Mom calls me while I’m on the bus, sitting with Max. She tells me they’re taking one of Dad’s kidneys. Mom’s not a match, and of course we’ll never know about me. There’s a new doctor, someone from Portland who specializes in this sort of operation. Evidently they’re all worried about Kyle pulling through, he’s already so weak. A local surgeon will amputate the hand if the other surgery is going well.

  “I asked them about your father’s liver. In case you were wondering. You know what alcohol can do. But they double-checked those results, and it’s fine. I’ll call you when I know more, Ethan. It’ll be a long surgery, if everything goes well. So hope for that.” I tell her I will, and then she says, “Ethan? I just want you to know I love you.”

  “Me too, Mom. Call me.” I’m dying to say, So Dad wasn’t drinking as much as you thought, huh? But this is really not the time.

  It’s a long surgery, all right. I make sure all my teachers know I’m waiting for an urgent family call, ’cause I don’t know when it will come. Mom calls once or twice when I’m in class, and I jump each time and run into the hall. But there’s no real news until midafternoon. Mom sounds like she’s trying not to cry, but the news is good.

  “They’re fine, Ethan. It’s just seeing your brother’s right arm . . . I can’t look at it.”

  “They took the hand, then?”

  “Yes. Thank God.”

  I couldn’t agree more, and yet I totally get what she means about seeing it. As soon as I hang up, my whole body kind of slumps. I didn’t know until that moment how much I’ve been holding myself in all day, how stressed out I am. I’ve left History to take the call, and I don’t go back in right away. I lean against the wall for a few minutes, eyes closed and watering a little. Then I walk up and down the hall, my mind empty of words but full of images of handless arms. When my dream image comes flying into my head—the one with the human hand in the leghold trap—I decide it’s time to go back to class. Max is watching the door from his chair, and I half smile and nod once. I can see his body slump a little, too, in relief. He really does care about me.

  Within minutes my phone rings again, scaring the bejesus out of me. Did something go wrong? But it’s Etta’s number on the display. I go into the hall, anyway, and Max follows me. I can’t quite believe that he’d do that, but here he is.

  I answer my phone, sort of at the same time telling Max it’s not the hospital. His turn now to slump against the wall.

  “Ethan, your mother’s just called to tell me how things are. It sounds really good. She’s staying at the hospital though, as you know. So I’m thinking it would be great if you could come here for dinner tonight. Heidi’s cooking, but if you want some meat I can make sure you get some. Shall I pick you up after school?”

  Most of this sounds fine. I’d like to see Heidi again, and it sounds like she’s still spending time with Etta, like she’s been doing since Two was killed. But I’d kind of hoped to spend a little time with Max. “Can you hang on a sec?” And I ask Max about his after-school plans, totally and completely shocked when he suggests that we both go to Etta’s, at least for a little while. He says it’s about time he got to know her better, since I seem to like her so much.

  “Etta? Listen, do you mind if my friend Max comes, too? He can’t stay for dinner, but—”

  “Of course! I’d be delighted. I’ll pick you both up, and then I can give him a ride home later.”

  This day didn’t start so great, but it’s turning out all right after all.

  Heidi is out grocery shopping when we get to Etta’s. I give Max a tour of the cottage, which has only three rooms, and since we came in through the kitchen, a tour means I show him the living room. We’re alone there, so after I point out where Two’s grave is, I tell him about the day I’d sat in the Adirondack chair, imagining him in the other one. He seems a little shy about this, kind of an Aw, shucks moment. “Great view,” is all he says. But then he kisses me. Just a tiny one, but I’ll take it.

  We decide to take a tour of the outside before it gets too dark. Max says the clouds look heavy with snow, and when I look up I think he’s right. If there’s one thing I haven’t been paying attention to, it’s weather forecasts.

