by R. L. Maizes
She phones Dr. Bergman the next day, though she doesn’t know if he’ll talk to her. “I was wondering if that job offer is still open,” she says, when his secretary puts her through.
He doesn’t respond, and La La wonders if it’s a mistake to have called, if he’s written her off as a failed experiment, a person with whom he no longer wishes to associate. “I’ve stopped,” she says.
“That’s good. I never want to visit you in prison.”
“I could work until school starts in the fall.” Someone asks Dr. Bergman a question about a medication, and when he replies, La La is pleased to discover she knows the answer, too.
“I can’t pay you what I imagine you were … uh … making.”
She relaxes her grip on the phone. “No, of course not. I wouldn’t expect … just a vet tech’s salary.”
“A very experienced vet tech with special skills.”
La La doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know why he’s forgiven her. Why he’s willing to trust her with his patients and give her a job that will last for only a few months. Although she ignored his calls and followed a path he disapproved of, he still treats her as family. “Thank you,” she says, doubting she deserves his kindness.
The following Monday, La La starts the job that will sustain her until she can take out student loans in the fall. It’s strange to be back in a clinic, vaccinating a mastiff under bright lights and the resentful eye of a senior tech named Kali, who is also the office manager. The woman learned about animals growing up on a dairy farm. She has little formal training, but twenty-five years’ experience, and Dr. Bergman trusts her.
“I wasn’t aware we needed another tech,” she says, while La La mixes the vaccine and inserts a needle into the vial.
The phone in La La’s pocket begins to play “Lawyers, Guns and Money,” the ringtone for O’Bannon. Zev’s bail hearing isn’t until Wednesday. Afraid the police have caught him, La La yanks the needle from the vial, nearly inoculating Kali against rabies. The tech crosses her arms, while La La steadies herself and prepares to feel the stick, then administers the shot. When Kali walks the dog out, La La darts into the bathroom to listen to the message.
“The police went to your father’s house this morning after receiving an alert from the ankle monitoring company. Your father wasn’t there,” O’Bannon says. La La sits on the toilet. In her mind, she traces a rabbit’s skeleton—cranium, maxilla, mandible, atlas, scapula, spine, fibula, tibia, femur, ilium, sacrum—until her heart rate slows. She washes her face, drying it with paper towels.
At five o’clock, she calls O’Bannon from her car. “What happens next?”
“We hope they don’t find him.”
The days have gotten longer, but the air still holds a chill. From high in the mountains, melting glaciers swell the creek alongside the parking lot with icy, turbulent water.
“He didn’t want to be locked up,” O’Bannon says. “For now, he isn’t. You’ll be all right. What do you want to do about the balance on your bill?”
“I’ll pay it over time if you don’t mind. I’m going back to school.”
“I suppose it’s better that way.”
After she hangs up, La La runs her hand over the passenger seat. The car isn’t her style. She considers getting rid of it and buying something simpler but decides to keep it a little longer. She doesn’t plan to rob any more houses but likes to imagine she could.
While she gathers the courage to dial Clem’s number, she watches the creek’s tumultuous journey. “I’m working at Dr. Bergman’s clinic until school starts. That’s all I’m doing,” she says when he picks up.
“I’m so glad to hear that. I never want anything bad to happen to you.”
The kind words give her hope. “I thought, maybe, we could have dinner or something.”
Clem is quiet for a moment. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that. I’m sorry.”
The air in the car feels heavy. It presses down on La La like an avalanche. Nevertheless, she tries again. “It could be like it was.”
“You know I’m seeing Naomi. We’re talking about opening a bodywork clinic together. You’ll meet someone wonderful. I’m sure you will.”
Country music plays on a radio station and a motorcycle engine revs. Clem must be in his car, too. A bitter taste fills La La’s mouth. She’s already met someone wonderful, and it’s him.
* * *
A week later, as La La is about to sit down to dinner, she sees through a window a tall woman with an AR-15 hanging from her shoulder and a pistol nosing into a holster at her side. AGENT glows white on the sleeve of her black jacket, a garment that fails to hide she’s well-endowed. She shows something to a neighbor. La La assumes it’s a picture of Zev and that the woman is a bounty hunter. The neighbor examines the photo and shakes her head.
