He runs a hand along his jaw. “Haven’t you done enough?”
I sit up. The sheet falls away. I’m naked but more upset that my hair has come loose; that he’s seeing the part of me that’s most like Violet. She always wore her hair down. It was beautiful until she stopped washing it. The black curls matted into dull twists. “Why are you here?”
Otis looks up from beneath long lashes. “To make sure you know.”
“I didn’t write that article.”
Otis moves closer. “Does it matter anymore?”
He has faint freckles along the bridge of his nose, like he sunburned it as a kid. His scent is fresh soap. “Did you bring Swifty?” I ask.
Otis reaches out, his fingers twisting one of my curls. “Swift Jones is with Howard. She’s his calf now.”
Goose bumps dance across my skin. “It’s okay. He loves elephants.”
“How do you know?”
“The rubber mat, the apples, the photos. Ever since Howard was a little boy, he’s loved elephants.”
Uri appears in the doorway. “I thought you were a reporter.” He shakes his head, walks away.
Otis presses his palms against my cheeks, like he did with Tambor. He rests his forehead against mine. The warmth of his breath dusts my face, swirls inside me. I start to melt.
“What’s love?” Otis asks.
Our lips are inches apart. His fingers drift down to trace my collarbone. My skin is on fire. “I don’t know.”
“What’s love?” Otis repeats.
Our lips brush, soft, fleeting. His mouth travels along my neck. Everywhere he touches comes alive.
“What’s love?”
“Swifty,” I finally say.
Otis pulls away. His eyes are glacier blue. “Then your love is death.”
* * *
Buzzing. Buzzing. Buzzing. I open my eyes. My muted phone is vibrating on the bedside table. It’s Calvin’s number. I pick up but don’t know what to say anymore. I’m wrung dry. He’s the only parent I have left, but the distance between us has become an abyss.
“Lily?”
“Yes.”
“Please. What do you want from me?”
“The truth.”
Calvin sighs. “Ask.”
“You knew she was hurting me?”
“At first I was in denial. Yes.”
“Why didn’t you stop her?”
“No excuse will be good enough,” Calvin says. “I tried to get Violet help. Force her to take medication. Get her committed. But that’s much harder than it sounds. I considered telling the authorities what she was doing...with you, but they would’ve taken you away from us. That would’ve pushed Violet over the edge.”
“She was already miles over the edge.”
“Hindsight is twenty-twenty,” Calvin says. “Lily, I was in over my head, drinking too much. Our life was a roller coaster of extreme highs and lows that I never wanted to ride, couldn’t get off. I was... I was so trapped.”
“Because of me?”
“Violet. Me. You.”
I swallow around the knot in my throat. “That day on the roof you saved her, not me.”
Calvin clears his throat. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Violet was the absolute love of my life. She was this bright light, beautiful, funny, so funny, creative, smart...” His voice catches. “I watched her unravel, powerless to help, but still, the need to save her was all-consuming.”
“What about me?”
“It happened so fast.”
“Bullshit.”
My father exhales like he’s been hit hard, hands on knees, struggling to recover. “It doesn’t mean I don’t love you, too.”
My chest constricts. “You would’ve aborted me.”
“In a logical, theoretical world?” A sob strangles his voice. “Maybe. But only to save you from what Violet went through.”
“To save yourself.”
Calvin is crying hard. “The second you were born and I looked into your eyes? I would’ve chosen to have you a thousand more times. And once I held you? There’s no way in hell I ever would’ve let you go, even if I’d known the challenges we’d face. Lily, life isn’t black-and-white. People are flawed. I’m fallible. But I do love you.”
“Controlling me isn’t the same thing as loving me.”
“Something in me broke after what...after Violet tried to kill you. And every year that passes, it’s like the clock on a bomb is ticking down. I’m calm on the outside but inside, I’m waiting for you to turn into her. I’m waiting for our world to shatter again. And that thing inside me, no matter how hard I try? It’s still broken. But I’m here for you. I will be until the day I die.”
“Do you...” The words stick but I have to say them so I try again. “Do you think I’m going to have schizophrenia?” Calvin is sobbing. I wait.
“I don’t know... Probably.”
I thought hearing his response would be a brutal punch to the gut, or a plunge into ice water. Instead, it makes only a slight ripple across the surface of my life. There’s a strange sense of release from hearing what I knew he believed but never said, aloud. “Thank you for telling me the truth.” I hang up, then hold the phone tight to my chest. The chasm between my father and me widens until I can no longer see him on the other side.
31
I wanted the truth. Calvin gave it to me. Still, it’s like I’ve been put in a tiny boat, set adrift in an endless ocean with no idea how to sail home and no idea where home even is anymore. The need to call Sawyer is palpable, but I don’t. I’ve already asked way too much of him.
A cold shower doesn’t wash away my nightmare or the conversation with my father, but at least my skin is less sticky. When you let go you create space for something better, Ms. Frey murmurs. I hope she’s right. After turning off the shower’s uneven stream, I dry off and push away the conversation. Calvin wants me to give up, come home and hide. Hiding didn’t work for him. It didn’t work for Violet. It probably won’t work for me.
