When My Heart Joins the Thousand(76)

He smiles at me, as if we’re sharing a private joke at her foolishness.

A door in the back of the room opens, and the woman with gray hair and glasses pokes her head out. It’s the same woman who told me to come in for an interview. “Ms. Fitz?”

I take a deep breath, stand, and glance at Stanley. He nods, holding my gaze.

I follow the woman into the back room and sit down across from her. Sweat dampens my blouse, which I just bought the other day. It’s stiffer and itchier than the old cotton T-shirts I usually wear. I cut off the tag, but I couldn’t get the whole thing; it left one of those little scratchy fringes that rubs against me like steel wool.

“Pleased to meet you,” the woman says. “I’m Edith Stone.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I murmur.

“You worked at the Hickory Park Zoo for eighteen months,” Edith says. “Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Did you enjoy the work?”

“Yes.”

“And why did you leave?”

Last night I rehearsed an answer for this question, but still, the words come out stiff and halting: “I felt that it was time to move on to something more challenging.”

“I have to warn you,” Edith says, “if you’re looking for a career upgrade, this probably isn’t it. We’re funded mostly by donations and grants. The people in this center are here because they have a passion for working with animals. The pay will be about what you’re used to. Maybe a little less.”

I freeze. Suddenly I have no idea what to say. My fingers twitch and clench on the arm of the chair.

Her eyebrows draw together. “Ms. Fitz?”

The space inside my chest shrinks until there’s no more than a cubic centimeter to breathe in. I resist the urge to grab and pull my hair.

“Is everything all right?”

I’m ruining this. I know it. Probably I’ve already lost my chance. My face burns. If I could quietly drop through the floor and vanish, I would.

At this point, there’s nothing to lose. “I have Asperger’s,” I blurt out.

Silence.

“It’s a form of autism.”

“I see,” she says, and I can’t read her tone. I don’t know if she understands or if she’s completely confused. “Will your condition prevent you from performing any job-related tasks?”

“No,” I say. “I can do anything you ask me to. But if I seem—different—that’s why.”

I still can’t read her expression. “I called your last employer, Ms. Nell,” she says.

My muscles stiffen. Somehow, I doubt Ms. Nell gave me a glowing recommendation. But I force myself to ask, “What did she say.”

“She told me that you knew your way around animals, but that you were cold, unfriendly, reclusive, and ‘screwy in the head.’”

I lower my gaze.

“She also claims that, after she fired you, you snuck into the zoo and attempted to steal a sign.”

My heart lurches.

“Is that true?”

I swallow. My mouth opens, but I choke on the words. I know it doesn’t matter, what I say at this point. I’m not going to get the job. “Yes.”

Her expression remains calm and blank. “I have to ask—why?”

I raise my head and meet her gaze. “The sign stated that animals don’t have feelings. I consider that to be a lie.” I stop and rephrase—“It is a lie. I know that I shouldn’t have tried to take it, but I couldn’t stand the thought of people coming in day after day and seeing those words.” I pause to take a breath, bowing my head again. “I love working with animals. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

After a few seconds, I force myself to look up. She’s grinning. She seems to catch herself, wipes the grin off her face, and clears her throat. “Of course, we can’t condone that sort of behavior. Not officially, anyway. But . . . well, if you’ll pardon the expression, I admire a woman with balls.” At my stunned silence, she adds, “I’m saying I want to offer you a job.”

She stretches a hand across the desk. Almost as an after-thought, she adds, “My nephew has Asperger’s.”

I shake her hand, so dazed that I barely react to the fact that a stranger is touching me.

I am utterly convinced that this is a dream, that at any moment my alarm will go off and I’ll realize I have to get dressed and ready for my actual interview. But the floor remains real and solid beneath my feet. Edith’s hand is bony, but her grip is firm and steady.

“You can start on Monday.”

I’m in a daze when I walk back into the waiting room. Stanley looks at me expectantly. “I got the job,” I say.

He hugs me tight and whispers that he knew I could do it.

Before we leave, I take him to the wooded area behind the center, pushing his wheelchair as I walk past the animals’ cages. Chance has a real sign now, a shiny plaque with his name and a few brief lines stating that he was delivered by a “mystery benefactor.” He’s preening his breast feathers.

“He looks very content here,” Stanley says.

“You think so.”

“Yeah.”

We watch him for a few minutes. This probably isn’t the place he expected to end up, but he does look happy.