Endangered

by Ann Littlewood

  I could picture the hallway outside the quarantine rooms, where I’d delivered animals for treatment, collected medications, yakked with Marion a hundred times. Covered with Denny’s blood. It seemed like a good idea to sit down on the floor, so I did that. Someone brought me a coffee mug with water. I drank a little to pacify whoever that was while black spots came and went in front of my eyes.

  I couldn’t afford this. The anger that used to be my only option in tough situations was waiting. I sat and unhooked all the techniques I’d learned to keep it small and tame. When my hands were shaking from rage and not shock, I got back up, and told everyone I was fine. I put the fury aside, where I could reach it easily, and went back to work.

  I didn’t do the best job of my career on Birds, but by late afternoon, everything was fed, watered, and inspected, and some of the cleaning was done. I wrapped up a little early because I needed to find out whether Pete and Cheyenne planned to stay at my house, given that Jack had scared the liver out of Cheyenne and that Jeff and Tom might find some reason to come looking for me again.

  I caught Pete leaving Reptiles, where he had worked Denny’s routine. Cheyenne met us on the way to the Commissary, three brown uniforms in a quiet zoo. We walked and they argued about what to do—whether to stay at the house or not. They both kept looking at me sideways. Finally I said, “Okay, let’s have it. I already apologized for Jack. I put a note on the fridge and it’s not my fault you didn’t see it. I don’t know how you would have handled it, given that it was four in the morning, but I’m sorry you were scared. What else can I say? And I didn’t tell you about Denny because I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”

  Cheyenne said, “Not that. Look, we weren’t there when those guys came for Denny. We weren’t at his house. He wouldn’t have been shot if we’d gone there like you wanted.” She glanced at Pete. Like Pete had wanted.

  That was the issue? “Coyote crap. You two might have been shot instead. I don’t hold you responsible in the slightest. Move on.”

  “Uh,” Pete said, “that’s the other thing.”

  Cheyenne stopped walking and so did Pete and I, on the asphalt path at the bear exhibits, the day’s light ebbing. She said, “We didn’t want to worry you, so we didn’t say anything. We’ll give thirty days notice and all that, but, well, my grandmother wanted me to have my inheritance now, most of it, so we’ve been shopping. We found a place we like. I don’t want to move our stuff twice.”

  I didn’t get it. I was tired, I had a lot on my mind. I stared at her.

  Cheyenne said, “We’re buying our own house. We can’t move in until next month, then we’ll be out of your hair.”

  The anger flared. “Out of my hair? What does that mean? I never made you feel like a nuisance.”

  Pete raised a hand. “Bad turn of phrase. Bad time to tell you about this. But everything’s complicated enough without keeping secrets.” He turned away from Cheyenne, toward me. “Where do you want us? Your place or Denny’s?”

  Cheyenne looked at him in surprise, then annoyance.

  I shook off future problems. “Someone has to look after Denny’s animals, and Strongbad is missing. I need to know if he turns up.”

  Cheyenne made a face. “No big loss. He’s an awful dog. Maybe he moved in with someone else.”

  “Or maybe he’s wounded and hiding,” I said, feeling heat rise again. “You may not give a rip, but Denny does and so do I.”

  Pete said, “We’ll get our stuff and go on over. I’ll call you if the dog shows up. And I’ll feed the macaws until things settle down.”

  “My parents’ house is closer than Denny’s. You do them tonight since you have to get your stuff anyway, then I’ll feed them.” I’d forgotten to keep quiet about where I was hiding out.

  Cheyenne looked mutinous, but she didn’t say anything.

  I sat in my car and couldn’t figure out what came next. I was supposed to go to my parents and look after my son. I wanted to see Denny and check on Marcie. Somebody had to drive around Denny’s neighborhood and look for Strongbad. The hurt from Pete and Cheyenne’s defection had to be processed later. If I weren’t so tired and hungry and upset, I would know where to go and what to do when I got there.

