by R. L. Maizes
Later he’ll time himself, but now Zev just wants to get to know the monitor. He’s removed two screws when Mo hops up and bats them away. Zev crawls on the floor, searching for them. He’ll have to remember to put Mo in a carrier if he ever takes apart the real thing. He’s not in a hurry to flee, doesn’t know where he’d go or what he’d do. Committing burglaries in a strange city would be hard. He wouldn’t be able to contact La La, not until law enforcement stopped looking for him, and who knows how long that would be. On the other hand, if he ran, La La could stop robbing houses. She’s the best part of his life. The worst is having dragged her into his problems. Finding the screws, he returns to the table.
Mo paws at the window above the sink, a finch on a bush safely beyond her reach.
“I’d let you out,” Zev says, “but La La thinks you’d make an owl or a fox a nice dinner. Me, I don’t think you’d let them catch you.”
La La would have taken Mo when she returned from college, but the quack is allergic to cats. Zev knows he isn’t the best owner. Never teases Mo with any of the feathery toys La La’s bought over the years. Killed the pot of catnip La La grew, forgetting to water it. At least he keeps the litter clean.
As if she can read his thoughts, Mo returns to his lap. Zev feels sentimental, thinking of leaving, and rubs the bottom of her chin. Nothing is certain yet. He removes the rest of the screws. The device is in pieces when he hears a car drive up. Scooping the parts into a brown paper bag, he stows them in his bedroom closet.
* * *
La La parks in front of her father’s house. He’s the one person she can count on not to defend Clem. She lets the dogs out, and they follow her to the back door. Inside, they spy the cat on top of the couch and press their snouts to her bottom. La La registers Mo’s annoyance and the soreness of her joints as she jumps to the top of a bookshelf.
“What’s wrong?” Zev says. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
On the dining table, rattling a steady beat, a locomotive pulls a single open freight car around an oval track. Zev hasn’t bothered with the lights, trees, or station house that came in the box. The setup is downright barren, and La La wishes for a tiny engineer or some plastic riders waiting to board.
She sinks onto the couch, which smells of piney fabric freshener. Rubbing her neck, she tells Zev about Clem discovering one of her burglaries and moving out.
Her father plucks lint from a chair’s sailcloth cushion. “Good riddance.”
La La wants to be angry at Clem but remembers the way he enfolded her in his arms after she’d helped put an animal down in the clinic. How he massaged her feet when she was tired, though he had every reason to be exhausted himself. “I love him.”
Zev carries the lint into the kitchen. “You’re just attracted to his chemical scent,” he calls out.
La La hears the garbage can open and shut. “Where’d you read that?”
“What does it matter if it’s true?”
Her father never dated anyone after Elissa. Once, on a job, he looked at a dusty wedding photo and said, “They’re deluding themselves.” La La expected that would be the end of it, but he lifted the picture and cleaned the glass with the tail of his shirt before replacing it and continuing to rob the couple. As a child, La La would watch romantic comedies with Zev, and he would scoff at the happy endings, but he never fell asleep as he did during other movies.
La La looks at her diamond ring, imagining Clem will ask for it back before too long. Mo has returned to the couch. When Black barks at the feline interloper, La La shoos him away.
“You’re too good for him,” Zev says, returning to the room. “You’re going to be a real doctor, even if your patients have four legs.” He cuts the power to the train, and the room falls silent.
La La buries her nose in the cat’s fur, the smell as subtle as tree bark.
Retrieving a feather duster from a closet, Zev swipes the coffee table. “Can you trust him?”
La La sits up. “What are you talking about?”
“Maybe he’ll go to the police.”
“Why would he do that?”
“How do I know?” He lifts a lamp from an end table and dusts under it.
“He wouldn’t.”
Abandoning the duster, Zev gets out the vacuum cleaner and turns it on. The dogs hide under the dining table.
