When he still didn't answer, she sighed. “Maybe I am going crazy.”
“No, you're not.”
Lynda jerked forward. “What?”
“I mean,” Greg said. “I believe you. If you say you saw a bear, then as far as I'm concerned, it was a bear. You're not crazy, and I don't believe you were drunk. But I wouldn't say too much about it,” he whispered in her ear. “The mind police might come by one afternoon and pick you up for contributing to the insanity of a minor. Me.”
Lynda was still laughing when lunch ended.
* * * *
THE JOKE didn't seem as funny by the end of the day. Lynda decided to go to the animal shelter and see if Dr. Lopez could make sense of what she'd seen. Feeling a little queasy at the thought of walking near Richard's house, she waited at the corner for the University bus. The bus ride took longer, but she felt safer inside the white and maroon vehicle.
Forty-five minutes later, the bus finally rolled up to the corner of 50th and Ellis. Lynda stood, stretched, and shuffled down the steps and onto the sidewalk.
Lynda took a deep breath and lifted her head. She refused to feel nervous, refused to shrink from the young men lounging on the corner. After giving them a single glance, she walked up the stairs and into the shelter.
The familiar sights and scents of the building wrapped around Lynda even before the door closed behind her. Feeling her shoulders relax, she let herself smile. There was something about the smell of dirty cages that drove all other worries from her mind.
She walked straight to the veterinarian's office. “Dr. Lopez?” she called after her quick knock didn't receive an answer. Pushing the door open, Lynda saw the vet slumped over her desk, her dark hair cascading over unfinished pa-per work.
Lynda turned, meaning to leave without waking her friend, but the head lifted. “Lynda, is that you?”
“Yeah.” Lynda steeled herself for the vet's reaction, then faced the desk.
“Madre de Dios, what did you do to your face? Come closer, girl. Let me take a look at you.”
Dr. Lopez stood. Turning on the desk lamp, she motioned Lynda to sit in her seat, then tilted the lamp until it shone on her face. The vet leaned over, and Lynda felt the cool pressure of Dr. Lopez's fingertips on her chin and near her mouth.
“Whoever sewed you up did a good job.” She turned off the lamp and leaned back against the wall. “So tell me what happened.”
Not daring to watch Dr. Lopez's expression, Lynda told the vet everything that had occurred Saturday night, including her rescue.
“...And so I was wondering,” Lynda concluded, still staring at the forms on the desk. “Could a bear live in Chicago? In an abandoned building, maybe. I know raccoons live in urban settings, and I've heard stories about alligators in New York City sewers. Why not a bear in Chicago's slums?”
“A bear,” Dr. Lopez said, her voice level.
Lynda looked up and tried to guess what Dr. Lopez was thinking, but the veterinarian wore her professional demeanor like a mask. “I know it sounds crazy, but that's what I saw.”
“You realize how hard it would be for someone to keep a bear as a pet?” Dr. Lopez asked. “An animal that big would be hard to hide. And you say it was nearly grown?”
Lynda nodded. “I think so.”
“A full-grown bear could not live wild in the city for any length of time. Unlike a raccoon, or the mythical New York alligators, a bear would compete with people for the same space. Its den would be too big to escape detection; the animal itself too big to slip by unseen.” Dr. Lopez sighed. “I don't see how it could have been a bear. I'm not saying you're crazy,” she quickly added. “Only that you misinterpreted what you saw.”
“What else could it have been?” Lynda asked. “It was big, had small, rounded ears, a broad skull, short muzzle, and thick brown fur. It looked like Winnie the Pooh.”
Motioning Lynda to follow her, Dr. Lopez walked to the canine holding area. She pointed to the kennel closest to the door. “Animal Control brought him in Sunday. What does he remind you of?”
Lynda knelt on the cement floor and studied the large ball of fur. Rusty brown, it had rounded ears and a short muzzle. She held her hand close to the steel mesh and let the black nose catch her scent.
“It's a chow,” she said after the dog licked her hand. She reached a finger past the mesh to scratch him under the chin. “He does look a little like a bear.”
