I let out the clutch, and we spurt from the driveway. Lindquist was right; I’m a crack driver, if I say so myself. I have an instinct for automobiles, the way some people have an instinct for horses; I guess it’s in my blood or something, the same element as in Lindquist’s blood. The kids don’t move as I turn this way and that, until we’re roaring down the main highway, ocean to the left of us. We motor through Kilauea, where I glance in the direction of the post office, though of course there’s no time to stop. We’ve traveled eight or nine miles before I open my mouth to address the small fry huddled in the back. Open it wide, since the engine makes a real racket at that speed.

“I want you both to be very brave for your mother. You know how much she loves that cat.”

They nod.

Doris says, “Is she dead already?”

“Not yet. But it’s time, you know. Every living thing has its time on this earth, and its time to . . . well, you know. Heaven and all that.”

“I know.” Doris looks away.

I glance at Wesley in the mirror. He looks as if he’s holding back a regular Niagara of tears. “Wesley? You all right?”

“Yes, Janey.”

“I know it’s hard to lose something you love, but—”

Wesley bursts into sobs.

“Now you’ve done it,” says Doris. “Can’t you just leave us be? We already know all that!”

I shrink back into my skin and focus the rest of my attention on the road. I don’t even look back in the mirror. What do I know about tadpoles, after all? I can hardly remember being one myself.

I stop the car at the veterinary hospital and open the door meekly for the ankle-biters to hop out. I usher them into the waiting room, where Lindquist sits on the bench. Sandy forms a mound of calico fluff on her lap. Next to her sits Mr. Caruthers, and at his feet lies Mollie, head on paws, who rises and wags her tail as the children approach.

“How’s the beagle?” I ask.

“Oh, she’s fine. A little indigestion, that’s all. I just thought that Mollie and me, we’d maybe stay for a bit and keep everybody company.” He gives me this sort of half-ashamed smile, not unlike Mollie’s own expression. “She’s good with kids, you know. When they’re sad.”