“Do you have to do that now?” La La shouts. She lifts her feet, so he doesn’t run them over.
“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t tell people what we do,” Zev yells.
“He figured it out,” she says, but she doubts he can hear her over the noise of the machine.
The vacuum rams a table leg, and the dogs scramble onto the couch. “Who else have you told?”
Mentioning Nat would upset Zev even more, and she can’t think of anyone more trustworthy than her friend. “No one.”
“Thank God.”
La La remembers how they hid in the house for days, shades drawn and doors double-locked, the few times Zev thought someone had seen them on a job. He laundered the same clothes over and over, the colors fading, and watched TV news morning and night, until at last he decided it was safe to work again.
Putting away the vacuum cleaner, Zev takes out furniture polish and a rag. An artificial lemon scent infuses the room as he squeezes out the cleaner. Shifting Mo back to the couch, La La gathers Black and Blue and begins her exit. Zev is so absorbed in his cleaning, he doesn’t seem to notice.
As she walks to her car, La La gets a call from Dr. Porter, dean of the veterinary school. “I’ve got a tricky case, and I thought of you,” he says.
Even in veterinary school, La La tried to hide that she could sense what animals feel. But certain professors noticed her ability to diagnose illnesses sometimes before lab tests came back and began to rely on her. “I’m glad to help,” she says, the words tumbling out of her mouth, she’s so grateful not to have been forgotten.
“I’m treating a cow that’s been losing a lot of weight. She’s got diarrhea and her milk production’s down,” Dr. Porter says. “The thing is, she’s been eating and her temperature is normal. I’ve run some tests, and I’ve got my suspicions, but I’d like to know what you think.”
When La La closes her eyes, she can almost see the animal, skin stretched tightly over her bones.
At the hospital later that afternoon, students and professors in scrubs hurry to afternoon classes and to see patients. A few stop to greet La La and to ask after her father. La La didn’t think to put on scrubs but wishes she had, to remind herself she isn’t merely a burglar and to reclaim her place among her classmates if only for an hour.
Dr. Porter, an older man with a stiff gait and ears grown large from listening, is studying a chart in his office. Together they walk to an isolation stall in the area behind the main hospital where large animals are received.
The cow is a Guernsey, the color of rich earth, and ordinarily twelve hundred pounds, though nowhere near that now. La La feels a cavernous hole in her belly, as if she hasn’t eaten in a week, though she just had a bowl of rice and beans. She also feels the cow’s abdominal pain. She strokes the animal’s side. “If it’s not showing up in tests yet, maybe Johne’s disease?”
“That’s what I’m thinking, too.”
“She’s scared and starving,” La La says, revealing too much about herself in service of the animal.
* * *
On Saturday night, La La bowls with Nat and Tank at The Alley Cat. They used to be a foursome. She and Clem would laugh at the sour smell of the rental shoes and the giant mural of pins floating among shooting stars and planets.
Sitting on an orange bench, La La wishes the night were over and she were in her house where she could be miserable in private. Black and Blue are with Clem. He texted that afternoon to see if he could have them for the night, and La La agreed though she hated to part with them. She thought when he picked them up, she’d have another chance to convince him she was doing the right thing. But once
he arrived, she couldn’t think of a thing to say that she hadn’t already said, and he loaded the dogs into the car and was gone.
Tank is the embodiment of a New Year’s resolution, with glowing skin and muscles so defined they could be used to teach anatomy. Nat once confided that he makes her feel safe. His head is shaved, and he wears sleeveless shirts with aphorisms like “sweat is fat crying” and “pain is weakness leaving your body.” Three months before, he was fired from his job as a personal trainer at a health club for booking appointments with members at their homes without going through the club. Although he’s been looking for another full-time job, he’s managed to find only a handful of private clients.
