Love Me, Love My Broccoli

by Julie Anne Peters

  Brett stopped dead at the bottom of the stairs. He locked eyes with Chloe. A silent message passed from him to her. We're going to die.

  What happened next was just like Hollywood. The vice squad burst through the door, saving the day. They weren't vice exactly; just animal control officers. Nicole had had the presence of mind to call them before she left.

  After giving a statement to the officers, Brett, Nicole and Chloe left with the poodle. By the time they got back to the shelter it was closing time.

  On the way to her house, Chloe replayed the afternoon's events out loud. Her giggling grew to hysterics. She didn't notice Brett turning off into Grisham Park until he'd stopped dead in his tracks behind her. "Let's take a detour," he said.

  Holding hands, they started down the shoveled path. They passed the snow-heaped swings to the statue of Buffalo Bill in the center of the promenade.

  "Did you know Buffalo Bill got his name because he could slaughter buffalo faster than anyone else?" Chloe shook her head. "Unbelievable, isn't it, that he's such a folk hero—"

  "Chloe, I want you to quit," he cut in. He sat on the toe of Buffalo Bill's boot and pulled her close to him.

  "Talking about it so much, you mean? I know I get carried away with the movement."

  "Not talking," he answered. "Not believing. Doing. I want you to quit the shelter. It's too dangerous. After today . . ." He exhaled a stream of breath.

  Chloe threw her arms around his neck and gave a short laugh. "Come on, Officer Ryan. It's not always that exciting. We haven't had a sacrificial poodle in, I don't know how long. Although, we did get a fire bomb threat last week after we rescued an injured pit bull from this jerk's garage."

  "See?" He held her back. "The stuff you're involved in, this animal rights activism, it scares me. You're invading people's privacy. One day someone's going to come back at you. You're going to get hurt, Chloe. You, personally."

  She shrugged. "Hey, at least I'll know I'm making an impact."

  "Are you trying to be a martyr?" His voice took on a sharp edge.

  She sobered. "Not intentionally. But if that's what it takes . . ."

  He stood up and turned his back to her. "I don't understand you. I don't see how saving a bunch of dumb animals is something to risk your life over."

  Chloe was stunned. Offended. How could he mean that? Didn't he know her at all? Didn't he understand about the movement? How it affected everything she did, everything she was? Was he one of them after all? She banished the thought. It lingered. It left a bad taste in her mouth. She thought she knew him, but this . . . Now he was scaring her. What was it Muriel said once? People's indifference is the most frightening thing of all.

  Brett turned around and locked eyes with her. "And I don't want you to give that speech, either," he said.

  Chloe's chin hit the ground. Her smoldering anger was about to erupt when Brett took her hands and added tenderly, "I love you, Chloe. I couldn't stand it if anything ever happened to you. I mean that. I don't want to tell you how to think or how to be. I don't care if you're a vegetarian for the movement," he drew out the words. "Believe whatever you want. Just don't put yourself at risk anymore. Don't be such a fanatic. Every minute of every day I worry about what crazy stunt you'll pull next. And if you're going to get hurt. I can't live this way."

  "But—"

  He pressed a finger to her lips. "That speech is a good example. There are a lot of people mad about this law. Fighting mad. Don't you watch the news?"

  Chloe opened her mouth. Tried to.

  "Oh, I forgot. You don't have a TV. Well, you should see these guys they're interviewing. I mean, some of them are ready to kill. And it's not just ranchers. These are like medical researchers, people at university labs, animal breeders. My dad, for instance, says he'll lose a big development contract for the new P & M food and drug factory. They won't build here when most of their products are banned. A lot of people need those jobs. This is a hot issue, Chloe. And there you are with your picture plastered all over the front page of the newspaper. 'Local girl speaking on behalf of animal rights at legislative hearing,'" he recited.

  Chloe blushed. "That's was Muriel's idea. I didn't have anything to do with that story. I mean, she didn't have to put in all that stuff about how I won the Junior Humanitarian award when I was seven. Or how I got my elementary school to start serving vegetarian meals when I was nine. Or how I rescued Deaf Leopard from a Dumpster. Besides, it was just the Hub. Who reads that insert?"

