by Delia Ephron
“You did it,” says Tim.
“It was your idea.” Tracee can’t help herself, she crows, “I called the Hofstadders. I thought about you.” She beams at Rita. “You walking into the lion’s den. You with Marcel. That’s how I did it. You were my inspiration.”
“Well, now,” says Rita, too surprised to say anything else.
Tracee spies the cake. “I’m starving. Could I have a slice?”
Rita cuts one. Tracee takes it in both hands and makes sounds of intense pleasure while she greedily gobbles it. “Sorry, I’m hungry. It’s delicious. I didn’t eat before, I was so nervous.”
“Tracee, come on, then what?” says Lana.
“Lenore answered, Karen’s mom. I told her who I was and she said”—Tracee licks her fingers—“‘Hi, Tracee, how are you?’ She was happy to hear from me, so I knew right off she had no idea I’d done it. I said, ‘I’m calling to tell you that I stole a diamond necklace,’ and she said, ‘Wait one second,’ and left me there.”
“Left you?” says Lana.
“She just, like, left me on the phone.”
“Dangling,” says Tim.
“I practically had a heart attack, I was so frightened, well, more stunned and nervous about what might be coming.”
“Coming?” says Lana. “Like a SWAT team?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s not important.”
“Then Randall gets on, that’s Karen’s dad. He says, ‘Leave the police station right now,’ or words like that. I gave the phone to Tim and Tim said, ‘We’re not leaving until you explain.’ The way he said it, it was like ‘Tell us or else.’ No one would mess with Tim the way he said it.” She loses herself for a second looking at Tim, who can’t take his eyes off Tracee, never can. “Anyway, so he told us.”
“The insurance,” says Tim. “They’d already collected.”
“But why would that matter? So what, they collected. I still stole it. It doesn’t make sense.”
“None,” says Tim.
Everyone wonders about that except Lana, who bites her thumb. She’s wondering about something else.
“I was hoping secretly,” says Tracee, “you know, hope against hope, that they hadn’t reported it and they’d let me pay it back, although it would take ages, but they didn’t even want that.”
“They must have gotten more than it’s worth,” says Clayton.
“Huh?”
“Let’s say they said it’s worth six thousand. And they collected. It’s better all around if Tracee doesn’t show up.”
“That’s so dishonest,” says Tracee. “I can’t believe the Hofstadders would do something like that.”
“They probably think they’re just working the system.”
“I have no respect for them,” says Tracee. “None whatsoever.”
“You’re not coming with me,” says Lana.
Tracee gets a jab from Tim but says nothing.
“You don’t have to now, right?”
Tracee opens her mouth, but the speech she prepared in the car is gone. She can’t recall a word of it.
“Who would like a slice of cake?” says Rita.
No one answers.
Clayton takes a seat and folds his arms across his chest. He watches Tracee’s eyes flick nervously from Tim to Lana.
“I am,” says Tracee faintly. “Going to stay.” Her voice gains confidence.
“But that’s great,” says Lana. “How cool, fantastic it all worked out. It worked out just the way you hoped. You have to stay, no question. You’re in love. Tim’s great. You are, Tim. It’s wonderful.” She knows she’s babbling but can’t stop. “Wow, what a relief. I bought Marcel something. Beef patties.” She looks around, confused—where is her purse? She yanks it up from the floor. “They’re somewhere in here.” She reaches in and comes up with an eight-pack. “A going-away present. Well, I’m the one going. I mean a thank-you present.” She fumbles with the wrapping.
“Here,” says Tim. “Let me help.”
He rips off the plastic. “Eight patties. How about that, Mr. M?”
“Would you give them to him?” Lana asks Rita. “I’m nervous to.”
Rita flips them through the bars. Marcel pounces.
“Could I have a minute alone with him?” says Lana.
“Of course. Absolutely,” says Rita. “What a good idea.”
She herds everyone into the kitchen. Clayton stops at the bar and draws a Pepsi for Lana, one with lots of ice, the way she likes it. He sets it on a table.
“Give a shout when you’re done,” says Rita.
The room is suddenly silent save for Marcel, sprawled on his stomach, making quick work of the patties, barely chewing, gulping, licking his chops, licking the floor where they landed, and then licking his paws. He lies there, sated.
Lana drags a chair close to the cage and straddles it. Finding herself unexpectedly parched, she drinks her soda. She loves it when there is no one hanging out here but her and Marcel. Today especially she loves it. Today especially she appreciates this safe place where her thoughts don’t distress her and her memories are easier to handle. When, how soon, if ever, will she be back?
She thinks about the summer—her bolt out of Maryland with Tracee, the serendipity of meeting Rita, the car crash. One, two, three, they fell through the window of The Lion. Her friends found happiness. She is going back alone. Better than she was but still with mountains to climb.
Marcel draws himself up to his full height and resettles, lounging the way he often does, on his side with his head held high. He rests his gaze on the young woman sitting in a chair turned backward, trying to appear tough and resilient and feeling anything but.