Every time Tank wraps his arm around Nat, she squirms away. She’s probably trying to protect La La’s feelings, but it just serves to remind La La that she’s alone. Once, interrupting her approach, La La turns around to ask her friends if they think the place is hotter than usual. Catching them in the middle of a kiss, little more than a peck, her ball grows heavier. She resists the urge to drop it in the gutter.
After Nat bowls her sixth frame, she gathers their empty cups and heads to the concession stand.
Though it’s his turn, Tank doesn’t pick up a ball. Instead, he sits next to La La. The crash of pins creates a wall of sound around them. He leans over and whispers, “I admire what you’re doing for your father. It takes guts.”
“Thanks?” La La presses her knee to keep it from bouncing. Nat didn’t say anything about telling Tank.
“You’re welcome. They call prison hard time, but what’s really hard is living the rest of your life with a record. It isn’t easy making less money than your wife. It’s humiliating. But I’ve got an idea for how we can both make some money.”
La La’s feet sweat in the suffocating shoes. “Yeah?”
“Prescription drugs. Oxycodone, Percocet, Valium, Ritalin, you name it. Medicine cabinets are stuffed with them. Bring them to me. I’ll get a good price for them. We’ll split it fifty-fifty. Grab everything. I’ll sort it out later.”
“Have you told Nat?”
He runs his hand over his scalp. “Nah. You should have heard what she said about you breaking into homes.”
“What did she say?”
“‘I’m surprised at La La, blah, blah. What she’s doing is crazy, yada, yada.’ Doesn’t understand you have to help your father. Not her fault. Her father scarred her. Still, you’d think she’d be a better friend. So, what about the drugs?”
“I don’t know. People need their medications.” La La glances at the concession stand. Nat has reached the front of the line.
“Don’t worry. When they file a police report, the doctor will order an early refill. No one gets hurt.”
“I feel weird about stealing medicine. I’m almost a doctor.”
“The people I sell the medications to need them. In a bad way. If they were professionals with insurance, they could go to a fancy pain specialist. But because they’re junkies or college students, they can’t get what they need. Think of it like helping an animal that’s suffering.”
“My father never stole drugs. It’s narcotics trafficking on top of everything else.” La La stands and studies their scores, hoping to end the conversation.
“Just think about it. If you change your mind, bring them to me.”
“What should she bring you?” Nat sets their beers on a table and sits next to Tank.
“These articles on animal fitness she read. I thought maybe I’d branch out. Help animals stay fit, too.”
“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Nat says. “You could go on runs with them. Take them swimming. Animal obesity is a huge problem. Shortens their life spans. Leads to diabetes, arthritis, heart disease, even cancer. I’m proud of you.” Tank runs his fingers through Nat’s hair. When Nat catches his wrist, he sighs.
La La considers telling them she’s not feeling well and calling a cab. It’s not a lie; her head is throbbing. She hasn’t felt so isolated since before she met Clem. In college, her freshman roommate paired up immediately, the couple having sex constantly in the single bed that was an arm’s length from La La’s. They thought nothing of walking around the tiny room naked, the guy coming so close to La La, she was afraid he would accidentally brush her with his junk. She began staying at the library until two in the morning when it closed and would gladly have stayed later.
At campus parties everyone seemed to know everyone but her. She couldn’t find the courage to insert herself into the conversations of drunk girls, or to attempt to dance to the slow grunge that blasted from iPhone speakers, so she stopped going. Embarrassed to be eating by herself, she hurried through meals in the cafeteria. Except in the veterinary clinic where she worked, someone talking to her was apt to startle her.
When she began dating Clem, everything changed. Her thoughts about classes and current events—withheld for two years—poured out faster than Clem could keep up. He grasped his large chin as he listened and didn’t let go until she slowed down enough for him to comment. They ended most nights in the double bed in his apartment. Of the two, La La was the more inexperienced and the more energetic. He awoke in her feelings of lust and belonging, a combination so powerful she was reluctant to leave his apartment each morning and wouldn’t have if he hadn’t promised to see her that night.