  Brett continued as if he hadn't heard her. "I don't want you caught in the middle of this war, especially up on the front lines. Believe in it, okay. Just don't get involved. Please. For me. For us."

  He pulled her close and held her hard against him. The inner turmoil of her conflicting emotions suddenly burst apart. She trembled. She wished she could cry, but she didn't feel like crying. More like punching. Fighting. Strangling.

  For a long time they stood there together; Chloe, struggling to understand, to stay composed. And Brett, seemingly battling to maintain his composure, too, while the growing shadow of Buffalo Bill engulfed them.

  Chloe squeezed her eyes shut. I don't want to lose him, she thought.

  Brett loosened his grip on her. He tilted her chin up and gazed into her eyes. "Tell you what," he said, brushing his fingers along her cheek. "You don't have to decide right now, but if you'll do this for me, I'll do something for you. I'll stop eating meat." He bared his teeth. "At least, I'll try. Is that fair?"

  "Fair?" She inhaled a deep breath, exhaled and gazed out over his head. A star flickered momentarily, then disappeared in the clouds. Without looking at him she said, "Haven't you heard? Life isn't fair."

  The sun had set by the time Chloe and Brett turned on to her street. It was almost too dark to see. Almost. "Hey, Chloe," Brett said. "There's a police car parked in your driveway. I wonder what's going on."

  She squinted down the block. Actually, there were two vehicles in the driveway. The other was an ambulance.

  CHAPTER 16

  Chloe and Brett raced to her house. When they got there Chloe's father and a police officer were standing in the foyer speaking in lowered voices. Her father's face looked strained.

  "What's happened, Dad?"

  When he didn't answer, a horrible thought gripped Chloe. "Oh no. Where's Gran?"

  Her father caught her arm on her way past him to Gran's bedroom. "She's all right," he said. "Dr. Polk came and gave her a sedative. She's not hurt. Not physically."

  Chloe felt a rush of relief spread through her already weary body. Her father drew Chloe in with an arm around her shoulders and she slumped against him. In the door frame, Brett mimed, I'll call you. He backed out.

  The officer said, "Lucky for you the manager at Bird Boutique isn't going to press charges. But he was tempted, let me tell you. Especially since he'd already had one run-in with a Mankewicz." He eyed Chloe.

  Her cheeks flared. "What's he talking about, Dad? What happened?"

  "I'll tell you later," he replied, eyes glued to the officer.

  "Is your mother under a psychiatrist's care?" the officer asked.

  "I don't think that's any of your business." Dr. Mankewicz glanced down at the officer's report. "Sergeant Carello. I appreciate you bringing her home. Will that be all?"

  The officer shrugged. He closed his notebook, turned and left. Latching the door behind him, Chloe's father sighed audibly. He said to the ceiling, "I need a drink."

  "Dad?"

  "Tea. Strong tea." He smiled vaguely and headed for the kitchen. Chloe followed.

  "They found her skulking up and down the aisles tearing into fifty pound bags of wild bird feed. She was mumbling something about Columbian stash." Chloe's father filled the teapot and set it on the stove. "I think she was looking for coffee."

  "Da-ad." Chloe whapped his arm.

  "Do you have any idea why she would have worn her pajamas outside the house?"

  Chloe lowered her eyes. "I didn't tell you.
I didn't want you to worry. She forgets sometimes how to dress herself."

  "What?"

  "I usually get up early to help her, but I was in such a hurry this morning . . ." Chloe blinked up at him. "Sorry, Dad. It won't happen again."

  He shook his head. "Don't apologize. You should've told me about this. What else?"

  Chloe frowned. "Nothing. That's it."

  "Chloe?" The teapot whistled. He lifted it off the burner and turned off the gas. Then he poured the hot water over his metal tea ball and carried the cup to the dining room. Chloe grabbed a can of V-8 from the fridge and trailed him.

  "Dr. Polk said Mother was pretty agitated and incoherent." Chloe's father sat down at the table. "He recommended . . ." He exhaled. "Maybe it's time to—"

  "Ship her off to a nursing home?" Chloe finished his sentence. "No." She took her seat across from him.

  "It's not a nursing home. It's an assisted living facility. They specialize in this type of, of illness. They have a resident medical staff, trained caregivers."

