The Summer of No Regrets (18 page)

At 10:00 in the morning, Natalie still hadn’t shown up.

Something wasn’t right. Natalie never forgot an appointment, especialy if it involved shopping or a movie.

Her mom answered at her house. “Natalie’s not here, Brigitta.

I think she went out with Cheryl. Can I write her a note for you?”

“That’s okay. I’ll just call her cel.”

There was no answer on Natalie’s cel, so I left a message.

Around 10:30 it occurred to me to check my email. A mail from Natalie was at the top of the list:

B,

Can’t make it shopping. Something came up. Yeah.

Something really came up.

www.seeingstarzz.bloggapalooza.net

www.seeingstarzz.bloggapalooza.net

N

I clicked the link with a sinking heart. I hadn’t posted to my blog since
Letterman
. But there was a reply. Was there ever.

Nattycat
responds:

Mystic,

Now I know why you’ve been avoiding me all summer. If I had a friend as stupid and annoying as “Starlet” I’d avoid her, too. If this is the way you treat your best friend, I’m not sure what good all your “trying to find God” is. In Judaism (which you’ve already studied and gotten bored with) we have a saying that goes, “Whatever is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor. That is the entire Torah; the rest is commentary.” Bet you didn’t know I thought about anything that “spiritual,” but I do—in between “worshiping” movie stars.

I printed out your blog this morning. It was thirty pages long, including your fan fic, which I printed, too. I thought your secret boyfriend would enjoy reading it, which is probably what he’s doing now. He was surprised to see me. Sorry about that, but the truth has a way of coming out, doesn’t it?

Nat

I shut down the computer and sat there, too numb to cry. Luke!

Luke was reading my blog. And that awful fan fic. I wanted to die. Now that I knew he was Luke, just Luke and not somebody else, I’d wanted to go back to him. I’d wanted him to hold me again. I still wanted it, but I could never face him after what I’d written.

I spent the day reorganizing my side of the room. I put all my religion books in order, arranged the poetry by author, cleaned the violin trophies, and sorted my paper clips and thumbtacks.

Then I took all the
Celeb’
magazines and
National
Enquirer
s out from under the bed and burned them in the fire pit. I’d hoped to feel better, but I didn’t. A voice in my head kept saying, “It’s all about love, Brigitta-Lamb. It’s all in how we treat each other.” Nonni’s voice. Even Nonni was condemning me.

I woke up to a houseful of nuns. Mom, who’d already done all the baking, had asked Malory and me to do the breakfast shift.

I’d much rather have slept all day and not faced anybody. Luke would be home with his mom this morning. He’d have the blog printout in front of him. Maybe he’d be reading it aloud to her, appaled at what a terrible friend I was.

I dragged myself downstairs expecting black habits and—

what are those headscarf things? Instead I found thirteen grandmas in jeans and tie-dye shirts chatting and reading newspapers. An ancient dark-haired sister with a face like a raisin sat a little apart from them, her hands held limply in her lap.

Her narrowed eyes folowed me across the room, making me uneasy. Were they realy the eyes of God reproving me for my lies and meanness?

Malory was in the kitchen making eggs. “I don’t get these women,” she said. “They say they’re feminists. But…celibacy? I mean—no sex at al? Sister Susannah said she thinks of it as an act of civil disobedience.”

“You asked one of them that? Mom will kill you. You’re not supposed to ask retreatants those kinds of questions—especialy not nuns.”

Malory looked affronted. “It was sociological research,” she said. “I was professional. You know I’m always professional.” She transferred the eggs to plates. “Grab the muffins,” she said.

“We’re an hour behind schedule.”

Ready or not, it was showtime. I gathered up bowls of blueberry and cinnamon pecan muffins, along with pats of butter.

blueberry and cinnamon pecan muffins, along with pats of butter.

I even managed a pitcher of orange juice. I skirted the downstairs vegetable garden and set everything on the table like a pro. The nuns took hands around the table. “Our Father, who art in Heaven,” they began, “halowed be Thy name.” It was a prayer I remembered from Nonni and Opa’s church.