Nat’s hands are on La La’s shoulders. “You look a little pale. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” Nat gathers their things.
“But I’m bowling a personal best!” Tank says.
La La and Nat put on their coats. “I’ll drop La La off,” Nat says, “and come back for you.”
“That’s okay. Knowing me, I would just screw it up, anyway.”
They drive La La home, but if she thinks she’ll feel better when she gets there, she’s mistaken. The place is unnaturally quiet. The smell of laundered cotton that lingered around Clem has disappeared.
Taking a walk outside, she tries not to slip on patches of black ice. Ribbon-like clouds weave between the stars. Venus burns a pink hole in the sky.
Is it a mistake to try to save Zev from prison? He once did the same for her. Of course, he was the one who got her involved in crime in the first place. Setting their history aside, don’t all children owe their parents something? Though he isn’t religious, Zev taught La La passages from the Old Testament for the bat mitzvah they celebrated when she was twelve, just the two of them in the kitchen, drinking Manischewitz from tumblers and eating sponge cake. He recited a few of the Ten Commandments: “Honor thy father” (Zev’s version), “Thou shall not murder,” and “Thou shall not take God’s name in vain,” conveniently skipping, “Thou shall not steal.” La La came across that one in the Cecil B. DeMille movie. But even if she hadn’t, it was something everyone knew.
When the cold grabs the tips of her fingers through her gloves and they begin to sting, she turns around, walking slowly to delay her return. Back in the house, she doesn’t need Clem to check that the doors are bolted or the heat is turned down. Zev taught her how to take care of those things. But alone, her skin hurts, her lungs thicken with grief. She wanders from one room to another as if she might have simply misplaced her happiness, left it on a dresser, or absentmindedly stuck it in a kitchen cabinet. She has no one but herself to blame for her isolation. She drove Clem away, just as she did Elissa years before. Though Zev never blamed La La, she knew she was responsible.
A month before Elissa vanished, she brought La La to a frozen lake. While La La sat on the bumper of their Ford Escort, her mother yanked the laces on La La’s skates so tight her toes began to tingle. “If you’re going to cry, we’re going home,” Elissa said.
La La wiped the corners of her eyes with a fat black glove.
“Stay away from thin ice, or anywhere you see a slick of water.” Elissa pulled up La La’s hood. “We’ll skate together. Don’t let go of my hand.”
La La wasn’t a baby. She understood about ice. When Zev took her skating, they rac
ed from one end of the lake to the other. Being tethered to her mother was awkward, and when Elissa relaxed, La La plucked her hand free. In the distance, a brown duck waddled. The duck’s confidence reassured La La, who never bothered to consider the animal’s weight or that it could float in freezing water. Against a flat blue sky, geese flew in formation overhead, honking hello. La La followed them, joining their orderly family and putting distance between herself and Elissa.
It seemed everywhere people heard the story. How a girl—what a wonder it was her they were all talking about—fell through the ice. How a mysterious black dog watched over her until help came. Newspapers ran articles about it. Though her parents tried to hide them, La La saw. The TV news covered it, too. It was easy to condemn a mother for abandoning her child. It was natural to feel outrage. Elissa stopped leaving the house except to go to work at the shelter, until one night she disappeared for good.
La La wished she had listened that day on the lake, holding fast to her mother’s hand. In La La’s memories, time moved backward and forward, but in reality, it moved in only one direction, giving birth to regret.
7
It’s Sunday, a good day to rob churchgoing families. Driving through a well-to-do suburb northwest of Denver, La La passes a house and feels a tickle on her arm. Little more than an itch. Still, she wonders.
A large side yard bordered by thick bushes provides access to the back. La La parks at the end of the block and waits to see if the family will emerge. Her patience is rewarded when an Audi pulls out of the garage, parents in front and children in back, father and son in overcoats, mother and daughter in shearling jackets. La La pauses to make sure no one has forgotten anything.