I walked to the Parrot Garden with a married couple who had met one another volunteering and came back every year on their anniversary. Cheryl and Joel were from Phoenix and drove an RV that had all the comforts of home. They were volunteer pros, if there was such a thing.

“Samantha, is it?” Cheryl said. “Remember—you can’t put the parrot dishes in with the cockatoo dishes. You can’t cross-contaminate any of the dishes. Remember, no cross-contamination.”

I nodded. As we got closer to the birds, their shrieking became louder, and I looked at my companions for any sign of alarm. Joel opened the door, and an earsplitting squawk came from somewhere in the building.

“Yikes. If we were out in the world and a person was yelling this loud, we would call 911,” I said, laughing.

Cheryl and Joel exchanged looks, and through pursed lips Cheryl said, “They’re just talking to each other.”

“No, I know. I was just joking.”

I felt a tug at my elbow and heard Griff say, “Cheryl, I’m borrowing Samantha.”

Married Cheryl turned her frown upside down when she saw Griff. “Anything you say, Doc.” She beamed.

A bird shouted, “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!” and Joel said, “Okay, Romeo, that’s enough.”

When we were out of earshot, I said, “Cheryl likes you.”

“She is an exacting volunteer,” Griff said, dodging my observation. “I saw you were signed up to help in here. I think you need a Best Friends experience that has more romance than the Parrot Garden.”

Romance? How to feel? How to handle? Must make a joke. “But Romeo,” I said.

“I promise I’ll get you some one-on-one time with Romeo,” he said.

“Please tell Romeo my true love is ice cream.” I tried a hearty laugh, but it came out cartoonishly loud while my mind was turning over the thought maybe?

CHAPTER NINETEEN

NICE LADY

Griff and I hiked across the parking lot and over the dusty terrain to the now-familiar veterinarian clinic. “Visitors often think volunteering here is all about playing with puppies and petting kitties, but we need the most help with cleaning cages and general upkeep. The volunteers keep this place going. I don’t know what we would do without them.”

Okay, I thought reasonably. He’s charming to all the volunteers to soften the blow of giving them dull jobs. A golf cart driven by a young woman with a gray stocking cap and a springer spaniel riding next to her bumped by. The dog’s ears flew behind him, and his mouth was wide open in a smile. The cart hit a divot, and the woman’s arm shot out and made sure the dog was secure.

When we entered the clinic, I was the only volunteer with Griffin. And I considered Griffin again. Why did I care what he thought of me? What anyone thought of me?

A staff member, a small man with glasses, stopped Griffin to ask about supplies for the clinic. I watched them speak, tried to puzzle out what was going on with me. If Maddie had been here, I could have focused on a teachable animal moment, or made sure she knew where to get lunch. But she wasn’t, and I had the time to think about me.

Another staff member pushed out of the clinic and saved me from the reverie. “Hi, Marcy,” Griffin said. The woman stopped, fished a note out of an apron pocket, and held up a laminated card I couldn’t read. She wore canvas shoes with Vegan written on the top of each one. Griff read the message on the card. “Clinic, then Dog Town,” he said.

The woman turned to me and held up a different card for me to read. It said, I won’t speak until the animals can.

“Oh,” I said.

She had a defiant look on her face, then she turned an invisible key at her lips and stalked off.

“She doesn’t talk?”

Griff took a deep breath and said, “This is a great place for people with strong convictions.”

My phone buzzed as we moved into the clinic, announcing that we were in the real world, despite feeling on the edge of it.

I peeked at the texts. Maddie, right on cue.

MADDIE: What should I do with my day off?

The twin zing of worry and delight buzzed through me. I had no idea how to answer my daughter. Had I taught her to ask for suggestions rather than to dial into her own wants? What I wanted to do was focus on what was happening right this minute. Was Griff interested in me? Was I interested in him? Awake. I felt awake.

“I haven’t been here long, and already the outside world is moving way too fast. Asking for too much.”

“That’s what happens. I thought I’d be here just to heal, but I can’t imagine jumping back into the regular world.”

MADDIE: Yoo hoo

ME: I can’t right now.

MADDIE: Rude, mom

And I didn’t reply.