  First we stand near Two’s grave, facing distant hills that are all gray and black and dark green this time of year. Anyone in the living room can see us, so we don’t hold hands or anything, just stand there with our hands in our pockets, and I let my mind revisit that first time I was out here. Two had come out to sit with me. My eyes start stinging now, and I’m sure it’s because I’m feeling stressed from a combination of all the crap that’s been happening lately, not just about Two. But I don’t want to cry. I turn and lead the way toward the back, where I’d thrown the ball for Two that day that feels so long ago now.

  “This is a great place for a dog,” I say, my back to the house, facing the long open space that’s bordered on one side by the view of the hills and on the other by woods.

  “You’re thinking of Two, aren’t you?”

  I don’t bother to answer. It’s kind of obvious that I am, but I still feel happy that Max mentioned him, and that he now gets that the dog was important to me. Kind of automatically my eyes move toward the shed on the edge of the woods, and I head that way. Max follows me inside. There are still some Vote for Etta signs in here, which amazes me; we planted so many.

  Max and I turn and face outside, but we don’t leave the shed. His arm is around my shoulders, and I lean a little against him. It feels so good, despite all the bad that’s happening, to be here like this with him.

  Sometimes it’s okay when my voice surprises me. “Two saved my life right here.”

  Max doesn’t say anything for about five seconds, and then, “Okay, you’re gonna have to explain that one, charmer.”

  Charmer. God, but I love it when he calls me that. So I tell him how it happened and finish with the hero. “Two just sits there like he’s wondering what’s for lunch or something. He wasn’t even hurt. It was pretty amazing.”

  I look at Max, who has a really odd expression on his face. Almost as a challenge, I add, “I was part of his pack.”

  “Ethan, why didn’t I know about this?”

  “You mean, why didn’t I tell you? Or, why wasn’t there ever a good time to tell you?”

  Max turns to look outside. “I hear you. It’s been pretty crazy these last few weeks, huh?”

  “Yeah.” I’m not sure, but I think that his tone of voice, and the fact that he turned away from me, are saying that he knows it’s at least partly because he’s limited what we talk about. But I probably have to take some of the blame. I mean, there were those trips to Bangor together. Two’s rescue here happened between them, so I could have talked about it on the second trip. I could have talked about a lot of stuff on those trips. But I didn’t.

  Why not? Was I afraid Max would think I was a loser, spending all that time with an old lady like Etta? Was he giving me the impression that this thing that was eating up the town didn’t matter, so anything I said about it would be lame? Was I concentrating so hard on not talking about Kyle’s weirdness that I clammed up about lots of other things? Or was I trying to keep Max in a separate compartment of my life, safe from contamination by the rest of it? And am I as scared as he is of being open about what we are to each other?

  And what are we?

  Lots of stuff to think about. Meanwhile, I’m starting to shiver. “Ready to go back?”

  Max shrugs. He looks at me again, and suddenly we’re kissing. We won’t do much in here; it’s cramped and cold. But we sure can kiss.

  We head back to the house through the first flakes of snow.

  Max surprises the hell out of me yet again today when we go inside. Heidi’s made hot cocoa, and we’re all sitting around the table with Heidi asking Max a few questions about himself, and she tells him a little about her and about Two. Etta’s fairly quiet, but that’s okay. So am I. And when Heidi tells Max what she does for a living, that’s when he surprises me.

  “You know about power animals, right? Ethan gave me information about this bird, the junco, that’s been following me around. One of them even sacrificed itself, or something. It smashed into the bus window in a snowstorm, right beside me. Does that mean something important?”

  If anyone had asked me whether Max had taken in anything that I told him about power animals, or if he’d even really read what I’d printed out for him, I’d have said, “Not very likely.” But I’d actually forgotten about that junco that hit the bus window. Max remembered.

  Heidi says, “I’m sure it was important to the poor junco! Seriously, though, the messages are not always obvious. How curious are you? Would you be interested in doing a grounding exercise? You might or might not learn something, but it can’t hurt.”

  Max looks at me and lifts one shoulder. I don’t say anything, but he says, “Can Ethan and I both do it?”

  “You can do it at the same time, if you want. All I would do is talk you into a level of relaxation that keeps the internal mind alert. It’s not hypnosis. You don’t talk during the exercise, though we can talk about it afterward, if you like.”

