Reagan nodded, at another loss for words. What had this pandemic done to her? She’d never been much of a talker, but she’d always been able to find words when she wanted them. Now her head and mouth felt empty. She felt like she carried emptiness around with her, a six-foot radius of it.
“Reagan,”Mason hissed. “Look!” He was pointing away from the deck. Three mule deer were running through her grandpa’s yard. Nearly silent in the snow.
There were only two houses on this road, and they backed up to a field, with an old fence that stretched behind both yards. (This must have been one property once.) The first two deer got to the fence and sailed over it, out into the field. The third one stumbled. It stumbled and didn’t get up.
“Shit,” Mason said, sliding off his deck.
Reagan watched him run across the yard. “Careful,” she said, too quietly for him to hear. He was already closer to that deer than he should be. “Careful!”
She hopped off the deck and landed in the snow. Her hip twinged, and her knee hurt more sharply. “Fuck,” she muttered, still watching Mason. He was walking up to the deer with his hands out in front of him. Reagan followed—but hung back, staying well away from both of them. “What are you doing?” she shout-whispered.
“It’s caught in the fence,” Mason said.
The deer was staring at him. Completely still. It hadn’t made a sound.
Reagan crept to the side to get a closer look. It looked like the deer had managed to snag its foot between two crossbars and a small tree that was growing right next to the fence.
Mason was still inching toward it, with his hands out.
“What are youdoing?” Reagan asked again.
“I’m going to help it get free.”
“It’ll get itself free.”
“I don’t think it will. It’s wedged pretty good.”
The deer broke into frantic movement, struggling against the fence.
“It’s going to injure itself,” Mason said.
“It’s going to injureyou.”
This wasn’t a fawn or a hungry little doe; the deer was as long as Reagan was tall—it must have weighed two hundred pounds.
“Shhhh,” Mason was saying. Maybe to the deer, maybe to Reagan. He was crouching behind it, which seemed like the dumbest decision in the world.
“Mason,”Reagan whispered.
“It’s all right,” he said, reaching for the trapped hoof. “Her other legs are on the other side of the fence.”
“I think that’s a buck.”
“She’s not a buck, look at her head.”
The deer struggled again. Mason froze. Reagan took another anxious step toward them.
When the deer stilled, Mason shot forward. He bent the tree back and grabbed the trapped hoof, lifting it free.
The deer pulled the leg forward—and in the same motion, kicked its other hind leg through the fence, catching Mason in the chest.
“Oof,” he said, falling backward.
The deer ran away, and Reagan ran to Mason. “Jesus Christ!” she shouted. “I told you!”
Mason was lying on his back in the snow. Reagan went down on her knees beside him. Her right knee hurt like a motherfucker. “Are you okay?” she asked, touching his arm.
His eyes were wide. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just surprised. Is she okay?”
