Sally and I are sisters in this knowledge. I could never bring myself to warn Jimmy in life. Sally apparently cannot, either, and tells the boy only, “Let’s hope so. But you actually did it.”
Joshua turns to the boy. “Why don’t you come in the back for a minute and help me get these guys settled.” To Sally, he adds, “I’ll just be a few.”
Once in the back, Jimmy and Joshua divide the kittens into cages. Jimmy holds Tiny Pete so they are eye-to-eye, gives the kitten a gentle kiss on the forehead, and then places him in with his brothers and sisters. “Do you think she’ll come around?” Jimmy asks.
“Not sure. I think she’s already got a lot on her plate. What do you think?”
“I think sometimes good people need a second chance to say yes.”
Joshua looks at Jimmy’s upturned, beautiful, disfigured face searching for evidence of a deeper agenda in his statement and sees only honesty and the need for approval. Joshua smiles at the boy. “I do believe you’re right.”
After Jimmy departs, Joshua brings Sally into his office, where they sit facing each other across Joshua’s worn desk.
“It’s been a while,” Joshua begins. “How’ve you been? How’s Cliff?”
“Thorton just fired me,” Sally says without a hint of emotion. Joshua doesn’t say anything for a long few moments. “The words you’re searching for,” Sally offers, “are
I told you so.
”
“Don’t you at least know me better than that? I told you at the time that I understood.”
“So you said, but—”
“Thorton was offering you a salary and benefits that I couldn’t match.”
“You still think that was the only reason I left?” Sally asks with a mix of bitterness and sadness.
“I’m not too good at reading between the lines, as I think you may recall.”
“Oh, I think you can read between the lines just fine.”
“What happened with Thorton?”
“Clifford had a bad episode.”
“I’m sorry. How is he?”
“He’s been doing fine. The program he’s in here has just been terrific for him. It’s been worth any sacrifice to keep him in the school district. But recently his episodes… they’re different. I’m afraid he’s finally going to explode with puberty, or when the next big event happens in his life, and all those years of lost emotions will…” Sally’s voice trails off, as if she’s realized that she’s said too much.
“I take it Thorton didn’t respond well.”
“It wasn’t Clifford. I got scared, made a scene.”
“Knowing Thorton, I can guess the rest.”
“And so, bottom line”—Sally looks away in embarrassment—“I really need a job. I know you know how difficult it is for me to come here and ask this. I wouldn’t if I had another option.”
“I know. It’s just that…” Joshua closes his eyes and rubs his forehead.
“I’ll work whatever shifts you need me, I’ll go back to cleaning cages—”
“It’s not about that. You don’t—”
“You can cut my pay, I don’t care. I just need full-time employment within the school district so Clifford can stay in the program. Whatever it—”
“Sally, just listen to me for a minute.” Joshua stands and turns to face the window. “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be able to help you.”
Sally slumps in her chair. “Wow. I’ve got to say that you’re the last person I would’ve expected to put personal feelings above the needs of a child.”
Joshua spins back to face her. “I’d forgotten how cruel you could be when your feelings are hurt.”
Sally rises to leave. “Well, I can see this was a complete waste of time.”
“I’m closing the practice,” Joshua says to her back.
This stops Sally where she stands, and she turns to face Joshua. “What?”
“That’s why I can’t help you. I’m sorry.”
“May I ask why?”
“A bunch of reasons. I’m tired, Sally. It’s always been a two-vet practice here. I don’t want to train someone new. It won’t be the same and, honestly, I don’t really want to try.”
“When will you lock the doors?”
Joshua shrugs. “Very soon. My staff doesn’t even know yet. I want to try to place as many as I can.”
“That means Thorton will be the only game in town.”
Joshua nods. “For now. Someone else will come along. They always do.”
“Not always. And certainly not someone better.”
“Whoever it is will have something more to give.”
Sally chooses her next words carefully. “I think I understand. I’m sorry for what I said. I’m just scared out of my mind right now about what I’m going to do next.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“If you can think of anyplace else, please let me know.”
“Actually, I think I may have another idea, if you can keep an open mind.”