  The hospital was the closest. A guard in a uniform showed up when I got to Denny’s room and looked me over. I nodded, pleased to see him. Marcie stood up from a recliner next to the bed and talked to me in the hallway. She looked almost as pale as Denny.

  “You need to go home and get some sleep,” I advised. “You won’t be much use if you collapse.”

  She shook her head. “I need to be here when he wakes up. He’s going to be in pain and someone needs to interface with the nurses. I can sleep in the chair.”

  “I can’t spell you until tomorrow.”

  “I know. You’ve got Robby.”

  I didn’t tell her about Strongbad. She didn’t ask about the Tiptons. She was completely focused on willing Denny to survive. I looked through the glass door. He lay flat and limp under a sheet and a thin blanket, switched off, gone away. His eyelids looked translucent. An IV ran from his wrist to bags of fluid suspended alongside the bed.

  “Go on home,” Marcie said. “They don’t want people around. Risk of infection. I’ve got it covered.”

  There wasn’t much to do but obey.

  Craig hadn’t called. A whole universe of interpretations and explanations, none of them flattering, opened up. I wanted this day to be over.

  The next morning I felt better physically and a good deal smarter. It was Monday, so I didn’t have to worry about work. I called Amanda at day care and told her I was in the middle of a crisis. She was happy to take Robby for the day, and he was happy to be dropped off. Was he getting used to his mother being absent? Was I becoming superfluous?

  I found Marcie hollow-eyed and wide awake at the hospital, not interested in my offer of respite vigil. “Don’t you need to shower and check on your cats?” Mentioning the cats did the trick. “Take your time. Take a nap.” That hadn’t the same power.

  I sat and read Stolen World by Jennie Erin Smith to stop myself from watching Denny breathe in and out. The book made it clear that the Tiptons were penny-ante beginners compared to the big-time reptile smugglers. The rarer a kind of tortoise, the more valuable they became, so the hunt accelerated in a perverse spiral to extinction. It was all so thoughtless and wasteful and short-sighted.

  The big recliner could not be adjusted to a comfortable angle and my lower back ached. Denny never moved. I stood up to stretch and confirmed that his chest was rising and falling. A nurse came in and inspected him and the equipment every hour or so. I used the bathroom in a corner. When I emerged, a covey of white coats surrounded his bed. Denny was awake, but bleary-eyed and confused. I stood out of the way while they asked him questions and he muttered yes and no answers, with the result that a nurse turned a knob on one of the tubes. They asked me to leave for part of whatever they had in store for him. I leaned against the wall in the hallway, flattening the small of my back to ease the ache, heart-sick about Denny’s suffering. People in blue scrubs came and went, ID tags swinging around their necks. The hallway smelled of food and cleaning products. I was careful not to wonder what was going on inside Denny’s room.

  When I was allowed back in, he was asleep, his breathing rasping a little. The staff—doctors? nurses?—filed out. None of them said anything to me. They had been matter-of-fact. Maybe his survival was a little more likely.

  I returned to the hostile recliner and listened to my stomach growl. If I left to find the cafeteria and lunch, Marcie might return to find Denny unattended. It was a good bet she would regard that as a major dereliction of duty. On the other hand, I couldn’t sit here and starve forever. I was about to take my chances when she showed up. She looked better, but denied having napped. I gave her an update on the morning
. “I’ll be back tomorrow and I’ll get Hap and Linda to spell you.”

  “That’s not necessary.” She was firm. “My neighbor will take care of the cats, so I’m fine here from now on.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. “Marcie, this is going to last a long time. Pace yourself. Let his friends help.”

  “Iris, I know what I’m doing. Please don’t worry. I’ll handle this.” Her voice was the old Marcie’s, calm and certain, but there was a look in her eyes that troubled me. I left her with Denny, wondering whether she had crossed some border between obligation and obsession.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  I’d done what there was to do for Denny and Marcie. What came next? The possibility of a big Rottweiler bleeding in a ditch decided me.

