"Cooking up her special Ukraine brain delight for dinner. My tenth birthday party, remember?"
He shook his head. Squinting up at her, he said, "I'm sorry, Chloe."
"It's okay. I'll just make a salad."
"Not about that. I forgot to buy you a present."
Chloe threatened him with the other doll.
He covered his head with his briefcase. "See you later. Oh, by the way. I'm taking up a new hobby."
"What? Dad!" Chloe's voice rose an octave, but he'd already disappeared through the patio door. "Oh, no." She leaped to her feet. "What is it this time?"
"Your mother phoned me today at work." Chloe's father squeezed honey from the honey bear bottle onto his slice of pumpernickel bread. They were sitting across from each other at the dining room table eating dinner. Chloe stopped drizzling dressing on her spinach salad, then squirt out a big blob. "She wants you to call her," he said.
"In this life?" Chloe speared a cherry tomato and popped it into her mouth.
"Chloe . . ."
"Forget it, Dad."
"She wants to spend Thanksgiving with you."
Chloe choked. She grabbed her iced tea and took a swig. After she swallowed, she asked sarcastically, "What's she serving? Turkey with oyster stuffing? Giblet gravy? Baked ham? Or is she going to force me to stand by and witness brutal slaughter again when she plunges a live lobster into boiling water?"
He folded his bread in half. "She didn't realize it would upset you so much. She probably just forgot. Your mother understands that the two of you have philosophical differences."
"Understands? Dad, I still have nightmares about that lobster. It keeps flopping around helpless in those banded claws, trying to escape. She doesn't understand. How could she? She doesn't believe in anything."
"That's not true. Just because she doesn't share your convictions," he met her eyes across the table, "doesn't mean she's amoral."
"No," Chloe muttered. "She's a moron."
He held her eyes. "Your intolerance is showing, my dear."
Chloe dropped her eyes. She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. "But, Dad. She blinds bunnies."
He frowned at her.
Chloe shoveled a forkful of spinach leaves into her mouth. She hated that her mother worked for Desiree Cosmetics. Why couldn't she work for a cruelty-free cosmetics company? Body and Bath or Crabtree and Evelyn or Peacekeeper? They never tested their products on animals.
There was a moment of silence while both Chloe and her father chewed and swallowed. Then Chloe's father, mopping up some gloplets of honey from his plate with the last crust of bread, said, "It could be worse. She could sell cars." He chomped on his bread and added, "On TV."
They both cracked up. Yes, Chloe was definitely her father's daughter. Even though her parents had been divorced more than ten years, Chloe couldn't believe they'd ever been married. Or had a child. No way was she related to her mother.
Maybe I'm adopted, she thought. Or cloned. Yes, that's it. I was a test tube baby. And Mother just picked me up from the hospital. In her lavender Lexus with Desiree Cosmetics, Inc. plastered all over the back window. Chloe shuddered.
She decided she'd better change the subject. "So, Dad, what's this new hobby of yours?"
"Ah." He wiped his mouth with a napkin. Behind his wire rims, his eyes twinkled. Rubbing his hands together, he leaned forward to speak. At that moment the dining room lights went out. The door to the kitchen burst open and Gran shuffled in, carrying Chloe's birthday cake, all ten candles flickering in the dark.
"What time do you want to meet at Bird Boutique tomorrow?" Muriel asked. She shifted her stack of books from one arm to the other. "I have to be home by eleven for a dentist appointment. Personally, I don't think that's enough time to demonstrate, especially for a cause as important as saving the exotic birds of the world. I'm going to ask Mom to reschedule for next Saturday."
"Good try, Mur." Chloe smiled. "You've already made her reschedule that appointment three times. You and your, what is it, ordontophobia?"
Muriel looked at her. "That's fear of teeth."
Chloe shrugged. "Close enough. What do you call the fear of fear itself?"
"Phobophobia." Muriel curled a lip and Chloe smirked.
Chloe scrounged around in her bag for the Bird Boutique grand opening announcement. They were standing at the street corner across from the middle school waiting for the traffic to clear. "Store opens at nine o'clock," Chloe read. "Let's meet at eight-thirty. I think two and a half hours is a strong enough show of support." She started across ahead of Muriel. Over her shoulder she asked, "You don't have some ridiculous fear of arrest, do you?"
