the picture window behind the couch. Oleander Place became a small river of runoff.
And the rain continued.
9
When it came, the break in the monotonous routine was sudden and devastating.
On the morning of the fourth day, just before the rain tapered off, diminished to a restless drizzle, and finally stopped completely (although none of the Huntley family ever thought of that as the day the rain stopped), about an hour after breakfast and well into the never-ending monopoly game, Sams suddenly stood up and wandered down the hall.
No one paid any real attention.
A few minutes later, he returned carrying one of his favorite toys, a clear plastic ball in which either Yip or Yap, the boys’ hamsters, could race around the floor, constantly delighting Sams as well as the rest of them. The short-nubbed carpeting in the family was just right for the ball-it slowed Yip or Yap sufficiently that Sams could keep up with whichever one was exercising at the moment, yet allowed the hamster to race along fast enough to keep everyone entertained.
Solemnly, Sams placed the ball on the floor by the game board. The he went to stand beside Burt.
“Help me?”
“What?” Burt kept looking at the board, intent on the fact that if Will threw a seven, his older brother would be confronted by the horrifying fact of landing on Park Palace…with three hotels. Burt waved his little brother away absently.
“Help me?”
“Burt,” Willard said from the couch, barely removing his eyes from the television, “help your brother.”
Burt finally glanced up, saw Sams, then saw the plastic ball sitting on the floor. He understood at once what was needed.
“Okay,” he said with a sigh. “Don’t roll until I get back,” he instructed Will, Jr. He wanted to be there for the big moment.
The two boys disappeared down the hall.
They were gone for several minutes, longer than it should have taken to retrieve either Yip or Yap from its hiding place in the cedar chips.
Neither Willard nor Catherine noticed the time, although Will, Jr., wriggled in impatience at the wait.
Finally, Burt came down the hall, followed by Sams.
“Dad,” Burt said quietly.
“Yeah.”
“Dad, Yip won’t play with us.”
“Then bring Yap out,” The boys could apparently tell the two hamsters apart, although to Willard’s adult eyes they looked identical. “Maybe Yip’s eating or something.”
“No, he’s just laying there. He won’t get up to play with us.”
This time Willard heard a note of anxiety in Burt’s voice. He stood, casting a knowing-almost an accusatory- glance at Catherine. They had been waiting for this to happen ever since she had talked him into letting the kids have the things. Neither of them were particularly eager for what they both knew was coming. Catherine put aside her knitting and rose as well.
Will, Jr., and Suze simply sat at the game board, as if standing guard lest some errant breeze shift the playing pieces.
Willard led the way down the dark hallway toward the back bedroom. The room itself was cast into murky shadow by the cloud cover outside. The little Mickey Mouse lamp was on but not the ceiling light.
He walked over to the small table that held the hamsters’ cage. One of them, it must be Yap, was running circles on the exercise wheel, spinning away as if his little life depended on it. The other one, Yip, lay half hidden in cedar chips at the back of the cage.
Willard reached in.
Yap ignored him and kept the wheel spinning at breakneck speed.
Yip didn’t move, either. Willard closed his hand around the bit of fur.
Nothing.
He lifted the hamster out of the cage, glanced over his shoulder at Catherine, and nodded. They had both had small pets as children. Small pets, however much loved and however well cared for, often did not live long.
He led the small parade out of the bedroom and back into the family room.
“Will, put the ball away, will you?”
Will started to object, then took in the fact that his father-who almost never played with the hamsters-was standing quietly above him, holding something in his hand.
“Okay.” He picked up the toy and disappeared down the hall. He reappeared only a moment or so later.
“Come here, guys,” Willard said, voice softer, more gentle than it had been for the past several days.
The children gathered around his knees, their eyes on the mound of fur. Will, Jr., already had tears forming in his eyes. He knew. Burt probably guessed but was still processing. Suze looked confused. And Sams seemed to wonder why Yip didn’t get up and look at him.
“I’m afraid that Yip…well, that Yip has…gone away.”
“No he hasn’t, Daddy,” Suze replied immediately. “He’s right there. In your hand.”
“Right there,” Sams added, pointing.
“I know, but…” Willard looked up at Catherine.
“What Daddy is trying to say is that Yip has gone to sleep, and he is going to stay asleep for a long, long time,” she said, her voice as gently as Willard’s.
“You mean he’s… dead?” Burt had finally accepted what he already intuited. “Dead for good?”
Before Willard could answer, Suze breathed a quick “No,” and bust into tears. Perhaps she didn’t truly understand death, but she watched enough television-even the children’s programming that Willard and Catherine preferred-to know the word. And to know that it wasn’t a good thing.
Sams stared at his sister, then his tears joined hers, even though he had no idea what was happening.
Will, Jr., took a moment, then said, “We’ll have to have a funeral. Right away.”
Willard looked up at Catherine, who started to shrug, then her head moved up and down so slightly that none of the kids would have noticed even if they had seen it. They hadn’t. Their attention was fixed on Yip.
Willard felt again that momentary stab of irritation grate through him. All right for her to say it was okay, but he was the one who was going to have to trudge out into the rain, or at least into the rain-soaked yard, to officiate at the obsequies.
“Can we, Daddy?” Burt asked.
“I guess so.”
“When?” Suze said. “Right now.” For her, there never seemed to be a future, just the now.
Willard sighed, “Yeah, I guess so.”
“We’ll need a box or something first,” Catherine said. Suze scuttled away down the hall. A moment later, they all heard a drawer close, rather more loudly than necessary, and she reappeared in the doorway, cradling a small wooden box.
“Oh, Suze,” Catherine said, “That’s the redwood box Grandma and Grandpa gave you when they went to Monterrey. You don’t want to…”
“Yes, I do. Yip was my friend. I loved him.” The boys nodded their approval at her sacrifice.
Catherine went to her knitting and rummaged around in the bottom of the bag she used. Finally she stood up and carried a small irregular ball of dark purple yarn. She placed it on the fragrant cedar lining of the small box and tugged at the yarn until it made a kind of nest.
“Is that all right?”
All four children nodded this time.
“Willard?”