“One more article.” With a weak cup of coffee in hand, I sit at the laminated desk by the window. I have enough time to write my third article, grab a burrito and still be at the circus in time for my 6:00 p.m. shift. There’s an itch at the back of my mind. Ever since Howard was a little boy, he’s loved elephants.
Focus.
But the itch won’t go away. I thought you were a reporter.
Drop it.
My ringer was off while I napped, so I check my phone before I begin writing. There’s nothing from Sawyer, three voice mails from Calvin, one text from Shannon: Call me. ASAP.
She answers on the second ring. “It’s about time.”
“Sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last—”
“I care because?”
“What’s up?”
“Your second article was picked up by the AP,” Shannon says.
“Great.” I wait for Shannon’s criticism.
“Mr. Matthews wants you to take some videos.”
“Of what?”
“A rocket launching into space.”
“The performers are working on new acts, so Otis Walker won’t let me tape them.” What I don’t say is that I allowed Otis to add no videos without approval to our agreement then signed on the dotted line. Shannon would go ballistic.
“You. Are. A. Reporter,” Shannon says very slowly. “You. Are. Supposed. To. Find. A. Story.”
I stare out the grimy window. “I have. I am. I’m about to write my third article.”
“Let me guess. How high the poodles jump. How beautiful the dressage horses are when they move together. How much Howard Walker loves his elephants.”
“I’m not here to do an exposé on the circus.”
“Give me the phone.”
My stomach flips. It’s Mr. Matthews.
“Lily, you’re there to tell the real story about a baby elephant whose mother tried to kill her, who was flown to a circus across the country where there are no female elephants to help her get over her grief, who is going to be a show animal for screeching kids for the rest of her fucking life,” Mr. Matthews says.
“Your photographs?” Shannon says. “They’re actually really good. Not technically, but visually. They tell the real story. Your words fall well short of that mark.”
“Do better,” Mr. Matthews says. “And take some goddamned video we can post online, because the petition floating around Facebook to Save Swift Jones has something like ninety thousand names on it. A lot of them are or have become Pennington Times readers.”
Crap. “Okay.”
“And I want the third article. Today.”
“I can do that, Mr. Matthews. But it won’t have video.”
“Why not?” he demands.
“I won’t have time,” I lie.
“Photos?” Shannon asks.
“Yes.”
“Fine. But write a fourth article,” Mr. Matthews says. “Delivered by tomorrow night. With photos, videos, plus in-depth information. Don’t disappoint me, kid.”
Crappity. I’m going to disappoint him. Maybe I can get Otis to approve a video of Swifty playing with Flea or something else that’s rated G, innocuous. “I asked Addie.”
“Asked her what?” Mr. Matthews says.
“If she’s single.”
“And?”
“She said you should fucking ask her yourself.”
Mr. Matthews guffaws. “See, kid? You can multitask after all.”
They hang up. I check for emails—nothing from Sawyer. Taking a deep breath, I open my computer, start doing research. I can write what Mr. Matthews wants but still be balanced and stick to my approved interviewee list. After I finish researching, I dial Otis’s number because the circus side of things needs a quote or my story is lopsided.
“Otis Walker.”
My face instantly burns. He didn’t actually kiss me. But I wanted him to, which should worry me more than the voices in my head. “It’s Lily.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I need a quote from the circus about Swift Jones’s health.”
“We are doing everything we can to ensure the health of our newest addition.”
He’s back to his PR voice. “Swifty is drinking even less of her formula. The veterinarian your family uses came to see her this morning. She said she’s lethargic, depressed and—” I hear papers shuffling, like he’s working on something else. “Hello?”
“Dr. Robertson is depressed?”
“Swifty.” I wait for Otis to say something, but he doesn’t. “You obviously don’t care, but Dr. Robertson thinks Swift Jones could be in serious trouble.” There’s a tapping sound, like Otis is bouncing the end of a pencil on his desk.
“Has Dr. Tinibu spoken to Howard?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Howard said Swifty will be fine.” Again, silence. “Otis?”
“Just use the quote I gave you.”
“Okay. I also wanted to see if I can take some—” He hangs up.
Okay. Fine. I call Addie to run some quotes and statistics by her.
“This isn’t your usual article,” she says.
“It will be fair.”
“I’d expect nothing more.”
A Tough Transition for Swift Jones
Four-and-a-half-week-old Asian elephant calf Swift Jones, who was rejected by her mother, Raki, and claimed by Wild Walker’s Circus, has now spent three days at her new home in Haven, Florida. The transition has been difficult despite around-the-clock caretakers from both the zoo and the circus.
“She’s not getting enough nutrition,” large-animal veterinarian Dr. Ellie Robertson said after examining Swift Jones.
Elephant calves drink up to twenty-four pints of their mother’s milk each day. According to Robertson, the calf’s appetite has diminished to fourteen pints a day. “Even if Swifty is hydrated, if she doesn’t drink enough formula, get enough nutrition, she may not survive because as she gets weaker, she’ll also be more susceptible to illness.”