  I found Cheyenne alone at Denny’s house. Standing in his chaotic living room, I told her I was there to look for Strongbad. She looked uncomfortable. She said, “I shouldn’t have said that about him. I actually like dogs. Maybe we’ll get one after we settle into our own place.”

  What could I say? They kept their plans secret and bailed on me when I needed all the stability I could get. It felt as if another relationship was eroding underneath my feet. “I’m going to walk the road to the highway and look for him.”

  “You know, we never stayed any place this long before. We always moved on and left the hassles behind.” She added, as though I might misunderstand, “But they’d all be glad to have us back.”

  Okay, Cheyenne, you and Pete had an enviable career in zoos and sanctuaries all over the world before you hit little Finley Memorial Zoo. Everywhere you worked, people appreciated you. Why are you telling me this now? Silence seemed like my best option.

  Cheyenne ran fingers through her thick, frizzy hair. “And we’re buying a house, so I guess that means we’ll stay a lot longer. I don’t want to, you know, shit in the nest. I guess I need to get better at dealing with stuff. With people.”

  We’d lived together for two and a half years and never had an intimate conversation. “You guys were fine as housemates. It couldn’t go on forever.”

  “You were so good to us when we first got here. You’re really loyal to people. Like now. To Denny and his dog. Even after he dumped your friend.”

  News gets around.

  Cheyenne’s round, tough face clenched up. “If I owe you an apology, this is it. I’m sorry if we…I didn’t do it right. Leaving, I mean. If it’s bad financially. We’ll pay for another month for sure. More, if you can’t find a housemate right away.”

  An apology. This was the first evidence she was capable of one. I shrugged. “The money is way far down on my list of concerns. I’ll go for Calvin’s job and the extra money might be enough. I can’t worry about it until I can move home and Denny’s okay and a thousand other things are better.”

  “Just so there’s no hard feelings.”

  “Well, Robby really misses you. It would be great if you could make a little time for him when things settle down.”

  Her face relaxed. “That would be great. We’ll never have a kid—Pete doesn’t want to—and Robby’s as close as we’ll come.”

  Maybe they would still be around, and Robby wouldn’t learn that people could disappear from his life without warning. I hoped so. “Let’s see if we can find that dog.”

  Cheyenne looked as if she’d put down a backpack full of bricks, and I was happy to change the subject. We tried to figure out how the intruders had managed to kidnap Denny despite the excitable dog. None of the scenarios were pleasant. She suggested a paper flier and helped me design it on Denny’s computer with a description of the dog and both our cell phone numbers. I printed off a couple dozen copies and we split the territory. She took one side of the road, I took the other.

  I started with Denny’s next door neighbor. The concrete deer in the garden, drift boat in the driveway, and American flag decal in the window implied that this house was owner-occupied and not a rental. An intense middle-aged woman with a lot of makeup answered my knock. I explained who I was. “Did you hear a big ruckus over there? Did you see a green van?”

  She’d heard the dog bark in the middle of the night, “but he always does that” and she hadn’t seen a green van. “The police asked me that. I seem to recall there was some kind of beige-y car there. The guy that lives there, he’s kind of weird. Is he selling drugs?”

  I assured her that no one was selling drugs. “Denny is a zoo keeper friend of mine and so are the two people staying there while he’s in the hospital. Did you hear a fight?”

  She hadn’t heard a fight. She wanted to know a good deal more about these neighbors, but I managed to work in another question—whether she’d seen the dog running loose. She said she hadn’t. I handed her a flyer. “Let us know if you see him.”

  She said she would and I retreated.

  Cheyenne and I walked our sides of the unpaved road, dodging puddles and calling for Strongbad. No boisterous Rottweiler romped out to greet us. No bushes offered cover to a large wounded animal.

  Watching Cheyenne two houses ahead of me, I recalled that Denny and Linda had both speculated about Pete and Cheyenne moving out. They must have known the couple was house-shopping and were probably sworn to secrecy. They’d tried to warn me anyway. Cheyenne had dragged Pete out on one pretext or another four or five times a week, then she’d returned jubilant one night. If I was oblivious to all that, why did I think I had a prayer of tracking down the Tiptons?