"What?" Muriel's eyes bugged out. "Do you think we might get arrested? Chloe!" Muriel rushed up behind her. "Do you really think there's a possibility?"
Chloe replied, "Don't worry. If they haul us off to the slammer, I'll tell them you were my hostage. It was all my idea; that I threatened to expose you if you didn't cooperate."
Muriel exhaled a sigh of relief. Then she frowned. "Expose me for what?"
"Lusting after a married man. That's got to be a crime."
"Chloe!"
Chloe burst into laughter.
A swarm of students converged outside the Aspen Grove Middle School front doors. Along the sidewalk a cluster of cheerleaders gathered to swap beauty secrets, Chloe presumed. She and Muriel waved their way through the haze of perfume. Muriel's allergies kicked up and she started to sneeze. Chloe thought she'd have to write another scathing editorial to the Aspen Grove Gazette, this time about respecting people's rights to breathe fresh air. Maybe she'd throw in a few jabs at jocks while she was at it.
"Chloe, hi."
That voice. Chloe froze. She held the door open as he breezed past. "Thanks," Brett said, punching her arm. "If this is women's lib, I'm all for it." He smiled at her.
He touched me, she thought. She savored the tingle while several more people brushed by her unnoticed. And he remembered my name.
"Thanks," someone else said. "Bring the luggage in when you get a chance."
Like a sprung mousetrap, Chloe released the door. Unfortunately, Muriel was waiting in the threshold and the door smacked her in the face. The force hurtled her backward, right onto her rear.
"Mur, I'm sorry!" Chloe crouched to help her friend gather books off the ground. "Talk about vapor between the ears."
Muriel grinned. Without warning, she bolted upright. Chloe noticed the grin change to a sappy smile. "There he goes." Muriel sighed dreamily, gazing down the hall after Mr. Keifer. Absently, she took the books Chloe offered her and floated off on a cloud behind him.
"Oh, brother," Chloe muttered. She flung her bag over her shoulder and started down the hall in the opposite direction. I hope I never act that stupid when I fall in love. Like I'm ever going to.
"What time's the big bird boycott?" Brett asked, suddenly appearing at her side.
Whoa, he was tall. And his sun-bleached hair shimmered in the fluorescent hall light. "The what?" Chloe asked. And he was always catching her off guard.
"The boycott tomorrow at Birdie Boutique. It's still on, isn't it?"
"Of course it's still on." She clucked. What did he think; she was all talk, no action? "We're forming the picket line at eight-thirty."
"Wow, you've got a whole picket line going?" He widened his eyes at her. "I'm impressed."
Uh-oh, she thought. Did two a line make?
"Do you always walk so fast? It's like warp speed trying to stay up with you." He stepped in front of her and stopped dead.
Did he say I was warped? She felt a little tipsy, standing there close enough to feel his body heat. "What did you say?" She had to raise her voice over the growing din.
He nudged her sideways, out of the stampeding herd and against the lockers. "You're hard to talk to, you know that?" He propped his arm over her head. "And you never smile. You're so intense."
Chloe opened her mouth to retort, but she couldn't think
of a retort, tart or otherwise. Luckily, the clanging bell overhead cut off all conversation.
"Crap." His eyes slid from hers to the watch on his wrist. "I'm late for gym." He backed away. Playfully, he boxed her arm and said, "I'll catch you later, Chloe. Tomorrow for sure. I want to talk to you about something."
He disappeared into the storm of students thundering down the hall. Chloe inhaled a deep, calming breath. She hadn't even exhaled it all when he reappeared.
Touching the tip of her three-cornered Paul Revere hat, he said, with a lopsided grin, "By the way, I like your hats."
Chloe smiled meekly.
He waggled a finger at her. "Hey, I did it. I made you smile."
She watched him sprint away until he had vanished around the corner. Then she spun in place and pounded her head on the locker behind her, flattening the three corners into four.
CHAPTER 4
Chloe was not about to let Saturday's weather put a damper on her day. Okay, so it was sleeting, it was freezing, it was gale force winds. Chloe's stomach rivaled the worst tempest.