When the woman knocks, La La steps outside and closes the door behind her. She’s curious to find out what the agent knows. Since La La has no idea where Zev is, there’s no risk she’ll reveal anything.
“You’d be doing him a favor turning him in,” the woman says. A silver shield hangs from a chain around her neck, and her hair is gathered in a brown ponytail.
“Can I see the picture?”
The woman holds up a copy of Zev’s mug shot. “If he surrenders, he won’t get shot.”
“He doesn’t carry a gun,” La La says, her voice unnaturally high. “There’s no need to shoot him.”
The woman folds the photo and tucks it into her back pocket. “How do you know he doesn’t carry one now? When was the last time you talked to him?”
Neighbors have begun to watch. “He’s never carried one.”
“It’s no fun looking over your shoulder all the time. That’s how it’ll be as long as he’s on the run.”
“I’ll let him worry about that.”
“They all get caught eventually. Call me if you want to save his life.” She holds out a business card.
THE FINDER is printed in bold letters on the card, then Fugitive Recovery Agent and a phone number. La La keeps her hands at her sides, refusing it.
The agent starts to go but turns back. “You wouldn’t have him inside?”
“That would be a pretty stupid place for him to hide.”
A hand on her pistol, the woman says, “Harboring a fugitive is a crime.”
“I watch Law and Order, too.”
“This isn’t a TV show. Your father’s in danger, whether you realize it or not. I understand he’s the one who called nine-one-one. There could be extenuating circumstances.”
“I’m not talking about his case.”
“Suit yourself. But if you change your mind, call me.” As she leaves, the agent deposits the card in the mailbox, then climbs back into her 4Runner.
* * *
“Why not tell Clem you’re working as a vet tech?” Nat asks. She missed their Sunday walk around the reservoir and invited La La for dinner Wednesday night, instead.
La La didn’t want to see Tank but couldn’t think of an excuse fast enough, so here she is in their kitchen, surrounded by white cabinets, a double oven, and a coffee maker that could have been designed by NASA. “I did tell him. On the phone. He reminded me that he’s seeing Naomi.”
“He was engaged to you. Maybe they’re not serious.” As Nat chops mushrooms, her ferret, Casey, hops on the counter and steals one.
“The woman loves dogs. They’re thinking about working together. Clem never even bothered to tell her we were engaged.”
“Sorry.”
Tank opens a bottle of red wine. She hasn’t seen him since he threatened her. He looks gaunt, and his clothes smell sour. Nat told La La she refuses to do Tank’s laundry, especially since he’s hardly working.
“If you love someone, shouldn’t you stick with them? We have one fight, and Clem takes off.” La La checks her phone though it’s been weeks since she heard from any of the Elizabeth Golds she contacted.
“It was a pretty big fight,” Nat
says.
“I’m with La La,” Tank says, his first words since she arrived. “You don’t leave. You stay and work it out.” He looks at Nat.
“We’re talking about La La and Clem,” Nat says.
Perched on the back of a chair, the ferret nibbles on the mushroom, then throws it at Nat.
“Get her, Casey.” His hands trembling, Tank pours three glasses of wine, then disappears.
Nat sprinkles shredded soy cheese on premade pizza dough. “You must be happy to be back in a clinic.”
“I guess.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I assisted on an emergency surgery the other day,” La La says. “A dog with bloat. We saved him, and later the whole office went out for beers. I felt good about it until I realized if it wasn’t me helping, it would have been another vet tech. The animal didn’t need me at all.”
“It was you, and you were in the clinic legitimately, not in some stranger’s home where you could get shot. Sometimes it’s okay to do things in an ordinary way.”
La La sets the table. When Tank returns, she walks a wide circle around him as she lays out napkins.
“Did you ever think about working out?” Nat says to La La. “It’s a good way to burn off stress. It used to help Tank.”
