Wild Life by Cynthia DeFelice Page A

supper.
    Oma gave Erik a weak smile and gently touched his shoulder. “I’ll talk to him,” she said.
    Erik could hear the fear and reluctance in her voice. “No,” he said. “Don’t bother. I’ll be fine.” He bit his tongue to keep from saying what he wanted to say: I’d rather sleep out than in the same house with him, any day.
    â€œErik,” said Oma, almost in a whisper. “Won’t you—”
    â€œI want to sleep in the barn. With Quill.”
    Oma sighed, her distress evident in her face. “Wait, then.” She took a flashlight from a shelf by the door. “You’ll need this. And a pillow and some more blankets for yourself.”
    â€œI’ll get them off my bed,” Erik replied, and headed for the stairs. He hastily removed his bedding and put on a sweatshirt. Back in the living room, he picked up Quill’s blanket. Arms full, he turned to face Oma, who appeared close to tears.
    â€œI wish you’d stay inside,” she said. “He—”
    â€œI’m sleeping in the barn, Oma. It’s okay . Really.”
    His grandmother reached up and fussed with the neck of his sweatshirt. Then, with a brave attempt at a smile, she said, “Good night, then. And—sleep well.”
    â€œâ€™Night,” Erik said, and escaped gratefully into the darkness.
    Oma turned on the porch light as he and Quill walked toward the barn. Once inside, he found the hay bales, spread out his blankets and Quill’s, plumped his pillow, and stretched out with Quill beside him. He buried his flushed and angry face in the warm fur of her neck.
    For a long time, he lay awake, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he thought about Big Darrell. What’s his problem, anyway? What did I ever do to him? Him and all his stupid rules. “Don’t go in that room. Didn’t I say no dogs? No sense in naming something that’s not yours.” I don’t know how Oma can stand living here alone with him. There’s no way I can take it for six months. I won’t make it one more day in that house.
    The instant he stopped thinking about Big Darrell, he worried that Dr. Bob would call at any moment, having found Quill’s owner. He tried to think of some way, any way, to keep her, but there was no solution, not as long as he lived under Big Darrell’s roof.

10
    In the morning, Erik lay awake, dreading having to see Big Darrell. To his relief, he heard the kitchen door shut, followed by the sound of the truck starting up. He got up and watched from the barn as Big Darrell drove off. Evidently the beet harvest continued, even on Sunday, and Erik was glad of it.
    When he walked into the house, Oma made a big to-do over him and Quill, asking how they’d slept and what they’d like for breakfast.
    â€œEggs would be great,” Erik said. “Please.”
    â€œErik,” Oma said softly, “you musn’t mind Big Darrell. He—has a lot on his mind.”
    Erik was still too angry to answer, even if he could have thought of something to say to that.
    She continued apologetically, “He called this morning. Dr. Bob is going to come for the—for Quill—later today.”
    Erik felt his jaw clench in fury.
    Oma blinked, looking as helpless as he felt. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
    After a long silence, she sighed and looked down at Quill, who was sitting by Erik’s feet. “Now what on earth are we going to feed you this morning?” she asked. “I guess it’ll have to be ham and eggs for you and Erik both, how does that sound?”
    Quill thumped her tail. As Oma busied herself cooking, Erik examined Quill’s face. There was a little swelling, but it wasn’t bad at all, and she seemed to be acting just fine.
    Oma handed Erik a plate of fried eggs, cooked crispy on the edges the way he liked them. She told him she was going to church and asked if he wanted