  Two long blocks later, I wondered if I’d feel so betrayed if my friendship with Marcie was more secure. Was it possible I was over-reacting? Maybe Pete and Cheyenne were right to keep from upsetting me while they worked out their own future. They’d helped me for over two years. What was done was done, and Cheyenne had apologized. Let it go.

  We worked the mile up to the main road, leaving fliers tucked into screen doors or under door mats. Back at Denny’s house, I called Ken to ask for professional advice and left a message.

  “I’ll call you if the dog shows up,” Cheyenne said. “Don’t worry about his other animals.”

  “I’ll stop by the humane society on my way home.”

  She waved from the porch as I left.

  Once the Tipton disasters were resolved, all I had to do was rejigger my finances, find a house mate if necessary, cook every night, and adapt to the lack of adults to talk to at home.

  Loneliness bushwhacked me.

  Maybe Craig would call. Or Ken.

  ***

  The humane society resided in a nice building with pleasant staff and clean dog runs. I didn’t find Strongbad, but there was the black Boxer mix sleeping in one run and the half-size Doberman in another. She came to the wire and I scratched her through the mesh. A few good meals had brightened her up. She wagged her tail and put a paw on the wire, telegraphing that she was a princess unfairly imprisoned, victim of a serious miscarriage of justice. The sign on her cage said, “Not released for adoption. Check with attendant.”

  I checked with a volunteer, a tall, thin woman who avoided eye contact. “Can you tell me what the plan is for the Tipton dogs?”

  “Tipton dogs?”

  “Ken Meyers from Animal Control brought in a bunch of dogs from a drug bust two weeks ago. The Doberman was one of them.”

  “Ken? I don’t know that one. You’re sure he’s Animal Control?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If you want to adopt the Doberman, ask the manager.”

  A third dog was the last thing I needed, but I did want to see her in a good home. The manager told me that they were trying to create a plan with Mrs. Tipton, but Wanda wasn’t sure what she wanted to do about the dogs. “We’ll give her another try, and then we’ll have to release them for adoption. We’ve already held them longer than usual.”

  “If that Doberman female—she’s maybe six
months—is available to adopt, would you let me know?” Nothing seemed to shake my irrational allegiance to Liana. I was sure the Dobe was her dog, with scant evidence, and I wanted to do right by them both.

  The manager said she would keep me informed. I told her about Strongbad, gave her the flier, and asked her to call if he was turned in. She suggested a couple of other places to notify and handed me a piece of paper with the websites. I thanked her for her help and left.

  Ken hadn’t said how long he’d been with Animal Control, and the volunteer hadn’t seemed all that swift. Maybe he was new on the job. Still... it bothered me. I’d have to ask him.

  ***

  Robby was on hands and knees racing a toy car around Amanda’s kitchen hooting like a crazy child with red paint flying in all directions. Amanda instructed me to make sure he stayed on the big sheet of butcher paper. “That’s a race track on the paper. He dips the car wheels in paint and traces it. Tracing is a pre-writing skill.”

  Clearly my child would never learn to write. He ran his fire chief’s car through the puddle of paint and over the kitchen floor ignoring the race track and all instructions. Finally I caught him and held him until he calmed down enough to listen. Washing the car sounded good to him, so he did that while I wiped down Amanda’s kitchen. Then we went home and I changed his clothing from top to bottom.

  When my parents showed up from work, I announced that the two of us were going out to dinner.

  “Oh, no,” said my mother, “It’s way too early and I’ve got dinner all planned.”

  “The two of you get to eat it in peace. Robby and I need some time together. Dad, I’d appreciate it if you’d go with me to feed the macaws when we get back.”

  Old Wives’ Tales was the logical place to go. It was set up for kids. Soon Robby and another two-year-old were helling around in the playroom being trains. The pre-schooler was far more interesting than Mom, so I sat on a low, carpeted bench and made phone calls.