The calf is showing other signs that worry Dr. Robertson, including lethargy, weight loss and signs of depression. “It is not uncommon for an elephant calf to die from a broken spirit. A calf, especially one this young, needs female elephants around her or other calves who can call to her, caress her, let her know she’s not alone.”
All the elephants at Wild Walker’s Circus are adult males. However, the circus’s elephant trainer, Howard Walker, believes the calf will be fine once she becomes part of his elephant herd.
Animal-rights advocates are pushing for both zoos and circuses to phase out many of their wild animal exhibits, especially elephants, because neither can provide enough space or varied habitats for an elephant’s well-being.
So where does that leave Swift Jones? “For now, we watch and wait,” Dr. Robertson said.
I attach several photos—the vet examining Swift Jones, a close-up of the calf’s face, Swifty’s trunk wrapped around my leg. Everything goes to Shannon. It was fair, what I wrote. But Addie and the Walker family won’t like it.
Running sneakers tied tight, I lock the motel room door behind me and jog down the concrete stairs because, hot or not, I need to pound pavement, tire out my brain before returning to the circus.
Ever since Howard was a little boy, he’s loved elephants... I thought you were a reporter.
“The photos.”
Sinking onto the last step, I pull out my phone, click on Wild Walker’s website then Howard’s bio. There are so many photographs of him with the elephants. Toddling beside them, playing beneath their bulk, orchestrating intricate moves in the ring. He’s just a tiny kid, all elbows and knees...and dark blond hair. I enlarge the shot of the little boy with his hands on either side of an elephant’s face, their foreheads pressed together.
It’s Otis.
32
“Good, you’re here early,” Addie says. She’s standing behind Swifty with a hose in her right hand, her left holding up the calf’s tail. “Turn the red lever on the hallway wall for me.” Swifty glances over her shoulder at Addie, head tilted, curious.
“I thought Dr. Robertson wanted to wait.”
“So far today? SJ has had only three-quarters of one bottle. Total.”
There’s a buzzing in my ears. “It’s supposed to be warm water.”
“The hose has a warm and cold option, the red lever is the warm. It’s ninety-five degrees, which is close to Swifty’s own body temperature.”
I can’t stall any longer so I turn on the water then watch Addie slide more than a foot of hose into Swifty’s rectum. The calf doesn’t react, instead watching Flea pounce on Nibs, toss the stuffed animal into the air, then pounce again. It’s hard not to think that the mutt is actually trying to distract her. Addie holds the hose in place until brown water finally starts running down Swifty’s legs. It smells pretty foul.
A metal bucket sits beneath the industrial-sized sink on the far side of the hallway. I fill it with warm water and soap; bring it back into the pen. Addie has turned the hose off. She collects all the wet, dirty straw while I clean Swifty’s backside.
“Give her another enema tonight,” Addie says. “A Walker’s employee will be here to help.”
“Um.” I focus on toweling Swifty dry.
“Are you saying you can’t do it?”
There’s no way I’m going to tell Addie I can’t do it. “No problem.” Swifty lies down, like the entire process exhausted her, so I cover her with a blanket, making sure it’s tucked perfectly around her little face. She reaches out her trunk. The tip touches my knee
. Our eyes meet. Sadly, it’s not uncommon for calves to quite literally die from a broken spirit, Dr. Robertson murmurs in my ear. “Will the enema really help?” I ask Addie.
“It can’t hurt.”
The line I once imagined connecting Swifty and me pulls tight. It’s still invisible, but I can no longer deny it’s there. “I’ll be back at six, SJ. We’ll have dinner together.” I kiss the calf’s forehead then shove my hands in my pockets because they’re shaking. When I get outside the animal building, I hesitate. Tina and Maximus own the circus. Should I go directly to them, tell them Swifty is in trouble? They’d tell me to talk to Howard. Addie already tried both approaches and failed. If none of them listened to her, they won’t listen to me. I hear Max’s words: Our trainers are top-notch, autonomous. If they need anything, run into difficulties, Otis steps in. “Great,” I mutter.
At Otis’s front door, I waver. This isn’t my battle. I have a plan, a code to live by, potentially a lifesaving goal. My life.
I pound on the door.
“Hang on,” Otis calls.
His shadow approaches. The door opens. He’s on the phone and holds up one hand to silence me. “Thanks for doing that, Ellie. I will.”
I wait until Otis disconnects and lowers his phone. “Why’d you lie?”
“Hello, Lily.”
Everything about him infuriates me. The way he says my name like it’s a joke. How he’s so comfortable in his skin. The richness of his eyes, because they make people think he’s a mile deep instead of an inch. The fact that I want Otis to be more than he obviously is. “Why did you lie?”
“What, exactly, did I lie about?”
“The elephants.”
“You have my quote.” He starts to close the door.
I jam my sneaker in the doorway so he can’t shut me out. “It’s not about the stupid quote.”
“Would you like to come in or would you rather rant on my front porch?”
Over his shoulder I glimpse scarred wood flooring, worn-in leather furniture, a laptop on the kitchen counter beside stacks of folders. The walls are painted white with no pictures or photographs, but floor-to-ceiling shelves are filled with books. “I’ll stay outside.”
When Elephants Fly Page 19