A lie, of course, and the lady realized. Hard not to tell. I was filthy and feral. She told me to come again later with my mom, as they couldn’t let inside kids unattended.
I’d been unattended all my life.
“Come on.” Manon gets up and tugs on my hand. “We’ll get my car. It’s parked just around the corner from your apartment.”
Using the backrest of the bench as support, grabbing my walking stick, I push to my feet, testing my bum knee. Still holding.
My mind is sorta reeling, though. I thought I was the one behind the wheel in this crazy little stunt. I was the one supposed to be showing her what it’s like to be with someone, to care for someone.
But as it turns out, I know shit, and she’s the one showing me.
The fall from grace will be a hell of a lot steeper than I thought, and goddammit… I’m not sure anymore that I’ll survive.
Chapter Sixteen
Manon
I grew up in Madison. It was much later, when I was a teenager, that Dad and I moved to Detroit because of his job.
So I’ve been to the zoo here lots of times. Mostly when I was a kid. Can’t remember going with my mom before she left, but afterward my dad often took me there Sundays.
We usually spent Sundays outdoors as much as possible—out of town, or in parks—and if not, then at the movie theater at children’s matinees, the Children’s’ Museum, or one of the indoor playgrounds such as Play N Wisconsin and the Ultrazone.
I want to ask, but I somehow already know Seth hasn’t been to any of those places. The more I know about his past, the closer I feel, and the more my heart aches for him.
It’s a strange feeling, a strange state. When he’s around me, when he’s looking at me, I get all hot and excited. And when he gets so sad and brooding, I get worried and anxious to see him smiling again.
Never felt that way with Fred, or anyone else. Not sure what it means. If it means anything at all. I mean, he’s not opening up to me. Not voluntarily. Whatever he has admitted to has obviously escaped him against his will. He doesn’t want to tell me about the things that hurt him. Doesn’t want my pity, I guess.
I don’t pity him. I’m in a bit of awe of him, for having survived such a crappy childhood. But I don’t know how to tell him that.
So I don’t. I drive to the zoo, his presence filling my small blue Kia Rio, a gift from my dad on my fifteenth birthday. With his broad shoulders and big frame, Seth looks like an adult in a child’s toy car. It would have been funny, but he’s too handsome for that, so it’s just cute.
And besides, he’s still silent, his eyes sad, and it makes me wish I knew what to say to lift this dark veil from his thoughts. I wonder what else he hasn’t told me, what other wounds he’s hiding. I may not see them, but I sense them, under the surface of the brave and careless front he puts on for others, like thorns under the skin.
He stirs when I park the car, gives the colorful sign at the entrance a doubtful look as I reach behind my seat for my purse and jacket. The sun is still fitfully shining, but the days are getting colder and colder in preparation for winter.
“Wait until you see the polar bears,” I tell him, a bit worried when I realize his jacket looks thin and summery. “And the camels.”
He turns to me, dark brows drawing together. “Camels?”
“Yes. Rhinoceroses, giraffes, tigers, lions. Snakes.”
His eyes brighten. “Boas?”
“Definitely boas. And anacondas.”
He’s grinning now, and if possible, my heart constricts even more. God, he’s heartbreakingly beautiful, especially when he smiles. Wish he could smile all the time.
Wish I could make it happen.
But we hardly know each other, and we’re playing a strange game of pretend, confusing as heck, so I open my door and get out, waiting for him to follow.
***
At first, I think I’ve made a mistake insisting we come here. As we walk around, he doesn’t react at the animals we see, his expression closed off, locked down.
The lions and tigers don’t seem to impress him, or even the funny prairie dogs and lemurs. Leaning on his walking stick, he splays one hand on the chain-link fence, gripping the wire, saying nothing.
Not sure what to do, I tug on his arm. There’s the arctic passage, newly reopened. Haven’t been there since it was redone. Time to go see the seals and polar bears. Maybe that will cheer him up.
Kids are running everywhere, squealing in delight, haggard parents running after them. Seth is watching them from the corner of his eye, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched.
Crap. I try to see this place through his eyes—a kid who hasn’t had a real childhood, carefree and fun like I did, and wince. It has to look so unfair to him, seeing these children having a blast.
But he never struck me as a bitter person. So maybe I’m all wrong again and this isn’t what he’s thinking. He doesn’t bitch and moan about his life, and I respect his strength.
So what’s on his mind?
We walk indoors, the thumps of his stick echoing, to see the bears and seals frolic, submerged in water, behind thick panes of glass. A baby seal does a whole funny little dance for us underwater, flippers waving.
Seth stands stone-still, eyes wide. Good or bad sign? Not sure, but I tug on his elbow, and he grudgingly takes a step closer to the glass.
The seal flips over, somersaulting in the water, as if putting on a private show for us, and I giggle, unable to help myself. It’s such a cute little thing.
He shifts, takes his other hand out of his pocket, reaches for the seal. He swallows hard. His hand lands on the glass and he bends closer as the seal twists and wiggles.
Then he pulls back, turns around and heads out.
Whoa.
I run after him, and jeez, even with a limp he’s so much faster than me. Remorse hits me as I catch up with him outside. He’s leaning against a tree, head tilted back, his stick lying in the grass. His knee must be bothering him and I made him walk a lot today.
“Why don’t we go sit for a while?” I gesture in the direction of a bench I can see. “Then we could—”
“I’m leaving.” He works his jaw, won’t meet my gaze. “Don’t care about the stupid animals. Fuck them.”
I gape at him, heat pouring through my chest. Anger warms me up better than any coat. “Fine. I’ll drive you back.”
“I’ll take the bus.” He pushes off the tree, wincing as he straightens. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sure you’ll be.” I fold my arms over my breasts, willing the hot tears in my eyes not to fall. “My fault for bringing you here, where you obviously don’t want to be.”
His mouth tightens. He ducks his head. “I can’t stay, Manon. Sorry.”
“What for? I wanted you to have fun, but since the stupid animals bore you, then by all means, go.”
I expect him to do precisely that, but he doesn’t move.
“Dammit,” he whispers. A small vein ticks in his jaw, and his eyes seem very bright over his flushed cheekbones. “I always fuck everything up.”
“That’s not true,” I breathe, some of my anger leaving me. I really have no clue what’s the matter with him, but I have a feeling he’s trying to work something out. I wish I knew what it is.
“It is true.”
“Look, it’s okay if you don’t want to stay. Then again…” I turn, point at a sign. “The snakes are right there, at the end of this path. You could have a look before you go.”
He follows the direction my finger is pointing. He licks his lips. His hands clench and unclench at his sides.
It takes an eternity before he nods, a tight dip of his chin, and holds out a hand for me.
Okay. I let out a breath and slip my hand against his palm, bend down to retrieve his stick and put it in his other hand.
Let’s see where this takes us.
First it takes us to the snakes, of course. The Herpetarium. It’s warm inside the dimly-lit space with its glass cases, and I tighten my hold on Seth’s hand.
“Afraid?” he whispers, and I jump.
“No, of course not,” I scoff, then step closer to him, biting my lip. “Okay, maybe just a tiny bit?”