“I’m taking you with me,” she tells him. “All your peace and patience and listening ears. You’ll be here”—she holds a fist to her heart—“keeping me sober. Sober and sane.”
52
Lana tosses her purse into the front seat of the Mustang.
“Got water?” says Clayton.
“I do.” Over her pink blouse she buttons his parting gift—a red cotton shirt with The Lion in script on the pocket. “Thank you again for this. I love it.”
“Do you have a full tank?”
“Yes.” She sticks out her hand to shake, but Clayton wraps her in a bear hug.
She goes to Tim next, to kiss his cheek. It’s awkward. They bang heads. “Drive carefully,” says Tim. “Don’t forget to signal.”
“I won’t.”
“And don’t just use the side mirror if you’re changing lanes. Look over your shoulder.”
“I will. I promise.”
Rita opens her arms. Lana falls into them. Rita’s soft. Everything about her is soft and warm and comforting.
“Whenever you’re feeling low, remember this,” whispers Rita. “You saved my life.” She brushes Lana’s hair off her face, tucking it behind her ears. “You look so pretty.”
“I do?”
“Simply beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t forget to write,” says Rita.
“Of course I won’t write. I’ll e-mail and text and phone.”
“But it won’t be the same,” says Tracee, pulling her best friend away to have a moment to themselves.
They huddle by Marcel’s petrified tree, not knowing what to do or say. How do you separate when, for as long as you can remember, you’ve never been apart? Lana rubs her hand over the bark. “It feels like plastic. Have you ever touched it?”
Tracee feels it. “Ooh, that’s strange.”
“Look, he’s managed to rub some bark off and it’s not really even bark anymore. What an amazing beast.”
“Are you going to see your dad?”
“I’m not even going to call. Not until I have something to show for myself. Not until I can begin to pay him back.”
“It isn’t really that far.”
“What?”
“Maryland.”
“Only two states.�
�
“Don’t ever forget I love you.”
“I love you too,” says Lana. “I love you forever.”
They cling to each other and then at the same instant break apart, each stepping back decisively so that they can do what they have to: Lana can leave; Tracee can stay.
Lana hurries to the Mustang, gets in, and starts it up. She backs out of the space, drives to the exit, and brakes. She checks the rearview mirror and then, as Tim counseled, looks over her shoulder to make sure no surprises are coming up on her left. There’s only Tracee, Rita, Tim, and Clayton waving wildly. Rita blows a kiss.
As Lana turns right, heading toward the highway, she hears Marcel roar.
53
The next morning at dawn Rita walks the lion to the top of the rise. The ground, wet from a light rain, is spongy under her feet and she lays a blanket down before sitting. Marcel stretches out beside her.
Together they wait for the sun to spill its gold over the tips of the firs. The birds are raucous. The tall grass yellowing here and there is the only sign on a warm morning that the weather is about to change.
As a light breeze scatters petals from the wildflowers like confetti, Marcel, big kitty that he is, rolls over and bats his paws at the sky.
Acknowledgments
I owe an enormous debt of gratitude to Katherine Buess of the San Diego Wild Animal Park for advising me and generously sharing her knowledge of all things lion. My appreciation and thanks as well to all the people who read for me and in other ways helped me create this world: Heather Chaplin, Nora Ephron, Laura Geringer, Allan Gurganus, Anna Harari, Lauren Hobbs, Joy Horowitz, Adam Kass, Deneen Zezell Graham Kerns, Natasha Lyonne, Debra Monk, and Nick Pileggi. Also great appreciation to Deena Goldstone and Robert Wallace for their talent, skill, patience, and support; to Jodi Schoenbrun Carter, who knows what I don’t and is so very kind to share it; and to my husband, Jerome Kass, whose compass always points to true. I am indebted to everyone at Blue Rider for embracing Rita, Lana, Tracee, and Marcel, and most especially to David Rosenthal, my editor and publisher. He is all I could wish for—smart, wise, sensitive, enthusiastic, and appreciative in the most encouraging way. Special thanks to Dorothy Vincent at Janklow & Nesbit, and to Lynn Nesbit, who wisely guides me and supports me wholeheartedly. And to my dog Daisy (may she rest in peace), who started it all, and to Honey Pansy Cornflower for continuing the amazement. Also I’d like to thank Maurice Sendak for writing Higglety Pigglety Pop!, which never fails to inspire.
About the Author
Delia Ephron is a bestselling author, screenwriter, and playwright. Her movies include The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, You’ve Got Mail, Hanging Up (based on her novel), and Michael. She has written novels for adults and teenagers, books of humor, including How to Eat Like a Child, and essays. Her journalism has appeared in The New York Times, O: The Oprah Magazine, Vogue, More, and The Huffington Post. Recently she collaborated with her sister Nora Ephron on a play, Love, Loss, and What I Wore, which has run for more than two years off Broadway, and has been performed in cities across the United States and around the world, including Paris, Rio de Janeiro, and Sydney.