“In the dark, Lynda, and you terrified, he could look a lot like a bear. For all you know, this boy here was your rescuer. Animal Control picked him up just north of 47th Street.”
Lynda looked into the dog's warm, dark eyes and shook her head. “Couldn't be. The animal I saw had blue eyes.”
Dr. Lopez knelt beside her. “Then it couldn't have been a bear. Bears don't have blue eyes. If it wasn't this dog, it was another, perhaps a chow-husky mix. I've seen Siberian Huskies with blue eyes.”
Withdrawing her hand, Lynda sat back on her heels and wondered if it could have been a dog. “Maybe.”
“Certainly.” Dr. Lopez stood, and Lynda followed her back into the hallway. “Did you only come by to discuss bears? Or can you work today?”
“Mom and Dad want me home before dark.” Lynda checked her watch. “It's a little after five, I can work a while—as long as I stay away from the dirty cages. Mom made me promise not to go near anything that might get the cut infected until the stitches come out.”
Dr. Lopez opened the door to her office. “I have just the job for you. You can file my paper work.”
Lynda stared at the papers scattered across the desk. It was going to be a long afternoon.
* * * *
TUESDAY MORNING, Lynda was closing the front door when she heard a familiar voice. “How's my favorite maniac?”
“Greg!” She turned and glared at him.
“Just kidding. It's a beautiful day, isn't it?”
The smile that broke across his face was brighter and warmer by far than the cloud-shrouded sky. Running down the steps, she returned his smile. “Sure is.”
He took her hand before they headed toward school. “I talked to Dad yesterday about staying out later at night.”
“What did he say?”
“Well, he started saying it was out of the question, like he always does. But I reminded him that Megan and I did all right last Friday, and that I'll be eighteen on June 5th. He admitted his rules should be relaxed after my birthday.” Greg stopped and turned to Lynda. “Want to go out with me Friday, the 7th?”
“I'd love to!” Lynda said, beaming. Then her smile wilted. “But I'm not sure I can. The seventh is Mom and Dad's anniversary. They're going away for the weekend, and John and I are staying with Grandma Malone in Evanston.”
“I can borrow Dad's car and drive you to your grand-mother's house afterwards. We won't be staying out that late.”
“Believe me, it'll be too late for Grandma. She goes to bed by nine.” Lynda thought a moment. “You know, Tom should be back from college by then. I told you about my older brother, didn't I?” Greg nodded. “Well, Mom said he's coming home next month. He's got a job downtown and will be living at home. Maybe they'd let me stay with him instead of Grandma. Then we wouldn't have to worry about getting back early.”
“That'd be great,” Greg said. “I'd hate to put it off. There are only so many Friday nights before I go back to Santa Cruz. I don't want to waste any.”
Lynda felt a cloud drift over her happiness. “Me either. Not a single one.”
Interlude
FROM THEIR seats on the porch, the men heard the clink of glasses in the sink and the clatter of silverware. The woman of the house had evicted them from their evening chores with the admonition to, “Talk.” So they sat, father and son, surrounded by sounds from the kitchen and snatches of conversations that filtered through screened windows and sifted down the light well. They sat, unable to release the words that had choked them all day.
The son broke the silence. “I'm e
ighteen. Legally, I'm an adult.”
“You are my son. What do I care for ‘legally'? As your father, it is my duty to care for you, to protect you. Is it too much to ask that in return you respect my wishes, follow my instructions, admit that I am older, wiser, and perhaps know a bit more than you do about certain things?” The father spoke quietly, his sincerity conveyed by the precision of his words, not their volume.
“It's not too much, and I do. About most things, any-way. But I'm eighteen, now. You have to let me make my own mistakes, take my own risks. How can I learn if you don't?”
“It is not a matter of learning. It is a matter of the heart. You grow too close to the girl. Perhaps you are an adult, but she is still a child. Have you forgotten that in a few weeks we go home, and you will never see her again?”
“I haven't forgotten.”
“The more time you spend with her, the harder it will be to forget her.”
He turned on his father. “I don't want to forget her.”