It was always this way before a demonstration or a sit-in, or any form of public activism. But today seemed worse. What did he want to talk to her about?
She pulled on her gabardine pants and began to tie the hip laces. Since this was going to be a stormy day at sea, she thought it fitting to wear her newest garage sale acquisition, a genuine U.S. Navy uniform replete with sailor hat and tie. "Aye, aye, matey. Whar in thunder is that blimey parrot?" Chloe stuck an arm through the black wool peacoat. Deaf Leopard cocked his head at her funny. "You're right. I'm losing it."
Downstairs, she found her father in the dining room engrossed in a thick tome about the Incas. He glanced up. "You're still going, huh?" He took a swig of the hot herbal tea in front of him and added, "It's times like this I wish we had a car."
"For a few blocks in the rain?" Chloe scoffed. "Come on, Dad. We don't need to widen the hole in the ozone." She whipped her yellow poncho around her shoulders and zippered it up. Peering out the French doors at the inch of sleet that had collected in the birdbath out back, she shivered.
"Do you want me to go with you?" her father asked. "We could be the three picketeers."
"Sounds like a disgusting nose habit." Chloe said. She smiled at his chuckle, then crossed the room to kiss him on the cheek. "No thanks, but I appreciate the offer. Where's Gran this morning?"
"Sleeping in," he replied. "She was up again last night, prowling around for burglars."
"Spies, you mean."
His eyes dropped. He sighed wearily, turning to gaze out the patio doors. Chloe rested her cheek on top of his bristle brush head.
"I asked Dr. Polk how long the paranoia lasts," he said. "He told me it all depends on the person, and the progression of the disease. Dementia or Alzheimer's, whatever it is, affects people in different ways, at different speeds . . ."
"Don't worry," Chloe reassured him. "We can take care of her. We have been for years. It's sad, but it's kind of funny, too." Chloe started to laugh. "Yesterday, when that new neighbor across the street drove up in his rusted-out camouflage van, Gran flew out the gate. She must have been picking up the last of the apples out back. Anyway, she ripped the stem off one and threw it at the van. Then she cried, 'Hit the dirt!' and scrambled behind the lilac bush, plugging her ears."
Her father burst into laughter. "Serves him right for driving that gas guzzler. It was blown to bits, I presume."
"Smithereens." Chloe gave his shoulders a firm pat. She headed toward the door. "I'll probably go down to the animal shelter after the boycott and work in receiving for a while. I should be home by three or four."
"I thought you were working adoptions at the shelter."
"I was . . ." Her eyes fastened on the front doorknob. "But, I, uh, kind of got fired. Not fired, exactly. Transferred."
"Why?"
She turned to face him. "I refused to adopt out some of the animals. I didn't think the people who wanted them would make very responsible owners. I mean, I thought that was part of my job—screening."
He frowned at her across the living room. "How many people did you screen out?"
She shrugged. "Everyone. But Dad . . ."
He started to laugh again, then shook his head at her. "Chloe, you're a marshmallow." He removed his glasses to clean them with his handkerchief as his face sobered. "I'm not real thrilled with you going back to receiving. All those abused and neglected animals coming in. I know it upsets you. I'd never ask you to quit, but promise me you'll think about it before you have a nervous breakdown. One mental case in the house at a time, please."
"You worry too much." Chloe reached for the doorknob. Sensing her father's lingering concern, she forced a cheery voice and said, "I have to do it, Dad. It's for the movement."
He exhaled. "I know."
Muriel was huddled in the doorway of Bird Boutique when Chloe blew in. "Geesh," Chloe said, bunching her rain slicker up around her neck. "This weather is for the birds."
"Literally." Muriel's teeth chattered as she bent to retrieve the picket signs. There were two of them, slats of cardboard stapled to wooden handles, leaning up against the wet brick building. "I have to warn you, Chloe," she said. "My brother trespassed in my room again yesterday and found the poster paints. One of these days I'm going to exterminate that little rodent."
"Let's see them, Mur." Chloe sacrificed a warm, dry hand from under her poncho.
Muriel, sniffling, flipped over one of the picket signs and thrust it at Chloe.