Tank shoots her a nasty look. He reaches under his shirt and scratches feverishly.
“Gyms are great places to meet people, too.” Nat adds the chopped mushrooms to the pizza.
“I can’t imagine anyone wanting to date me. Especially if they knew what you know.”
“You’re a veterinary student. People love animals.” Nat finishes her wine and pours herself another. “Start thinking of yourself that way. Forget the rest.” She refills La La’s glass, ignoring Tank’s though it’s empty, and slips the pizza into the oven.
While the pizza bakes, Nat excuses herself to use the bathroom. When she’s gone, Tank says, “Don’t keep me waiting too much longer.”
La La straightens a fork. “I’m not doing that anymore.”
“You will. You’ll return to your old life, just like I did.”
La La wonders if he’s right. Some days she feels as if gravity itself is pulling her into other people’s homes.
13
The bus arrives in Phoenix at nine in the morning. Not having slept, Zev stumbles into the terminal. He asks a stranger for directions to the nearest diner, and on the way buys a prepaid smartphone that doesn’t require him to give his name.
In the restaurant, the smells of bacon and coffee sharpen Zev’s hunger. A server wipes the table, pushing crumbs onto the booth’s ancient leather seat. Zev orders black coffee, a double stack of pancakes, and three scrambled eggs loose. Above the door hangs a large, dusty clock, its second hand moving steadily around the dial. Zev looks forward to a leisurely breakfast.
It isn’t until his food arrives, and Zev thinks about slipping a bowl of kibble into Mo’s carrier, that he realizes the cat isn’t with him. Throwing three fives on the table, he runs back to the store where he bought the phone. The carrier isn’t on the counter, and no one has seen it. He races to the bus station. It’s hot, a kind of heat he isn’t used to. Sweat rolls into his eyes, collects behind his knees, and drips down his calves. His side cramps, but he’s afraid to slow down.
In the station, all the buses look alike. He has no idea which gate they pulled into. At the information counter, he tells the clerk he’s looking for his cat, that she’s in a carrier he left on the last seat of the bus from Albuquerque.
The clerk looks up from his computer, his hand cradling a mouse. “We don’t allow animals on the bus.” His fingers are long, the nails trimmed.
“I’m trying to take her off the bus.”
“Unless it’s a service dog. Then you can bring her on.”
Zev sets his duffel down, his shoulder sore from carrying it. “She’s a cat, and I don’t want to travel with her, I want to find her.”
“I suppose you could try the lost and found.”
“Where’s that?”
Reaching down, the man retrieves a beat-up cardboard box that holds a Desert Museum cap, plastic sunglasses, a makeup case, a single earring, a book of kids’ jokes, and a key dangling from a mini flashlight.
Zev massages his shoulder. “She was in a carrier.”
“It’s not here.”
“Could you look again?”
The clerk scans the area below the counter. “No cat,” he says. “The bus might be in service. Check the rear of the station.”
Five identical buses are parked in service bays. As he starts to board one, a woman in a driver’s uniform approaches and tells him he’s in a restricted area.
“My cat’s on the bus.”
“We don’t allow animals on the buses.”
“Except for service dogs. I know. I’m trying to get her off the bus.”
The driver looks around. “Make it fast.”
Zev scrambles up the stairs and down the aisle. When he gets to the last seat, it’s empty. It’s the wrong bus. The headrest on the seat in front of his was broken, but this one’s fine.
He boards the second bus. What he wouldn’t give to hear Mo crying. If he finds her, he’ll buy her a case of the most expensive canned food the supermarket stocks and a giant planter of catnip. The back seat is empty. La La will never forgive him if he’s lost Mo.
She isn’t on the third bus, either. Clutching the handrail, he pulls himself into the fourth bus, his legs wobbly. A copy of Motor Sport Magazine has been abandoned on a seat, but he doesn’t stop to pick it up. Nearing the back of the bus, he smells urine, just like on his bus, and quickens his step. He can’t wait to hold her. To hear her complain about being abandoned. The headrest on the second-to-last seat is broken. But Mo’s not there. He gets on his hands and knees, disregarding the layers of filth on the floor, and looks under the seats but sees only a crumpled tissue, a candy wrapper, and a pair of earbuds.
