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He’d told me the story in a letter that he’d written only hours after the conversation.
Yet I didn’t want to remind him of what I’d kept from him.
Instead, I just explained the tortoise’s story.
I was too scared to look at Rome, so I kept my eyes on Blitz’s cage, where he munched happily on a piece of lettuce.
“Chaz, you want to tell him about Blitz?” I asked hopefully.
If I told the story, I’d probably break down in hysterics.
It was just too close to home for me.
“Sure, Izzy.” He grinned. “Blitz came to me via courier. Apparently, I’d made such a name for myself that I was left Blitz in a kid’s will.”
I felt Rome stiffen next to me.
“Blitz was owned by a fifteen-year-old who passed away from cancer about a month and a half ago,” Chaz started, unaware of the spiral of grief that Rome was currently dealing with. “His mother sent Blitz to me when her son passed away, as per his wishes. I was sent a letter from Blitz’s owner, Seguin, asking me to make sure I found the perfect owners for Blitz. I was given three requirements. One, the new owner had to be a male. Two, the new owner had to like football. Three, the new owner had to be willing to sign a contract with me agreeing to follow the care instructions and if anything happens and Blitz cannot be cared for by you, Blitz would return to me for rehoming.”
Silence. Deathly so.
I chanced a look at Rome and wished I hadn’t.
Rome looked like I’d taken a bat to his stomach and beat him with it repeatedly.
“And then there’s this last letter.” Chaz held it out to Rome.
Rome looked at it like it was a ticking bomb, but ultimately reached out and took it with graceful swiftness.
He didn’t hesitate to open it.
His eyes quickly scanned the page, his shoulders drooping with each line he read.
By the time he handed it over to me, I thought he was on the verge of tears.
When I read the letter, I knew why.
Dear Blitz’s New Owner,
If you’re reading this, it means that the cancer won. I knew with this last round that I likely wasn’t going to make it. I’m not sure how I knew, it was just a gut feeling since the outlook on my recovery was fairly high.
I’ll start with how I came to own Blitz.
He was my grandfather’s tortoise, and the tortoise was handed down through each male generation in our family—or was supposed to be at least. I guess now that stops with me since I’m fifteen, and, well, I won’t be having any kids.
Anyway, back on topic, my mom is a single parent. When I got Blitz, it was with the understanding that I would work to put food on the table for Blitz. However, now that I know that I’m not going to make it, I want to find him a proper home with a man who will enjoy seeing him as much as I did.
I know Blitz isn’t the ideal pet, but I also realize that you’ve done your homework if you’re the person that Chaz has chosen, so I hope that you come to care for him like I do.
He’s named after one of my grandpa’s favorite plays in football—which is also my favorite sport.
If it’s at all possible, once you get Blitz at home and settled, would you take the time to send my mom an update on Blitz, tell her how he’s doing?
I know she’ll appreciate it.
I’ve listed her contact details on the back of this letter, as well as everything I know about Blitz and how he came to be.
Take care of my heart, I’ve left it with you.
Love,
Sequin.
I swallowed hard and refolded the letter precisely as it’d been folded before.
“What do you think, Rome?” I asked softly.
So softly that I didn’t think he’d heard me.
He had.
And when his eyes met mine, I knew that we’d be taking Blitz home.
***
The tank was set up in the living room.
We’d contemplated setting it up in Matias’ old room, but with the living room getting more traffic, we thought it’d be better for him to be out in the open where we could keep an eye on him.
Rome had been very quiet since we’d put Blitz into his back seat. Not a word had been spoken since about a mile into our trip when he asked if I was hungry, and now the only time we’d spoken was when he asked where I thought the best place for him to go would be.
Now the tank was set up, and Rome was sitting on the arm of the couch, staring at the tank.
I kept looking at him with small glances here and there, wondering if he was about to blow up or kick me out of his house.