“Son,” the older man said, laying his hand on the younger man's arm. “Believe it or not, I, too, have been young. I remember meeting your mother.” His face broke into a reminiscing smile before growing serious again. “But we were older, ready to settle down. You risk more than you know by playing this game. Even if you are serious, the girl cannot be. Don't risk your future by investing your heart too soon.”
“Lighten up, Dad,” the young man responded. “It's not like I asked her to marry me. I just want to go out with her Friday. It's no big deal. I'll be home by midnight, twelve-thirty at the latest.”
“It is a big enough ‘deal’ that you are unwilling to wait for a safer night.”
“I don't see any reason to wait. Come on, Dad. I'm going to college in the fall. You'll have to trust me to show some sense then. Why can't you start trusting me now?”
“It is not a matter of trust.” The older man sighed. “I will not stop you; you already know that. But please try to remember the consequences. There is a limit to the difficulties I can overcome.”
The young man smiled. “I will.” He glanced upward and his smile brightened. “It's a beautiful night, and the moon will be up soon. After Mom surprises me with the cake, do you want to go for a walk?”
The older man chuckled and slapped his son affectionately on the shoulder. “Your mother will object. Still, the three-quarter moon is worth a scolding. Come, let us eat the cake before we tell her. Dessert always gentles her tongue.”
Laughing, they rose and entered the apartment together.
Chapter 14
“BYE, MOM. Bye, Dad. Enjoy your weekend.”
Lynda waved until her parents drove out of the garage, then turned to her brother. “Thanks for staying with me, Tom.”
“No sweat, Lynster.” He smiled.
Lynda tensed. Tom only smiled like that when he was up to something. “Tom Malone, if you're backing out on me—”
“I wouldn't do that.”
A weight compressed Lynda's heart. She knew he was up to something when he used that tone of voice.
“It's just that I may not get home before midnight, that's all.”
“What? I thought you told Dad that you'd be home all night.”
“That was before Cindy invited me to a party. Don't worry, Lynster. I'll stay until your date comes. Just let yourself in when you get home and go to bed. I'll be back by morning.”
“And Mom and Dad are okay with this?”
“Get real. If I told them I was going to a party, they'd insist I stay home—or make you go with John-John to Grandma's. This way we're all happy. I get to see Cindy, you get your date, and Mom and Dad don't worry.” He spread his hands as if to ask what more she wanted.
Lynda took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I don't know.”
“Look, I figure you're mature enough to sleep a couple of hours in an empty house, but Dad told me about that scare you had in April. If you don't want to stay here alone, I'll drive you up to Evanston right now. Why don't you call your date and cancel while I get my keys?” Tom turned and started toward the house.
She grabbed his arm. “No, wait! I didn't mean that. It's just that I don't think Mom and Dad—”
Tom put his arm around her shoulder. “What they don't know won't hurt them. Or us. As long as you can manage not to blurt it all out when they get back, we'll be fine.”
He smiled reassuringly. “You'll be perfectly safe. Come on. You need to get ready for that date.”
* * * *
THE DOOR bell rang at two minutes to six. “Tom, can you get that?” Lynda yelled.
A rush of water from the ancient shower was her only answer. Slipping on her mother's high-heeled pumps, Lynda tore down the stairs, tripping over the cat in her rush to the door. She opened it and found Greg standing on the welcome mat.
She'd never seen him so dressed up. He wore a green striped polo shirt and khaki slacks. He'd traded his high tops for a pair of penny loafers and had combed his hair and polished his glasses. A yellow jacket hung from one arm. The other stretched toward her holding a single red rose.
The warmth of his gaze flowed over her. When his eyes returned to her face, he smiled. “You're beautiful.”
Lynda's cheeks burned as hot as distress beacons. She took the rose and closed the door behind him. “Thank you.”
She'd spent all last Saturday shopping with Ellen, and even she had to admit the results were spectacular. After dragging Lynda from one department store to another, Ellen had pounced on an offering in Marshall Field's bargain basement. At first, Lynda thought her friend had lost her mind. Left over from the holiday season, the silk rag of a dress had no shape at all, dangling from its spaghetti straps, and looked two sizes too small. The only thing Lynda liked about it was the color. Azure swirls shimmered across the dark fabric like oil dancing on water.