Though he knows it’s hopeless, he tries the fifth bus.
He drags himself outside, his body heavy, except for his hands, which might float away without the carrier, their emptiness a reproach. Back pressed to the station’s concrete wall, he sinks to the ground, one more vagrant populating the plaza, uncertain what to do next. Women in sleeveless dresses and men in business shirts gawk as they pass. Though he hates to stand out, he can’t bring himself to find a bathroom, to shave and change from his wrinkled clothes. The morning has grown still hotter, and hunger pangs rattle his belly. Mo, too, must be hungry, not having eaten since yesterday morning. He hopes she’s okay, wherever she is. Not everyone means animals well, La La used to warn him.
He’s about to doze off, when he hears: “Sir! Sir!” The information clerk runs toward him, swinging the carrier.
Zev jumps to his feet. “Easy! She’s not a bag of potatoes.”
“I’m glad you’re still here.”
Zev clutches the carrier and looks through the holes. Mo trembles, her face pressed into a corner and hidden by her paws. He would take her out, reassure her, but he’s afraid she might run. “Where was she?”
“Last seat of the bus, just like you said. Maya, one of the service personnel, found it. She gave it some water in the restroom and then brought it to lost and found. Lucky you didn’t leave.”
His first piece of luck in his new town.
When he stops back at the diner, a woman in a grease-stained apron holds up his breakfast in a Styrofoam container. “We kept it for you, just in case. But it’s cold. Want me to microwave it? I’ll get you some fresh coffee, too.” She starts to lead him to a table, but then glances down and stops. “That’s going to be a problem. I like animals as much as the next person, but the Health Department doesn’t. You’ll have to wait outside.”
Back on the street, Zev puts a bowl of kibble in Mo’s carrier, but she still won’t eat. Trying to avoid the stream of pedestrians, he presses himself into a doorway. The waitress brings his food. Container in one hand, plasti
c fork in the other, he eats as neatly as he can, now and then reaching for his cup of coffee on the sidewalk.
When he finishes, he walks half a mile to a motel the waitress mentioned. Leaving Mo in the shade of the building, he registers, then retrieves her and unlocks the door to a room that smells of stale cigarette smoke. The polyester bedspread whistles as he sits on it. He returns to the front desk and asks to borrow cleaning supplies.
“Maid did that room an hour ago,” the manager says. Her hair is the color of ash, short as a marine’s, and she gives him a look that says she won’t tolerate nonsense.
“I’m very particular.” He slides a five-dollar bill across the desk.
She pulls a key from a drawer. “Down the hall, last door on the left. I better have this back in an hour.”
When he steps into the maintenance closet, the odor of bleach hits him, as pleasing as the scent of fine cigars to other men, and he breathes deeply. Back in his room, he wipes the cracked toilet bowl, the mildewed shower walls. After vacuuming the stained carpet in the bedroom, he douses it with freshener. He removes a layer of dust from the TV screen and polishes the laminate night tables. Mo hides under the bed, coming out only to eat and to relieve herself in the litter box Zev improvised by scattering shredded toilet paper in a cardboard box he emptied of Borax.
Stepping gingerly into the barely clean shower, he washes himself, then changes into fresh clothes. He searches on his phone for a cheap apartment that’s furnished and in a complex with a pool. A place on the ground floor, since he might need to exit through a window. When he finds one, he rides the bus to a property manager’s office and fills out an application. He lists his name as Roger Cohen, whose social security number and driver’s license he bought in Colorado from an associate specializing in identity theft. He crosses his fingers that Roger hasn’t done anything lately to ruin his credit.
As he lies on the motel bed that night, he looks up the Mesa, Arizona, shelter where Elissa works. He clicks on her picture in the staff directory. Despite the air-conditioning and fanning himself with a copy of Car and Driver, heat pricks his skin. He hasn’t been this close to her in nearly twenty years.