Hearing it again gave me a twinge.

I moved discreetly back toward the tomato plants just as Dad came briskly in the side door. His face was painted up again, and he was wearing what looked like a deer pelt over his bare shoulders. Apparently shamans need to do this—even if they’re vegetarians.

“Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done…” Thirteen silver crosses glinted around the sisters’ necks.

Dad stopped. His mouth tightened, and he became suddenly interested in the tomatoes. He stayed still until the sisters said

“Amen” and crossed themselves. Then he snagged one of his drums off the wall and moved swiftly out the other door.

Back in the kitchen, Malory heated water. “Dad’s been making himself scarce,” she said in a low voice. “This Catholic thing’s hard for him—you know, because of Nonni and Opa.”

“Nonni and Opa weren’t Catholic,” I said, feeling unexpected heat creep into my face.

“Wel, they were something like Catholic.” She slid some jasmine tea out of the cupboard. “It’s basicaly the same thing, Brigitta,” her voice went even lower. “A religion that won’t tolerate independent thinking.” She took the honey drizzler out of a drawer.

“Nonni and Opa weren’t like that!” I hissed.

“Calm down,” she said, barely audible. “I’m not talking about Nonni and Opa, Brigitta, only their religion.” She loaded three teapots and the honey on a large tray and headed for the dining room.

Out at the table I could see Mom talking with a tiny nun in gold-rimmed glasses. The sister’s hand was on Mom’s, and both gold-rimmed glasses. The sister’s hand was on Mom’s, and both of them were laughing at some joke I hadn’t heard. Obviously Mom wasn’t having “a hard time” with the nuns—even though her parents (who died before I was born) had been ex-Catholics.

Why did I feel so defensive of Catholics suddenly? I wasn’t planning to be one. But it seemed like a lot of people, who claimed to be open-minded, had a lot of opinions about other people’s spirituality.

I opened the fridge for goat milk. What were Felix and Kalimar eating this morning at Cedar Haven? My goat milk formula had worked. Maybe I needed to make some more and take it to them. Maybe Cedar Haven didn’t know what the kittens realy needed. Maybe that’s why they were still sick.

Thinking of the kittens made me think of Luke again. And the blog. Luke would have come to the door, and Natalie would have handed him the envelope. He’d have stood in the doorway and read it all right there. Then he’d say, “Is this for real? Did Brigitta realy write this?” Natalie would tell him yes, and then he’d look at her with his blue, blue eyes and say gratefuly, “I’m so glad you told me. Please, come with me. I need someone to help me process this.” And then he’d take her hand and lead her to his Jeep. They would drive out to the ocean together where maybe Natalie would be a little less freaked out than I was at the Sea Star Motel. “Stop!” I told my brain. “Stop this movie right now!”

I brought the goat milk into the dining room. Mom was picking tomatoes out of the garden. One of the nuns, a roundish woman with curly white hair, had scooted her chair out to include the wrinkly dark-haired nun. The round nun had a name tag that said “Sister Susannah.” She winked, which startled me.

Did my thoughts show on my face? For an odd moment she reminded me of Nonni.

I set the goat milk on the table. Sister Susannah nodded and I set the goat milk on the table. Sister Susannah nodded and said, “Thank you, dear.”

The dark-haired sister scowled at me. “What’s the matter?” she snapped. “Never seen a nun before?”

Was I staring? “You don’t wear those black robes and scarves,” I said stupidly, while Sister Susannah patted the older nun’s back, saying, “She doesn’t mean any harm, Sister John Marie.”

Sister John Marie scowled deeper, and Sister Susannah winked at me again. “Sister Agnes”—she leaned back in her chair, turning to the tiny nun on her right—“do you remember what happened to my veil?”

“I believe you lost it.” Sister Agnes sighed. “Sister Susannah was at the Trident Nuclear Base in 1979, protesting with the archbishop. She climbed the fence, and her veil was caught on the barbed wire. Puled it right off her head. She managed to climb down, but the veil stayed, like a black flag. It made the
Seattle
Times
.” She chuckled.