  "I can take care of her," Chloe said. "I have been for years. In fact, I was going to quit the shelter so I could spend more time at home." Chloe was shocked by her own statement. When had she decided that? Had Brett's paranoia, his worry over her safety, forced her decision? No, she answered herself. Of course not. It's my decision. In fact, quitting the shelter is the only solution. Gran needs me.

  "After school, too," Chloe added. "Brett and I'll be coming here from now on."

  "Oh?" He studied her face.

  A smile tugged the corners of her lips. "I'm going to teach him how to be a vegetarian."

  "How'd you manage that?" he asked, immediately answering, "Never mind. I have succumbed to the Chloe Mankewicz power of persuasion myself. Except in this case. Your mother was right. It isn't fair to expect you to take care of your grandmother. Especially if she's deteriorating as fast as you say."

  "Dad, it's not that bad. If I'm willing to do it—"

  He held up a hand. "I've already agreed to visit this Meridian Care Center tomorrow with Dr. Polk. Why don't you come along? Maybe you'll change your mind." His eyes strayed to the French doors and, gazing out unseeing into the thickening night, he added wearily, "Maybe I'll change my mind."

  The sadness in her father's voice forced Chloe to retreat, for now. Reluctantly she nodded okay, although she knew it was pointless for her to visit this place. Nothing was going to change her mind.

  "What time is Thanksgiving on Thursday?" Her father changed the subject. "Did your mother say?"

  Chloe shrugged. "One or two." Thanks for reminding me, she groused to herself. Another item to add to my list of "Things Most Dreaded." That, along with informing Muriel Blevins that the former activist Chloe Mankewicz can no longer be the voice of youth for the movement. Muriel was right, Chloe realized. I am a love slave.

  Chloe skipped her classes Monday morning to go with her father, Gran, and Dr. Polk to the Meridian Care Center. The tour reminded Chloe how she'd felt the last time she'd visited the zoo. The animals were alive, yet lifeless. They wandered around with nothing to do but wait for mealtime. Survival of the fattest, Chloe called it. Her heart ached as the elderly residents at the care center filled the cafeteria tables for lunch. It wasn't even ten o'clock.

  "It's a state-of-the-art facility," Dr. Polk said. "There's an in-house beauty shop and pharmacy. The reading room is over there, behind the big screen TV." He pointed.

  Chloe saw her father flinch.

  The doctor continued, "Your mother'd be sharing a room with another woman at about the same stage of memory loss."

  Chloe hated how he talked about Gran as if she wasn't there.

  He added in a lowered voice, "Usually there's a waiting list for Medicaid patients, but you're in luck. A bed freed up yesterday."

  Chloe said, "Who died?"

  Her grandmother tightened her grip on Chloe's arm.

  "No one died." Dr. Polk smiled down at her. "The woman was moved to another section of the facility where she'll get more immediate medical attention."

  "You mean the psycho ward?"

  "Chloe." Her father frowned a warning.

  "I'm sorry, Dad. I can't take this." She broke free of Gran and bolted for the parking lot. It was all happening too fast. Gran could never survive in a place like this. That's not true, Chloe corrected herself. She could survive, but she could never live. And there's a world of difference.

  The doctor and Chloe's father came out a few minutes later with Gran shackled between them. Dr. Polk looked tense.

  "What happened?" Chloe asked as her father helped Gran into the front seat.

  "We only turned our backs for a minute." Chloe's dad fastened the seat belt around his mother. "Somehow your grandmother found the loudspeaker and announced to the whole place that the Air Alitalia flight they were on was being hijacked to Hanoi."

  CHAPTER 17

  At home, after settling Gran in for a nap, Chloe sat down with her father in the living room. "At least wait until after Thanksgiving to make a decision about Gran," she said.

  He sighed wearily and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses.

  "Come on, Dad. It's only a week. Moving Gran now would ruin the holidays—for everyone." It was a low blow, she knew that, but this was desperation time.

  He rested his head against the chair back. "She can't be left alone. I'm sorry, Chloe."

  Chloe racked her brain. "Didn't Dr. Polk say something about in-home nursing? People who'd come to check up on patients in their own homes? Make sure they took their medicine and stuff? We could try that first."