Lynda refused to try it on. She was tired of shopping and had decided to wear her blue dress. But Ellen insisted, and Lynda eventually agreed. The groans stopped the minute she looked in the mirror.
The dress was perfect. The blue swirls picked up and heightened the color of her eyes, while the dark background echoed the wavy gloss of her hair. The fabric clung to her, draping her breasts, hugging her hips, hiding her tummy. Barely long enough to be decent, the dress made her legs look miles long and impossibly slim.
“You've got to wear heels with that,” Ellen had said after gazing at Lynda's reflection. Lynda had nodded, stunned. “And some jewelry to highlight the neckline. A choker, maybe. This is going to work, Lynda. Come on, I know just the place to shop.”
* * * *
“WAS THAT your date?”
Lynda could barely hear Tom over the shower. She felt her face grow even hotter. “Yes!” Turning to Greg, she added, “Tom's getting ready for a party.”
They listened to water rattling through the pipes until Lynda realized Tom wasn't coming down to say good-bye. She found a bud vase for the rose and grabbed her purse. “Where we going?”
“I thought we'd start with a picnic.”
“A picnic? Great! Bye, Tom.” She left the house with-out waiting for a response.
Fifteen minutes later, they stood under an oak tree gazing across the Midway. The sun, rapidly approaching the horizon, spread a buttery glow over the grassy concourse. Catching the sunlight in their branches, the trees pulled the light apart, separating it into golden strands that flowed eastward toward the lake.
Greg whipped his windbreaker off his shoulder and lay it on the grass beneath the tree. Feeling like a queen, Lynda kicked off her shoes and sat on the jacket, curling her stockinged legs beneath her. With an Elizabethan flourish, Greg set a bucket of fried chicken from Harold's Chicken Shack on the grass in front of her.
Lynda grinned at the trademark cartoon of an ax-wielding farmer chasing a chicken. “What a great idea.” Leaning forward, she took a wing from the steaming container. “Ouch! It's still hot.”
Greg sat on the grass across from her a
nd grabbed a piece for himself. He took an enormous bite. “Umm. Perfect.”
Wrapping her piece in a napkin, Lynda lifted it to her lips. “It is good,” she said after a moment's thoughtful chewing. “The perfect balance of salt and grease.”
“Ah, but it's missing a crucial ingredient.” Greg threw his bone into a bag and started on a second piece. “Dad says chicken doesn't taste right plain. He always pours honey on it. That way he gets salt, grease and sugar all in the same bite.”
Lynda giggled. “Honey on chicken? That's too weird.”
Greg chuckled at Lynda's exaggerated grimace. “Actually, it's pretty good.”
“How are your parents doing?” Lynda asked after she finished her wing and started on an indeterminate, but well battered piece. “I haven't talked to them since we had brunch that time. Has your Dad finished his book?”
“No, he's still working on it. He's stuck because he can't think of a good ending. Most stories about super-natural creatures end when they're captured or killed. Dad doesn't want his character caught, so he's trying to think of another way to finish the story.”
“Maybe the werebear should fall in love, get married and settle down to raise a brood of bear cubs,” Lynda suggested. She looked up with a sly expression. “I know. He moves to Maine and starts writing horror novels under a pseudonym.”
Greg laughed.
Lynda waved her hand, shushing him. “No, listen. He becomes a best-selling author, but his cover is blown by an obsessed fan who breaks into his house and observes his transformation. The fan tries to tell everyone the hero's secret, but the only publication that prints his story is the National Enquirer.”
“And no one believes it?”
“Better than that, they get the facts wrong. The article concludes that the author is really an alien from Venus come to weaken mankind with terror before the big invasion. The fan is so embarrassed, he moves to Kansas and never reads a book again. The werebear lives happily ever after. Face it, after that ridiculous story, no one will believe anything written about him, no matter how true. Thank you. Thank you.” Lynda tipped her head in feigned modesty while Greg applauded.
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