Leaving Time(42)

“Are you kidding? We were playing hide-and-seek.”

“You and the elephant?” As she spoke, my mother slowly moved between Maura and my father, so that he could safely get up.

“No, for Christ’s sake. Me and Jenna. Until Maura came out of nowhere and smacked me.” He rubbed his face.

“She must have thought you were trying to hurt Jenna.” My mother frowned. “Why on earth were you playing hide-and-seek in Maura’s enclosure?”

“Because she was supposed to be in the barn having foot care done.”

“No, just Hester.”

“Not according to the information that Gideon posted on the whiteboard—”

“Maura didn’t feel like coming in.”

“And I was supposed to know that how?”

My mother kept cooing to Maura, until the animal lumbered a distance away, still watching my father warily.

“That elephant hates everyone but you,” he muttered.

“Not true. Apparently, she likes Jenna.” Maura rumbled a response, approaching the tree line to graze, and my mother scooped me into her arms. She smelled of cantaloupe, the treat she must have been feeding Hester in the barn while the pads of the elephant’s feet were being soaked and scraped and treated for cracks. “For someone who screams at me for taking Jenna into the enclosures, you picked an interesting place to play games.”

“There weren’t supposed to be any elephants in this—Oh, for God’s sake. Never mind. I can’t win.” My father touched his hand to his head and winced.

“Let me take a look at that,” my mother said.

“I have a meeting with an investor in a half hour. I’m supposed to be explaining to him how safe it is to have a sanctuary in a populated area. And now I’ll be giving that speech with a black eye that was given to me by an elephant.”

My mother shifted me to one hip and touched his face, prodding gently. These moments, when we seemed like a pie before any of the pieces are eaten, were the best ones for me. They almost could erase the other moments.

“It could be worse,” my mother said, leaning against him.

I could see him, feel him, soften. It was the sort of observation my mother always tried to point out to me in the field: just the shift of body, the slide of the shoulders, that let you know there was no longer an invisible wall of fear. “Oh, really,” my father murmured. “How so?”

My mother smiled up at him. “I could have been the one to deck you,” she said. For the past ten minutes, I’ve been sitting on an examination table observing the mating behavior of the Fundamentally Alcoholic, Washed-Up Male and the Oversexed, Overblown Cougar.

Here are my scientific field notes:

The Male is uneasy, caged. He sits and taps his foot incessantly, then gets up and paces. He has put a little effort into grooming today, in anticipation of seeing the Cougar, who enters the room.

She wears a white laboratory coat and too much makeup. She smells like the perfume inserts in magazines that are so overwhelming you are tempted to lob the whole issue across the room, even if it means you’ll never find out the Ten Things Guys Want in Bed or What Makes Jennifer Lawrence Mad! She is a blond with dark roots, and someone needs to tell her that pencil skirts are not doing her ass any favors.

The Male makes the first move. He uses dimples as a weapon. He says, Wow, Lulu, long time no see.

The Cougar rebuffs his advances. Whose fault is that, Victor?

I know, I know. You can beat me up all you want.

A subtle but measurable change in the atmospheric pressure. Is that a promise?

Teeth. Lots of them.

Careful now. Don’t start something you can’t finish, the Male says.

I don’t recall that ever being a problem for us. Do you?

From where I am sitting making my observations, I roll my eyes. Either this is the best argument for contraception since the Octomom … or this crap really works between men and women, and I will probably not have a date until I’m menopausal.

The Cougar’s senses are better than the Male’s; she radars my snark all the way across the room. She touches the Male on his shoulder and flicks her eyes toward me. Didn’t know you had kids.

Kids? Virgil looks at me as if I’m the bug he’s squashed on the sole of his shoe. Oh, she’s not mine. She’s actually the reason I’m here.

Duh, even I know that’s the wrong thing to say. The Cougar’s painted mouth pinches tight. Don’t let me keep you from getting down to business.

Virgil grins, superslow, and I can practically see the Cougar start to drool. Why, Tallulah, he says, I’d like to do just that with you. But you know I have to take care of my client first.

The Cougar’s cell phone rings, and she looks at the number flashing on the screen. “Jesus on a cracker,” she says and sighs. “Give me five minutes.”

She slams out of the examination room, and Virgil hops on the metal table beside me, running one hand down his face. “You have no idea how much you owe me.”

This surprises me. “You mean you don’t really like her?”

“Tallulah? God, no. She used to be my dental hygienist, and then she quit and became a DNA squint. Every time I see her I think about her scraping plaque off my teeth. I’d rather date a sea cucumber.”

“They throw up their own stomachs when they eat,” I say.