  So we’re both going to go into some kind of trance, I guess. Heidi has me get that metal bowl from the living room, the one that had made that beautiful sound the first time I was in this room. She calls it a singing bowl. It’s still on the bookshelf in front of the Shakespeare, and I remember one line from when I’d picked it up before: This above all: to thine own self be true.

  Back in the kitchen Heidi says, “Just sit comfortably.” She waits for us to settle. “And now, close your eyes. Listen to the tone, focus on it, and follow it to silence.”

  That bowl gives the most beautiful tone that lasts and lasts. And it makes perfect sense to follow it to silence. Then she talks me through what sounds like ways to feel, but it gets translated in my head as images. Strong trees, protective nests, buoyant air, deep powerful earth. If Heidi is still talking, I wouldn’t know it. I’m in the air looking down on a scene, outdoors someplace. It feels completely natural to be up here, better than being on the ground. I figure I’m flying as Bat.

  I’m above an area like the edge of a forest, with lower bushes and then an open field. It’s kind of like behind Etta’s house. It’s not daytime, and it’s not night—sometime in between. I’ve just started to realize that I can’t actually be Bat, because I can see very clearly, when I hear a sharp whistle, almost a toot, almost like that last part of Dad’s whistle. A flash of red appears on the branch of a bush. It’s a male cardinal, brilliant even in the dusk. Then it flies away, but another bird is still there—a female, the soft buff tones of her body edged by the rich, deep orange under her wings. She whistles, too, and then there’s a flash of red again, and they’re side by side once more. I hover and watch as first one of the cardinals takes off and returns, and then the other, and back and forth, whistling. Suddenly the male cardinal lifts off his perch and flies right at me like he wants to strike. I feel my whole body jerk, and I’m terrified. Then I hear Heidi’s voice, and I can feel her holding my hand.

  “Gently, gently. Relax back into yourself, and leave what you saw just where it is. Take a deep breath and let it out slowly. And again.” I hear the bowl sing again. When it’s silent, Heidi says to open our eyes.

  Heidi keeps hold of my hand. “Ethan, I apologize. You went deeper than I intended. But please know you were never in danger. Take a few moments to come back into yourself.” She squeezes and lets my hand go.

  Max says he’s kind of creeped out. He didn’t see anything much, just a kind of gray light, but he says there was someone, or something, watching him. He wants to know what that means.

  Heidi says, “It’s not unusual that nothing specific appeared to you. But I’m intrigued by the fact that you felt watched. It could be just that you’re not quite ready, or not quite open enough, to take advantage of the medicine that power animals offer. I wouldn’t let it bother you at all. If you like, we can do this again some time in the future and see if your experience changes. Meantime, it might help for you to contemplate your own life in light of what characteristics you think would help you progress, or support you. Think about what characteristics you’d like to strengthen in yourself.”

  “Okay.” He doesn’t sound like he’s going to start contemplating right away, in any case. He turns toward me. “Ethan, what did you see?”

  Everyone is looking at me, but I don’t know what I want to say, or if I want to say anything. I’m still feeling unsettled, even a little freaked out. But I don’t see how I can not say something. So I describe what I saw, right up to when the male cardinal flew at me.

  Max asks her, “What does Ethan’s mean?”

  Heidi is still looking at me, kind of intense but still gentle. Finally, to me, she says, “I can tell you only what these animals are said to represent.” She shakes her head. “This is what comes of me trying to figure out what someone else’s animal is. It’s something you need to discover yourself. I might have been off-base with Bat for you, Ethan. If this turns out to be true, I hope it’s not upsetting.”

  “So, what’s the cardinal to me, then?” I’m kind of sad; I’m very fond of Bat now, and I don’t want him overpowered.

  Heidi takes a long breath before she says, “The red of the male cardinal calls to blood in a mystic way. It represents a powerful life force. The female . . . you said they were both coming and going, taking turns?”

  “And whistling. They were both whistling.”