Sally laughs, but it has the edge of someone who has learned to expect little. “I’m looking at stock clerk at the Agway at the moment, so I’m open to any suggestions you have.”
In the research lab, Jaycee types at her computer terminal while Cindy sits on the desk next to her. Every few moments, just when Jaycee appears deep in thought about what’s on the screen, Cindy reaches over and presses a few keys on Jaycee’s keyboard. Jaycee attempts to ignore Cindy’s petulant demands for attention, correcting without comment the chimpanzee’s errant keystrokes. This goes on for a few minutes until, undeterred, Cindy thrusts her doll into Jaycee’s face, blocking Jaycee’s view of the screen. Jaycee bursts into laughter and swats playfully at the doll, but Cindy pulls it out of the way just in time.
“Cindy, I’ve got to get this letter out to Wolfe today. Now stop goofing around.”
Cindy drops the doll back into her lap and looks as if she’s ready to comply. Jaycee leans toward the computer screen, but as soon as she does, Cindy shoves the doll back in Jaycee’s face.
Jaycee calls out to Frank at the other end of the lab. “Can you keep Cindy busy for ten minutes while I finish this?”
“Sure,” Frank says.
In the time it takes Frank to walk the fifty feet between his workstation and Jaycee, Cindy’s entire world changes. The world can be very mercurial if someone owns you.
Frank sees a dark blue Ford Explorer through the small lab window. Three men emerge—Jannick and two young and very large security guards. Both guards have sidearms. The guards lead the way to the entrance of the building.
“Get her in the Cube,” Frank yells to Jaycee as he runs to the nearest computer terminal.
“What’s wrong?” Jaycee jumps to her feet with Cindy in her arms.
“Just go!”
Jaycee drops Cindy into the Cube and hands her the doll. Cindy starts to protest, but Jaycee ignores her and slams the Cube shut. Agitated by Jaycee’s unusually brusque treatment, Cindy begins to pace in her enclosure.
The three men step into the room without a knock or the slightest indication that they are unwelcome intruders. They enter as if they have that right.
Jannick whispers something to the two guards, and they quickly proceed to the computer terminals and secure the keyboards.
“Don’t do that,” Jaycee yells at them. “You’ll lose files.” The guards ignore her.
Jannick steps toward Jaycee. “It’s over.”
“But the extension—”
“—is not going to happen.”
“You can’t do that,” Jaycee says, her voice starting to rise.
“It’s no longer up to me.”
Cindy’s movements in the Cube become more agitated. She begins to whimper as she paces.
“You’re a real bastard, Jannick.”
“This really shouldn’t come as a surprise to you. I’ve been saying it for the past three months. I really did try to help you. For someone who studies communication, you just don’t listen.”
“At least give me the week to put my work in order.”
“You know the rules. You can’t continue to have access to the NIS computer system. Besides, this space is already committed. I
promise you that we’ll carefully pack everything and send you your personal possessions.”
“Be reasonable.”
“We tried that, remember? I didn’t want this, but you tied my hands, Jaycee.”
“This is because I went to Wolfe, isn’t it?”
“This isn’t punitive and it’s not personal,” Jannick says. “It’s because the grant is over and NIS needs to make transitional arrangements.”
“What about all my work from the project? I want copies.”
“Your work belongs to NIS. It always did.”
Jaycee starts toward the computer on the nearest table—an act of defiance. One of the security guards steps in front of her.
“I told you before, I won’t just abandon Cindy,” she says.
Cindy now runs from one end of her enclosure to the other, shrieking every few seconds.
“She’ll be cared for, I assure you,” Jannick says.
“How? By putting her back in the general primate pool?” Jaycee shouts in part to be heard above Cindy. She moves toward the Cube to comfort Cindy, but the second guard blocks her path. Cindy sees this and erupts into full panic.
Jaycee stretches her hand out to Cindy around the guard. Cindy reaches through the bars and briefly touches Jaycee’s fingers before the guard puts his hands on Jaycee’s shoulders and moves her away.
Frank shoves the guard. “Get the hell off her.”
The guard unsnaps the safety on his holster. “Please don’t do that, sir,” he says in a voice so calm that it is frightening.
Jannick steps between them. “Not necessary,” he says to the guard.
