Unspoken Read online

  The bond between me and Sema couldn’t be stronger. In many ways she was like a child, accustomed to having the human world revolve around her. The process of successfully introducing her to a gorilla family would be infinitely more challenging than habituating an ordinary zoo gorilla.

  If Sema didn’t thrive with the others—if I could make sure she wouldn’t thrive—I could take my girl home again.

  Goose bumps rose on my arms as I gripped the steering wheel. What could be simpler? I could make all the outward efforts for her adjustment—I’d have to be sure she knew how to cope well enough that she wouldn’t be injured by the other animals—but if she wasn’t adjusting after a few days, I could plead her case with Fielding and even call in some other primate experts. A few respected voices from influential institutions would force Matthews’s hand. After admitting I’d been fair enough to give Sema an opportunity to join a social group, he’d have no choice but to allow me to take her home.

  In the coming month, I could tell Sema we’d be leaving home for a little while, but we’d be coming back. And while the prospect of meeting new gorillas had excited her, once she realized they didn’t speak her language or play her games, she might grow tired of them.

  I didn’t like the idea of manipulating her emotions, but on several occasions even Dian Fossey had to choose between two evils in order to protect her gorillas. Then again, maybe I wouldn’t have to manipulate anything. Sema might grow weary of the grand gorilla experiment without any help from me. After all, as a zoo animal she wouldn’t be allowed to go for rides in the car, run free in an open field, wear her sweater in bad weather, or eat the occasional box of Jujubes . . .

  Given a little time, I could persuade Sema to pine for home. To convince Matthews, however, I’d need Brad Fielding’s support. He would have to back me up when I noted Sema’s inability to adapt. I’d need him in my corner if I was going to convince Ken Matthews that she needed to live with me.

  The thought of fostering a friendship with by-the-rules-Fielding was about as appetizing as ketchup on a cookie, but if I had to do it for Sema’s sake, I would.

  9

  The day of Sema’s transfer arrived with rain and oppressive clouds. I awakened abruptly, sat up in the gloom, and tried to remember why I’d been dreading this day.

  A cold shiver spread over me as my memory focused. I’d been avoiding thoughts of Sema’s transfer, trying to see it as only a temporary detour and a brief inconvenience, but the cold darkness of the rainy morning filled me with the dullness of despair. I wanted nothing more than to curl up beneath my blankets and wish the world away. I might have done just that, but someone rang my doorbell.

  My heavy eyes widened at the sound. Some ever-optimistic part of me, fed by Nana’s stories of miracles and divine provision, sparked my lethargic blood with hope. Maybe Rob stood outside to tell me the exchange had been called off—no, he would call. But something odd had happened, because no normal person went around ringing doorbells at 7:00 AM.

  Grabbing my robe from the foot of the bed, I pulled it over my cotton pajamas and hurried to the door. I flicked on the porch light and peered through the peephole. Brad Fielding stood on my stoop, a white paper bag in one hand and a Styrofoam cup in the other.

  I pressed my palm to the back of the door and held a breath. Fielding ? Maybe Matthews had changed his mind and found another female gorilla. Or maybe something had come up and they didn’t want to move Sema today. The rain might be a problem, or one of the other animals might be sick—

  Not caring that I still looked like a woman who’d just been pulled from bed, I opened the door. “What? What’s happened?”

  “Good morning to you, too.” With an artificially bright smile, he held up the cup. “I thought you might like some coffee. And doughnuts— they’re Krispy Kremes.”

  Momentarily speechless, I stared at him. Why was he bringing my favorite doughnuts at this ungodly hour?

  He waved his peace offering before my eyes. “Coffee? Doughnuts? Hello? Anybody awake in there?”

  I pushed my bangs out of my eyes. “Is everything all right? The transfer’s still on?”

  He nodded.

  I turned away as the heaviness in my chest reasserted itself. “Come on in. I’ll meet you in the kitchen, but I need fifteen minutes.”

  By the time I’d had a quick shower and pulled on jeans and a sweater, I felt a little more awake, but I was still puzzled by Fielding’s appearance. I ran a brush through my hair, wondering if he paid sunrise visits to other zoo employees. If he was trying to win me over . . . I nodded at my reflection, remembering my recent resolution. If he was trying to win me over, I should let him. I would need him as my ally.

  Steeling my resolve, I headed toward the kitchen. I found him sitting at the table, a doughnut in his hand, a glass of water on the table. He was reading my morning paper.

  I arched a brow at the sight of the glass from my cupboard. “Glad to see you made yourself at home.”

