Bloodline(29)

She howls with laughter, sees I’m serious, and waits for more.

“My boyfriend grew up here. He’d been asking me to move back with him for a while. Then all in one week I lost a dream job I never stood a chance of getting, Dr. King was assassinated, and I was mugged at knifepoint.” I hadn’t meant to tell anyone but Ursula about the mugging, but something about Regina puts me at ease. “I was desperate to run away. By the time I calmed down, I’d already promised Deck I’d move.”

An old man makes his way to the bar, raises a finger. Regina pulls him a beer, glancing back at me the whole time.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks when she returns. “Something wild?”

A delicious tickle travels up my spine. “Sure.”

She scans the room. The closest customer is ten feet away. She turns up the radio anyhow, and then leans across the bar. “This place is weird.”

I raise my eyebrows, the thrill rippling through me. “In what way?”

“Everyone is just so . . . nice.”

I’m waiting for more. When it doesn’t come, I burst out in laughter.

She scowls, and I rush to apologize. “I’m so sorry!” I tell her. “I know what you mean. I was just expecting something a bit darker.”

She wipes the bar with a dirty rag. “It’s weird, is all. Everyone has a please and a thank-you, asks how you’re doing. Do you know some grim-faced lady stopped by my apartment when I first moved in to ask me if I needed any clothes or food?”

“Catherine the Migrant Mother,” I murmur.

“Huh?”

“Catherine Brody. She lives next door to me. Head of the welcome committee.”

“Whatever. It seemed intrusive.”

I take a sip of the Tab. It’s crisp and sweet, perfect for a hot day. “I can see that. Like me getting in trouble for drinking here the other night. People seem to keep an exceptionally close eye on one another here.” I think back to my phone call with Ursula, her scolding me like a child for thinking poorly of Lilydale. “I think it’s part of the charm, though,” I tell Regina, feeling only a twinge of guilt. “Every town has their own culture.”

She sighs. “Yeah. I suppose you’re right. Except . . .”

“What?”

“Have you noticed there’s not a single bum in Lilydale? Railroad tracks run right through it, converge over by the dairy plant, and I’ve yet to see a single person out of place. Everyone here is so perfect and so uptight, like they were all manufactured at the same damn factory. Sometimes I feel out of place, like I might haul off and take a shit on the sidewalk.”

I belly-laugh at this. “How about we promise to look out for each other. Either one of us feels the need to shit in public, we call the other. Deal?”

She holds out her hand, her dimples back. “Deal.”



That evening, Deck and I are sitting on the couch, watching Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom, a show that comforts me because I used to watch it with my mom. Deck and I are seated near one another but not touching, Slow Henry curled on my lap, purring loudly. A bowl of pretzels rests nearby on the television tray, and Deck is drinking a beer. It’s cozy.

Marlin Perkins is visiting the African savanna. He’s talking about springboks, a kind of antelope, smallish, with curved black devil horns. The springboks are notable because they do something called “pronking.” It’s as if they’re drawn into the air by a helium balloon tied to their waist, hopping and then landing, hopping and then landing.

I’m delighted.

I’m turning to laugh with Deck about the silly bounce, the springboks leaping twice their height, back arched and toes pointed, when an obviously pregnant springbok appears onscreen, munching grass as her fellow springboks are popping like corn around her.

“No one knows exactly what events cause springboks to pronk,” Mr. Perkins narrates, “but it’s believed to be a response to a predator.”

My breath catches. I cradle my stomach.

The camera pans to a leopard crouched low in the grass, tongue out, tail flicking.

My hand flies to my mouth. The gravid springbok is oblivious. She’s grazing hungrily, feeding for two. She has no idea she’s being hunted.

“The weakest animals make the best prey: newborns, the elderly, and in this case, the pregnant.”

The large cat stalks toward the clueless springbok, her belly achingly swollen. My heart is thudding. I can’t look away.

“The pregnancy makes the normally agile animal cumbersome and slow. A perfect dinner for a hungry leopard.”

The large cat is nearly on her. I’ve stopped petting Slow Henry. My eyes feel swollen, dry. It’s been too long since I blinked.

The cat leaps. It happens so fast. The predator sinks its wicked teeth deep into the pregnant springbok’s leg, wrenching her to the ground. She bleats in terror, tries to run, but she hasn’t a chance.

I finally rip my gaze away from the screen, tears streaming down my face.

Deck is staring at me.

Icy fingers play across my tender skin.

His expression is unfathomable, but the way he’s positioned, it’s clear he’s been staring at me the whole time.

Watching me watch the pregnant creature get slaughtered.