Jaycee takes Frank by the arm. “This isn’t going to help anything.” She turns on Jannick. “This isn’t over. We’ll be back.” Then Jaycee calls to Cindy around the guard’s shoulders as she signs, “I’ll be back for you, Cindy. I promise.” But Jaycee’s words are nearly unintelligible over Cindy’s screaming.
At the doorway of the lab, Jaycee looks back to Cindy one more time. Cindy wraps her hands around the bars of the Cube and pulls, but of course the bars don’t move. They never do. The Cube has become just another cage.
Cindy throws her head back and screams.
I will never hear my own child calling for me. I always thought there’d be more time to convince David that, his past notwithstanding, he wouldn’t lose everything he loved. Now I’m grateful I didn’t really try. It is actually a great comfort to me that David need never answer those questions asked in the timid voice all children use when they’re experiencing a pain that they don’t understand—“Where’s Mommy?” “Is she coming back?” “Can I talk to her?”
I don’t need to forget the sound of my own child’s voice. But as long as I retain the smallest smattering of sentience, the terror of Cindy’s scream will stay with me.
M
any hours later, when the sky has turned dark, I find David still in his office staring absently at a document on his computer screen. Several paper coffee cups litter his newly disorganized desk, and our photograph is now buried under pages of memos and faxes.
In all our time together, I never fully understood what David’s day actually involved. It’s not that he kept it from me. I think it was more that I was afraid to see how hard and cold he could be to others.
Today, this is what I discovered. David:
Took thirty-two phone calls;
Made twenty-one phone calls;
Attended four meetings within the office;
Lost his patience with three associates and one paralegal;
Apologized twice;
Received five faxes;
Sent four faxes;
Argued with Martha three times;
Ignored several calls from Max;
Revised, but did not finish, two briefs;
Interviewed a potential expert witness by telephone;
Read 146 e-mails (excluding spam, which he deleted without reading);
Sent 134 e-mails;
Forgot to return a call to Joshua;
Ate lunch at his desk;
Chewed through twenty-three toothpicks;
Looked at our picture seven times;
Picked up the phone and dialed our home number three times, each time remembering only after the first ring that I wasn’t there.
I would’ve liked to see some evidence of internal struggle, to be able to observe that David was working hard to hold it together on his first day back. I say this not out of narcissism, but because of my concern that David will fall into his old patterns of allowing work to take over his life to the exclusion of any meaningful emotions at all. It is only in the interstices of David’s day that he will know remembrance, grief, sorrow, and, finally, healing. Pain explains a great deal of human conduct, but the fear of pain even more. I worry that David’s fears—of loneliness, the new silence of our home, the needs of our animals, and probably twenty other things hanging off in the shadows—will drive him to fill any void with the work he knows and does well.
Thinking about the hollowness of David’s day suddenly draws me back to Cindy. It’s a vision that I’ve been fighting against for hours because I know I’ll never be able to unsee it.
Trapped in her Cube and alone now in the cavernous lab, Cindy stares at the door that has been key-locked from the other
side. People have entered the lab to feed and observe her, but none of them was Jaycee and so none of them mattered to Cindy. Her enclosure looks much smaller to me in Jaycee’s absence.
Cindy peers nervously around the empty lab and, still holding my doll in one hand, moves over to the board in her Cube. She slowly begins to tap on the symbols.
The words
PLAY NOW
appear on Jaycee’s computer screen across the room, but no one is there to read them. Cindy continues to type and the words
CINDY BE GOOD NOW
appear on the screen.
Finally, Cindy gently puts the doll down, bends over the symbol board, and slowly, clumsily, taps buttons with the index fingers of both hands. The words
SORRY SORRY… SAD… OUT NOW
appear on the computer screen.
When she realizes that no one is coming to answer her, Cindy picks up her doll and moves to a corner of the enclosure. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and quickly looks away.
Then she makes herself as small as possible and, hugging her doll, rocks on her feet.
It was always extremely rare when the very distinct worlds of my husband’s work and mine collided other than through our direct intervention. So I’m understandably shocked when Jaycee knocks on the door to David’s office just as he is preparing to leave for the day.