  He shrugged a weak shoulder. "It's only a temporary solution. You know that."

  Right, she told herself. But in a week he'll forget all about moving her. He'll see how unnecessary the move is, how much happier and safer Gran is at home. How I can be relied on to take care of her. A week is a long time. Seven whole days.

  Thanksgiving day began as expected. Chloe's mother flitted around her condo in a pink satin jumpsuit, fussing over the hors d'oeuvres and drinks. The first surprise came when the bell buzzed and a strange man appeared. "This is Juan." Chloe's mother linked her arm in his. "Juan is my Latin dance instructor."

  "Olé." Juan snapped his fingers.

  Chloe didn't join her mother in the laughter. "What happened to Roger?" she said.

  Her mother's spine went rigid. In a cold voice she answered, "He found someone else. A playmate about your age. Help yourself to hors d'oeuvres, Juan. I'll fix you a drink." She headed for the kitchen.

  Chloe blanched. She thought, Open mouth, insert hoof. She followed her mother to apologize, but before she could say a word, her mother handed her a set of tongs and said, "Would you mind tossing the salad, dear?"

  Chloe flipped greens while her mother poured wine for Juan and took it to him. When she returned, she taste-tested the gravy over the stove. Although the smell of burning turkey flesh began to roil Chloe's stomach, she closed her nostrils and bit her tongue. "You look pretty today," her mother said.

  Was that retaliation, round one? Chloe wondered. She scanned her own outfit, from the black lace-up boots to the high-button collar of her black mourning dress. She thought, I should have worn my "Only Turkeys Eat Turkey" T-shirt.

  Her mother fluttered false eyelashes at her and smiled. "Are you wearing makeup?"

  Chloe dropped her eyes. "Cruelty-free. Burt's Bees."

  "Cruelty-free?" her mother repeated. "I didn't know there was such a thing."

  Chloe looked at her. "There are lots of ethical, responsible product makers, Mother."

  "It's not just the makeup," she said. "You seem different. More feminine. It's Brett, isn't it? I already like him. So when am I going to meet him?"

  Never, Chloe answered. Not in this life. Her eyes darted around the shrinking room, searching for the nearest exit. Before Chloe could escape, her mother added, "Oh, there's a spinach soufflé in the oven for you. Would you take a peek at it?" She sipped from her champagne gob
let and returned attention to the stove.

  "A soufflé?" Chloe repeated. "Aren't those made with eggs?" She peered in through the tinted glass oven door.

  When she looked back at her mother, she gulped. All the makeup in the Desiree dominion couldn't have masked her mother's rankling. "I've, uh, been a vegan for the last couple of years," Chloe said feebly. "No eggs or dairy products."

  Her mother began to stir the gravy, mercilessly.

  You jerk, Chloe thought. She's trying; she really is. "Did the eggs come from range-free, grain-fed hens? I mean, this soufflé looks yummy."

  "As a matter of fact, they did."

  Chloe and her mother's eyes met. There was actually a current of warmth between them. Chloe thought she'd extend the moment by informing her mother of her decision not to become involved in the animal rights legislation when her father unexpectedly appeared.

  "My mother and your boyfriend are in the living room conspiring to overthrow Brazil. Any plans in here to maybe carve up Turkey?" He chomped on a carrot stick.

  Chloe and her mother groaned in unison.

  After school on Monday Chloe waited to walk home with Muriel. She couldn't put off the dreaded announcement any longer. She had to tell her. The legislative committee meeting was Friday. It'd been an agonizing decision to drop the speech. On the one hand Chloe resented Brett for asking her, yet on the other he was making sacrifices for the sake of their relationship. By becoming a vegetarian he was honoring her wishes. Wasn't it selfish for Chloe not to do the same? The speech was just a big ego trip, anyway. Wasn't it? Well, wasn't it?

  "Muriel, about the speech—"

  "Oh, Chloe. I'm so glad you brought it up," Muriel said. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten or, forgive me for even thinking this, lost interest." They made tracks in the mud along the front of the football bleachers. From the far side of the field, Brett waved to Chloe as she and Muriel headed for home.