“Yes,” said Sister Susannah. “We were about done with veils by then.”

Even Sister John Marie smiled a little at this. She tried to pick up a muffin with shaking hands, but fumbled, and it bounced onto the floor. Sister Susannah chose another muffin from the bowl and cut it smoothly into manageable pieces. She placed one in Sister John Marie’s hand and helped her lift it to her mouth.

I had to look away. I gathered the other muffin pieces quickly from the floor with a rag and took them to the compost bin. My throat hurt. Where had I been when Nonni couldn’t feed herself?

Not at Cherrywood. I’d been at Kwahnesum High School mourning the fact that I didn’t have any friends—even though I’d never realy lost Natalie. And now I had turned Natalie into some freakish winged specimen to observe through field glasses: t h e
Starletta
Ditzus.
I had treated her no better than Kwahnesum High School had treated me. So now Natalie was gone and Luke was gone and the kittens were gone and I was gone and Luke was gone and the kittens were gone and I was back to being alone and completely useless.

“Gita?” Mom’s hand was on my shoulder. In her other hand she held a canvas bag of tomatoes. She set it down and put her arms around me and hugged me tight. She kissed my cheek.

“Looked like you needed that,” she said.

I nodded, my throat tight again. “Thanks,” I mouthed. If I started talking, I would completely lose it. I wasn’t going to do that. Not with Mom. Not with thirteen nuns sitting just around the corner. Not with Malory ready to do sociological research at a moment’s notice. Mom looked into my face but didn’t demand to know my thoughts. I kissed her cheek. I had too many thoughts, anyway. I wouldn’t know where to start.

•••

She was about Mom’s age, stocky, with short auburn hair and gold highlights. She wore a black silk tank top. She closed the door behind her and then saw me. “Oh!” she said, and like an idiot, I turned and ran back into the woods. I watched her get into a Prius and motor off, looking in her rearview mirror. I had lost all nerve for knocking.

I searched my pockets for paper, and all I could find was an old movie ticket (figured). It was to a Timothy Castle movie, and I wondered if Luke would be insulted. I shook my head to clear it. Why was I still thinking as if he was Trent?

I found a pen in my other pocket. “Luke,” I wrote in tiny letters. “I’m sorry. Please come back.”

letters. “I’m sorry. Please come back.”

I ran up the porch and stuck it between the door and the jamb before I could lose my nerve.

On the way home I almost turned around. “Please come back.” What kind of strong, independent woman thing was that to say? Malory would never do that. Unless it was Webster.

There were places I’d have rather spent a Thursday afternoon than in the rear seat of Malory’s Mazda with Webster Lampson at the wheel. But he knew where the rehab center was.

“Now, I don’t want you to be disappointed, Brigitta,” Webster was saying. “They’re doing the best they can, but of course, it’s too late to put them back where you found them.” Malory lifted her head from his shoulder. “It
is
a rehab center, Webster. Isn’t rehab what they do?”

“Yes, yes,” said Webster impatiently. “Just don’t expect too much.”

Cedar Haven Wildlife Refuge was spread out on ten acres. A large central building was surrounded by outdoor enclosures.

We walked by eagles, raccoons, a swan. A large cage with a pool inside held two seals.

Outside the main building Webster took his jacket off and adjusted his hat. He unbuttoned the third button on his polo shirt, exposing a tuft of chest hair.

From around the side of the building, a woman in a lab coat came toward us. She looked to be in her late twenties. Her dark hair was caught up in a clip. “Helene,” said Webster.

hair was caught up in a clip. “Helene,” said Webster.

“Web.” She appraised him with a slight smile. “You’re looking wel.”

Malory stood up a little straighter.

“Girls, this is Dr. Jackson.” Webster put a hand on the doctor’s shoulder. “Helene, this is Brigitta, who found the cubs, and her sister Malory.”

Dr. Jackson shook my hand and then Malory’s. Malory took Webster’s arm and smiled stiffly.

