers of the weather, and then Helen's father turned the television off.

Helen's mother turned toward her, said meaningful, sorrowful things, and took her incredulous daughter in her arms.

Even her brothers, always such assholes, comprehended the gravity of the situation. They tried to offer words, to put a hand on their sister's shoulder or even hug her, but everything around Helen had begun to blur, to run together like rain down a sheet of watercolors, and she hardly knew her family was there. She was a ragdoll in her father's arms as he helped her to her room, where she lay on her bed and tried to cry. Tears were strangely stubborn, though, and she felt sure something must be wrong with her—to be unable to cry at such a moment! Emily . . . how? How could it have happened? To her? Dead? No. No, it couldn't be true. As much as Helen had understood the possibility of it, she hadn't believed it could actually happen! Not to someone like Emily. No one wept when a possum or a deer was run over, but everyone felt the wrongness of a dead bird. And that's what Emily had been—a bird, vibrant and alive only two days prior!

It was all so, so wrong, so incomprehensible. Still . . . what they'd done . . .

But Anjulie had said it was all fake! She'd promised!

At the thought she might be culpable, Helen at last began to cry. She sobbed, in fact, as much from fear as from shame. They'd see—everyone would see what they'd done! Even now, after they'd surely pulled her out of the ice and were examining her dead body, anyone with eyes would see their cruelty. There'd be questions, and she and the others wouldn't have any answers except to say they'd been horrible! She'd blame Danielle and Anjulie. That pair had really been the worst. It'd all been their idea!

Helen turned abruptly at the sound of her door opening, inching inward.

It was her mother, and she had the cordless phone in one hand, covering the mouthpiece with the other. "Helen, honey?"

The girl sat up. She wiped the back of her hand beneath her nose, rubbed fiercely at her eyes.

"It's your friend, Danielle. Did you want to talk?"