Read Online Becoming Chloe by Catherine Ryan Hyde - Free Book Online Page B

her back against the fence, drawing something with her markers. She still has that same pad and markers. When I give Chloe something as a present, she doesn’t lose it, and she’s slow to use it up. It’s like she saves it for special occasions.
    The rain’s let up for a time, but it’s left the ground soft. I also think there’s more on the way, but it was nice enough to give us this break. Give us a chance to bury our dead.
    Chloe says, “Jordy? What does it mean to die?”
    “I don’t really know,” I say. “I know what it means for the people who don’t die. It means we never get to see that person again. But I don’t know what it means for the one who dies.
    That’s not very much to know, I guess.”
    “It’s okay, Jordy. You did fine. Is Otis going to die?”
    “We’re all going to die, Chloe.”
    “Is Otis going to die soon?”
    “Yeah, probably. Pretty soon.”
    “Are you going to die soon?”
    I miss one shovel motion, the way a heart will miss one beat worrying about something else. I wonder if that heartbeat ever gets made up again. If we ever get that back.
    “No. Why would I die?”
    “I don’t know. I was just thinking, what would I do if you did?”
    “I won’t.”
    “Promise?”
    “Nobody can really promise that, Chlo. But there’s no reason why I should die any sooner than you do.”
    “Good,” she says. “Good. I would hate it if you died sooner than me. I would hate that.” Then she draws in silence for a while.
    I look at her face and try to put my finger on something.
    Something that’s there, but never was before. One of those things Chloe has always been missing, yet a trace of it is hanging around somewhere. But I’m not even sure what it is.
    When the hole is about three feet deep, I tip Bruno into it.
    Then I get down there with him and arrange him a little so he looks more comfortable. So I don’t have to picture him doing a bad Bambi imitation for all of eternity.
    I’m about to throw the first shovelful of dirt onto him when Chloe yells, “Wait!”
    She’s done with her drawing now, but she takes the scissors and begins cutting. She ends up with a big round disc of paper with a little eye hook on top, like a dog tag. She lets it flutter down and land on Bruno’s side.
    “Okay, now,” she says.
    I look down and see she’s made Bruno a giant dog tag that says good dog, with the word bruno written in vertically, twice. The two O’s in the words bruno are shared with the first O in good and the O in dog. It occurs to me that I never would have known Bruno was a good dog if Chloe hadn’t told me.
    As I shovel dirt onto it, I actually notice a lump in my throat.
    I haven’t cried for so long. I can’t even remember the last time.
    Maybe I’m regaining my ability to feel things. Which I absolutely refuse to do until someone can guarantee me it won’t be retroactive.
    “Jordy,” Chloe says. “You’re crying. That’s so nice.”
    In the middle of the night I wake up and Chloe is not draped all over me. Not in the bed beside me. I crane my neck to look in the bathroom, but the door is open and I can see she’s not there.
    The rain has come back. I can hear it pounding on the roof. I’m so sleepy, and I’m really hoping this won’t get too complicated.
    Then again, it’s Chloe.
    I look out the back window and there she is, squatting by the grave in the pouring rain, her knees doubled up under her wet nightshirt, her hair plastered down all around her head. If I leave her out there, she’ll freeze. If I go out and get her, I’ll freeze.
    I go out and get her.
    I put one hand on her shoulder. “Chlo—”
    She jumps up and grabs me. The way I’d expect her to grab on if she was about to fall off a twenty-story building. Then again, maybe she is, and I’m just too blind to know it.
    “I’m scared, Jordy.”
    “I know. I can tell. It’s okay. Are you scared of me dying?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Are you scared I’ll leave you?”
    “I