Dr. Jackson’s eyes went from Malory to Webster and back.

“Wel,” she said, “shal we go see these kittens?” Felix and Kalimar were in a brick-waled enclosure filed with cedar boughs. Kalimar was biting Felix’s neck while Felix batted at chunks of bark. My heart leaped. I wanted to climb in there and scoop them into my lap. “They look good,” I said. “Better than ever.”

“Yes,” Helene said. “They’ve ralied nicely. Kalimar ate a pound of hamburger this morning, and Felix ate almost that much. It’s hard not to fall in love with them.” Hearing her use their names made me smile. And then it made me ache because Luke wasn’t here. Why hadn’t I just knocked on his door? How hard would that have been? “Then they’re going to be okay?” I said a little too pleadingly. “They can go back to the wild?”

Dr. Jackson looked directly at me. “We don’t know,” she said. “They’re very young. Too young to have learned the survival skils they needed from their mother. And they’ve been handled.” She paused, gazing into the enclosure. Kalimar was now climbing in and out of the cement “den” where I could see a carrying crate and a cake pan full of water.

My stomach tightened. Yes, they had been handled. What were Luke and I supposed to have done? Leave them to starve?

Invite Officer Mark to come shoot them?

“Perhaps a zoo, Helene.” Webster put a hand on Dr.

“Perhaps a zoo, Helene.” Webster put a hand on Dr.

Jackson’s back and moved closer to her.

“Yes.” Dr. Jackson colored. She hesitated before going on.

“A female like Kalimar is designed to roam fifty to sixty square miles. Felix would need one hundred and fifty to two hundred square miles by the time he’s an adult. They won’t get that here

—or in a zoo.”

Felix chewed at a cedar branch. Webster was still touching Dr. Jackson, and she’d made no attempt to remove herself.

Malory narrowed her eyes. “They seem to be healthy now,” she said. “Isn’t there a remote area where they could be released? Radio-colared?”

Dr. Jackson looked down. “They wouldn’t survive,” she said softly. “We’d be sending them out to die.” She sighed. “Believe me, there’s been a lot of discussion here. We love these animals.

You get attached to them so quickly. I understand why you wanted to handle them and feed them like that.” She turned to me once again. “We may have to make…a more merciful choice.”

“You mean kill them?!” I said it louder than I intended to, but now I couldn’t stop. “It’s more merciful to kill them than to put them in a zoo?”

Malory opened her mouth and then closed it.

Felix sat in the sun cleaning himself. He looked up with his blue, blue eyes. Right at me.

“I know it’s hard to understand,” Dr. Jackson went on.

“They’re so adorable. We think they’re like pets. But they’re not pets.”

“You can’t kill them!”

“Now, Brigitta, let’s talk about this rationaly,” said Webster.

“You stay out of it!” I shot back. Malory took a step toward me, then moved instead to Webster’s side. Dr. Jackson dropped her pen and crouched to retrieve it, and Malory steered Webster toward the enclosure where they looked in at the kittens.

kittens.

“What’s wrong with a zoo?” I said to the top of Dr. Jackson’s head. “A zoo isn’t perfect, but it’s better than shooting them.” Dr. Jackson stood. “We wouldn’t shoot them,” she said. “I know it’s hard to understand,” she repeated. “Zoos are a hard placement for cougars, especialy two of them.” She put her hand on the railing and tried again. “These are wild animals. They weren’t meant to be confined. I don’t believe they could live a full life in a zoo, even if we could find one that would take them.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry to say it, but you realy should have left them where they were.”

Malory turned away from the kittens, her arm around Webster’s waist. Webster gave her a squeeze, and Malory lifted her chin in the direction of Dr. Jackson.

Behind her in the enclosure, Felix jumped on Kalimar, pinning her to the ground. Kalimar kicked at him with her back legs.

They looked strong, vibrant even.

“If I’d left them where they were they would have died,” I said.

“Yes,” said Dr. Jackson. “Yes, they would have.”