Chloe fought to contain her laughter. The signs were certainly colorful with all the little Mickey Mouses. Mickey Mouses? That's what the drawings looked like to Chloe. She couldn't see any resemblance to a parrot or a cockatoo. It didn't matter. Against the battering of an October sleet storm, even the lettering on the posters was a runny, mucky mess.
Chloe blinked up into Muriel's beseeching eyes. "They look great, Mur. Anyway," she added quickly, "I think they'll attract attention and really, that's our goal. Once people stop we can tell them not to buy birds here. And I promise next week I'll do more. I already have the petition drawn up to send to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service asking them to officially declare the polar bear an endangered species."
Muriel blew her nose. "I'll do anything you need me to do, Chloe," she said. "You know that."
Chloe felt all warm inside. Good ol' Mur.
For two hours they trooped back and forth on the slushy pavement outside Bird Boutique. The few people who braved the elements to attend the grand opening were greeted by a sniffly Muriel Blevins, who stuck out her tongue at each apathetic passerby, or a vocal Chloe Mankewicz, who yelled at their backs. They didn't deter many shoppers, although Chloe did manage to create a memorable impression on the scowling manager inside by referring to him frequently in her most resonant voice as "that bird butcher."
At ten forty-five Muriel's mother came to pick her up for the dentist. "You want a ride to the shelter, Chloe?" Muriel asked.
"No thanks. I'll hang around a while longer. If I can save one more bird . . ." She shrugged.
"You're so dedicated," Muriel said, squeezing Chloe's hand. "Isn't she dedicated, Mom?" Muriel smiled as she climbed into the car.
Chloe waved to the wet Toyota sputtering away. "Dedicated," she muttered, "Right." Between clenched teeth she seethed, "Where is he?"
She hated to admit it, but she would have left with Muriel if it hadn't been for him. He said he was coming, didn't he? She'd busted a gut exhorting the inhumanities imposed on the bird world. And for what? For him? Of course not. She was here for the birds. Wasn't she? She believed in the cause. Didn't she?
A sports car honked as it zoomed by, sloshing water over Chloe's already soaked and frigid feet. "You dipstick!" she hollered after it. Where was he? Didn't he say he'd be here? Didn't he say he wanted to talk to me?
She caught sight of herself in the store window. "You're pathetic," she muttered. Worse than Muriel. Worse than Scar
lett, mooning over this prep jock. Yanking her poncho up around her neck, Chloe exhaled in disgust and added, "Frankly, Brett. I don't give a damn." She tossed the pickets in a Dumpster and stormed off.
She spotted him at lunch on Monday. Not that she was looking for him or anything. Not that her eyeballs ached after being glued to the cafeteria door for an hour. She'd rehearsed complete and total indifference in front of the mirror all weekend. She had it down. When he finally swaggered in, surrounded by admiring fans, Chloe launched into her act.
"Protect the polar bears!" she cried. Ignoring his approach, she thrust her clipboard at a passing student body.
"Oof," the guy grunted.
"Sorry," Chloe said. "Will you sign my petition?" she asked him.
The pink-haired punker held his ribs and scowled at her.
She said, "Are you aware how quickly polar bears are dying off because of overhunting and poaching, not to mention global warming?"
He staggered away.
She yelled after him, "Babies are being shot and killed. For no reason."
"No kidding? People are allowed to shoot them?"
Chloe whipped around, and gulped. "If they can get away with it. The bears are only expanding their territories looking for food. I mean, wouldn't you?" What does he do, sprinkle Hershey's Cocoa in his eyeballs at breakfast? she wondered.
"I hate hunting. Let me sign that." He extended his arm.
Chloe stared at the open hand, then pushed the clipboard toward Brett. "If we can get the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service to declare them an endangered species, rather than just threatened, it'll make international laws easier to pass. After that we can start on chimpanzees and caimans—"
"Could you help me with this letter I'm supposed to write to Governor Eicher? It's about the new gun control law and how students are supporting it. Sort of like a petition, but I don't know how to do it."
So that was it. He needed a favor. "Sure," Chloe said. "Let me see it."
He smiled meekly. "I don't have it on me. I thought maybe we could get together later and work on it."
Love Me, Love My Broccoli Page 2
