“Why didn’t she ask me to help her?” Kate asked, feeling so helpless about the distance between them; it seemed that every day she was learning of more and more ways Beth had evaded her.
“You didn’t even know about Jed, or that she was leaving,” Lulu said quietly, almost as if apologizing for the fact.
That statement smashed into Kate, a baseball in the chest. It came down, again, to the fact Kate didn’t understand love, or being in love, could never appreciate a romantic or vengeful gesture, because she’d never had a relationship that would require it. Her sister had known she wouldn’t understand. She walked away from Lulu. She began to run toward the ocean, but she heard footsteps crunching fallen leaves behind her, Lulu keeping pace.
Old stone walls marked the end of the trail. A hard left led onto a coast path, hugging the top of the clay bluffs above the Atlantic. The sea was dark blue. The gigantic white windmills turned relentlessly.
The hawk had caught a rabbit in the open field. At Mathilda’s when Kate was young, she would hear owls grab them at night, and they would scream as they died, but this rabbit was alive, stock still in fright as the hawk perched on its back, talons dug in. The hawk flapped its wings, lifting the rabbit five feet into the air.
“Stop!” Kate yelled, tearing through the tall grass, waving her arms. The raptor wheeled, lost its grip. The rabbit fell to the ground.
Kate approached slowly. It lay still on its side. Deep red, raw claw marks scored the gray-brown fur along both sides of its spine. At first, she thought it was dead, but there was life in the glossy black eyes, watching her as she leaned over.
“Oh,” she said, kneeling beside it. “Oh . . .”
“Poor thing,” Lulu said. “Didn’t have a chance against a red-tail.”
Kate bent her head so she could look directly into the cottontail’s eyes. They stared straight at her. Not a whisker twitched, the stillness of shock. Blood oozed from the tracks left by the hawk’s talons. She placed her palm on the rabbit’s side, felt the light, panicked flutter of its heart. The vulnerability of small creatures, the ones who couldn’t be saved. The phrase came to her mind and filled her eyes with tears. In that moment, all she could see was Beth.
She felt Lulu’s hand on her shoulder.
“Come on,” Lulu said. “Leave her—let nature take its course. You don’t want to watch her die.”
“She’s not going to die,” Kate said. She took off her soft fleece jacket and placed it in the grass. She closed her hands around the rabbit. Lifting her, she felt surprised by her weight. Laying the rabbit on her jacket, she wrapped her body tight, the way she’d seen Beth swaddle Sam when she was a baby. Her purpose was to immobilize her and prevent further injury. She expected her to thrash against her touch, but the rabbit seemed to snuggle against her right away.
The rabbit must be so scared, she thought. She had once flown a family and its pet parrot from Westerly to Chicago, and they had kept the cage covered to keep the bird calm. She emptied her backpack, handing Lulu her water bottle, phone, and wallet. Gently, she placed the rabbit inside and closed the zipper.
The whole way back to the Jeep, and then driving quickly to the plane, the rabbit didn’t move. Although it was Kate’s turn to pilot, and she’d been craving the exhilaration of flying them back to Groton-New London, she took the passenger seat.
“I’m so sorry, Kate,” Lulu said. “I know you’re really mad. If you want to cancel for later, us all getting together at Mathilda’s, I understand.”
“We’re not canceling,” Kate said. “It’s Beth’s birthday.”
Lulu nodded, banking north toward Connecticut. Kate closed her eyes, missing out on the spectacular, endless blue-sea view, and held the backpack against her chest, the warmth radiating through the fabric telling her the rabbit was still alive.
50
Kate dropped Lulu off and headed to the veterinarian. They’d barely spoken the whole way from Block Island to the airport, from the airport to Lulu’s cottage, except to agree to meet at Mathilda’s after Sam got out of school at 3:30.
Dr. Laurie Banks practiced in a barn on the edge of Mile Creek. Kate had been here before, accompanying Beth to take Popcorn for shots. Dr. Banks took one look at the rabbit and shook her head.
“I’m not licensed to treat wild animals,” she said. “You have to take this one to a wildlife rehab.” She leaned closer, though, examined the hawk’s gouges. “It really doesn’t look good, though. The rehabber will probably euthanize it.”
Kate stared at the rabbit’s wide dark eyes and saw life force and knew she wouldn’t let that happen.
“Can you at least tell me if it’s male or female?”
Dr. Banks turned the rabbit over carefully and looked beneath the short white tail. “Female,” she said.
Kate nodded.
“Here’s the name of the closest rehab,” Dr. Banks said, handing Kate a slip of paper.
“Thanks,” Kate said.
“It could be a long shot,” Dr. Banks said. “It’s unlikely she’ll survive. It’s probably kinder to put her out of her misery. The wildlife vet will make that decision.”
“Okay,” Kate said.
The vet brought out a cardboard crate for transport and placed the rabbit inside. Kate carried her to the car, set her on the front seat beside her. She started to drive toward Montville, the address Dr. Banks had given her, but instead she stopped at CVS, bought hydrogen peroxide and bacitracin, and headed for home.
On her couch, she set the cottontail on a towel. The bleeding had stopped. She gently washed the cuts with warm water, then hydrogen peroxide. The gashes were clean. She applied the antibiotic ointment to prevent infection as carefully as she could. The rabbit’s fur felt impossibly soft.
Popcorn investigated. Kate didn’t want him to scare the rabbit, but Popcorn was so cautious it seemed okay. Kate slung her arm around his neck, burrowed her face in his fur. The dog had been Beth’s. Beth had instinctively known how to care for him, and she’d wanted to. Beth had had a husband and a daughter and a lover and all the people she’d helped at the shelter and the soup kitchen. Kate had kept herself as separate as possible from all creatures.
“What should we name her?” Kate asked Popcorn.
He circled, lay at her feet. Kate heard him sigh as he settled. The rabbit was perfectly still, except for her breath. Kate’s hand rested on the sofa beside her, and she felt the warmth of each exhalation. On the coffee table was a blue bowl filled with small oranges. The scent filled the room. It smelled like a citrus grove, both sweet and tangy. Beth had loved oranges. They had been her favorite fruit. And she had been wearing the color in those pictures Lulu had taken.
Kate held her hand above the rabbit’s head and felt energy passing between them. All her senses were engaged. Beth was still with her. She felt warm breath on the back of her neck and actually turned around to see if her sister was standing there. She had the sudden feeling that she was coming alive in a different way.
Kate’s gaze fell upon the bowl of oranges, and the rabbit’s name came to her. “You’re Clementine,” she said. “You’re going to get better.”