When Holly blasted into the clinic, I was busy folding laundry, trying to be zen about this day delay. I had just decided to FaceTime Katie—I needed to see her smile, assess her color, and reassure myself. I found a place to prop my phone, but, as if in slow motion, I felt the door whoosh open, saw Holly’s panicked face, and heard her high-pitched shout. “Help!”

Holly had less of a mad-at-Sam look and more of a this-is-a-real-emergency expression. It was shocking to see the always sardonic and composed Holly rattled, but I was relieved that I hadn’t caused this particular crisis.

The clinic door slid shut behind her, and she shouted louder this time, “Hey!” while cradling a blanket in her arms. Griff moved with unruffled certainty, and a vet tech put her arm around Holly’s shoulders and said, “This way.”

Holly said, “Help it.”

Griff took whatever Holly held with practiced gentleness and placed the bundle onto the stainless steel exam table. A warm overhead light clicked on. Gently, Griff plucked the soft fabric aside.

Holly stood, wringing her hands, her face white as a paper cup. “I don’t know what happened. He was fine literally one minute ago.”

Griff said, “Fill me in.”

“I was in Cat World like I was supposed to be. There were pans to clean. I had been petting Fluffer Nutter in the Community Cat room earlier. I’ve never had a cat. I don’t know how to pet them. Is there a way to pet them?”

I peered at the bundle and said, “Fluffer Nutter?”

“I touched his back; he flopped over. Then something came out of it. A huge moving blob of poop came out of it.”

“A moving blob?”

“Of poop,” she said with increasing volume. Holly grabbed my arms and with wide, frightened eyes said, “It was horrible. He made this horrible mewing sound like someone had his tail in a door or something. I grabbed the first towel I saw, wrapped him and the poop up. I didn’t look. I just brought him here. I couldn’t find my staff person. I couldn’t find her!”

I rubbed Holly’s forearm, something I hadn’t done since she was a drunken, emotional college student who threw up chili in the dorm sink after drinking too much red wine.

“I’m sure you did the right thing.”

“The noise he made.”

“He’s quiet now, though. You did the right thing.”

“Is he dead?”

I put my arms around her shoulder, and it felt so good. I said, “I’m sure he’s not dead. Nobody dies from pooping.”

I knew what Maddie would say watching this interaction. She’d say, “Mom, why are you so nice to Holly when she’s so mean to you?”

The answer was so simple. I wanted her to love me again. I knew it was piteous. Maybe it was part of that weird thing we humans do. We only want to be a member of the club that won’t have us. Maybe it was my almost-desperate need to be liked, and here this person was, wildly, aggressively not liking me. But when Holly was vulnerable and needed somebody, I just wanted to comfort her, and I wanted her friendship because despite everything, I still loved her.

“Let’s go over and see Peanut.”

“Peanut?”

“Katie’s dog? The reason we’re here?” I tried to guide her toward the room where I knew Peanut and Moose lay quietly together, but she resisted. A young woman in blue scrubs said, “She’s having her babies. Fluffer Nutter is a mama.”

“Well, that explains it, Hol. She was pregnant.”

“He’s pregnant?”

“She is. Fluffer Nutter is a she.”

Holly gaped at the table, at Griff and the kitten. “I moved her. Midlabor, I picked her up.”

“You picked up the baby too. They’re doing fine though, right?” I said.

The woman smiled and nodded.

Holly looked at her hands and shuddered. “It looked so gross. And it was a baby? Babies aren’t gross.”

Griff laughed. “If you’re not used to seeing this kind of thing, it’s definitely gross.”

“I almost passed out,” Holly interrupted him.

“Okay. Let’s get you a chair.” I steered Holly to a tall stool.

“You were so good with Maddie when you delivered her.”

Surprise washed through me. I was so eager for any positive morsel tossed my way from Holly, but it stunned me when it happened.

Katie had been by my bedside and called Holly to come and bring her a change of clothes in case she had to stay the night. Holly came in at the worst possible moment. Right at the second when Maddie slithered out of the birth canal and into the doctor’s arms, followed by every other drenching membrane that came with birth.

But then she left.

“You were so dignified. It was so wet. All of it. So oceanic.”