  Heidi nods. “So they both wanted your attention. The presence of both usually represents the integration of male, or perseverance, and female, intuition. When we allow these characteristics to balance within us, that’s very powerful. It helps us achieve almost anything. But the red bird flew at you. It’s said that he can take you on a spiritual path from which there is no turning back. And someone on this path must take great care not to lose himself in his mission. Again, balance is essential. If you let the power of the red bird take over, you’ll lose the intuition of the female.”

  No one says anything for a minute, but then Heidi smiles and says, “You, young man, are one powerful energy. Below your surface, there are worlds expanding in all directions. People like you often become shamans or priests. Tuck that into the back of your mind for now. How do you feel?”

  How to answer? “I feel okay, I think. Kind of tired.” My head is spinning, actually, because it’s kind of like Heidi’s telling me my quest for balance is not just something I want, but it’s something I need. Like if I don’t find it, I’ll get sucked down some path that a stronger personality wants me to go on.

  God, no wonder I try so hard not to get involved! I risk a glance at Etta, who had once told me to make sure I wasn’t hiding out of cowardice. She’s looking at me, her eyes thoughtful rather than intense. We’re in synch again, it seems. About time.

  I ride with Etta as we drive Max home. She lets us sit in the backseat together, and we hold hands, our fingers playing together as we watch the groups of kids out for Halloween in spite of the inch or so of snow already on the ground. I’d completely forgotten about Halloween. I bet no one will venture down Etta’s driveway, and no one’s getting anything at my house. I feel so separate from it, but it’s more than just being too old to care about wearing costumes and collecting candy. Somehow I’ve moved to the next level. I feel this; I just don’t know what it means.

  Just before we get to the Modines’, Max gives my hand a hard squeeze and lets go. I want him to stay with me. I want him to stay with me all night, to warm my bed, to be there when I wake up alone in my own house. I have to stop myself from calling to him.

  Over dinner, Etta and Heidi talk about the election and what Etta’s going to do to get out into the public again, with only one full day left. Voting day is Tuesday. I’m only half listening, wondering how I’m going to figure out who—or what—is trying to drag me out of balance.

  Etta and Heidi have stopped talking, but I barely notice until Etta says, “You’re looking pensive, Ethan. Thinking about your brother?”

  I blink stupidly. Duh. Maybe I should be, but I’m not. “Not at the moment. Mom said she’d call me around eight. I was . . . I was thinking about how some people want to pull you down their religious path.”

  Etta nods. “I know what you mean. I’m not advocating religion, Ethan. But it seems to me that most people need to believe that someone somewhere understands why things happen, especially when things seem to make no sense. And if they can get others to believe it, too, their belief is validated.”

  “They want to be lied to?”

  Heidi asks, “Who’s lying?”

  “Well . . . you know, there’s really no way to control things, is there? There’s no way we can get things to be the way we want. Sure, people pray, but it doesn’t usually work, does it? It only seems to, and only once in a while. So, I mean, it’s like with this election thing. With ID. They have to lie to believe that evolution can’t be true. They have to lie to themselves, and to each other, and they try lying to us. Why don’t they admit that science can describe what’s going on better than . . . better than fucking Revelations?”

  Heidi says, “Language, Ethan.”

  “Sorry.”

  Etta says, “Science seems pretty cold to most people, I think. The stories it tells are full of cold facts. And factual stories fascinate only some people. Most people prefer stories about people, about life. Stories they can relate to, that make them feel good, or at least stories that give them hope.”

  Heidi is nodding. “Not many people change the way they live or the way they think because they heard some facts. They might change small things, but nothing big. People need inspiration to change.”

  This all makes me feel a kind of hopelessness. It means Sylvia has no chance at convincing anyone that ID isn’t science by approaching the issue rationally. And Max can’t convince people with science that there’s nothing wrong with us just because we’re gay. I set my fork down a little too hard, and it clatters loudly and splatters sauce across the table. “But look what religion did to Kyle! And it’s making all those ID freaks afraid, and they do terrible things. It uses fear, and threats. That’s how it gets people to do things.”