  “I don’t drink coffee.” His gaze lifted to meet mine. “I remembered you do.”

  He remembered? “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “By the way,” he returned his gaze to the newspaper, “nice place you’ve got here. Real cozy.”

  I sank into an empty chair and popped the plastic top off the foam cup, trying to remember when Fielding and I had split up. Our last official date took place shortly before Sema was born, so I’d been living in my crowded apartment near the beach. An eternity ago.

  After adding sugar and cream to the cup, I took a sip. The coffee was good . . . and appreciated, but I wasn’t quite ready to tell him so. With all that had happened between us, Fielding would question my motives if I became too friendly too fast.

  “So”—I set the cup on the table—“do you always go out for coffee before sunrise?”

  He lowered the paper, then folded it into a neat rectangle. “I thought you might need some help getting Sema ready for the trip. I brought the tranquilizer gun.”

  My latent suspicions flared into alarm. “I’m not using the tranq on her. It’s not necessary.”

  “Glee.” He spoke in a patient, superior tone. “Zoo regulations require all incoming animals to be tranquilized during transport. For their safety as well as ours.”

  I met the reproach in his eyes without flinching. “Sema knows how to ride in a car. And I’m the only one who’ll be handling her, so there’s no risk.”

  He shook his head. “Regulations require two or more handlers—”

  “Forget your regulations for once, will you? Sema is an exception; she has to be. She’d be traumatized if I shot her with a dart, and she’d be harder to move as dead weight. If she wears her collar, I can walk her into the facility without any problem.”

  Fielding looked at me for a long moment, then brought his finger to his lips. Obviously, he wanted to tell me off, but was forcing himself to remain quiet.

  “There’s no way you’re going near Sema with any kind of gun,” I continued, taking advantage of his silence. “She’s never seen one, and I don’t want her to even know what they are.” Despite my irritation, I couldn’t stop a shudder. Whenever guns were mentioned, I couldn’t help but think of the poachers in Africa who killed gorillas for sport and meat, mercenaries who slaughtered entire family groups and sold adult heads and hands to wide-eyed tourists.

  I reached out and pressed my fingertips to Fielding’s arm. “Please. I promise it’ll be okay. Just let me know where and when to bring her— clear the area if you like, and I’ll walk Sema in with no fuss at all.”

  He lowered his hand. “Will you at least consider giving her some kind of sedative? Valium, maybe? I could have Dr. Parker prescribe something.”

  I shook my head, but couldn’t stop a smile. Fielding was proving to be more agreeable than I had anticipated. “She’s going to be confused; I don’t want her woozy, too.”

  “Call me when you’re ready to come in.” He pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and slid it across the table. “My cell number’s at the bottom.”

  I lifted the card. “I’ll call right before we leave.”

  He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “I need to run over a couple of other things, then I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “What else?”

  “Well, the rules. You’ve been doing your own thing for a long time, Glee, but now you’re going to have to be a team player. That means you’ll have to allow the staff to have complete access to Sema.”

  “Gorilla pavilion employees, you mean. There’s no way Sema is going to be gawked at by every Tom, Dick, and Harry who works at Thousand Oaks—”

  He waved my objection away. “Of course I meant gorilla personnel. That’s me, Claire, and, if necessary, Dr. Parker and his veterinary crew.”

  I bit the inside of my lip, then nodded. I knew Dr. John Parker; he was a good vet and a busy one, so he wasn’t likely to be nosing around and getting in my way.

  “There’s more.” Fielding caught my gaze and held it. “You’ll be expected to work with the other gorillas, too. We’re a team; we all do a little of everything, so don’t be surprised if you find yourself on the schedule for some jobs that may seem a little beneath your dignity.”

  I flashed him a steely smile. “I doubt you could ask me to do anything I haven’t done before. I can handle my share of the workload.”

  “Good. Just one more thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Your uniform.”

  I shook my head. “No way. I always work in jeans and my lab jacket. Sema is less distracted when I wear consistent clothing.”

  “Then Sema can get used to your lab jacket over your uniform. Thousand Oaks requires all employees to wear khaki pants and the company shirt—I have one in th
e car for you.” He tilted his head, taking my measure. “You’re a medium, right?”

  I felt like telling him what he could do with his stupid uniform, but Nana always said one could win more friends with cookies than criticism.

  I stood and let my fingertips fall to the table. “Any other rules you need to enforce? Because if you’re finished, I have a lot to do this morning.”

  “One more thing.” Fielding stood too, his chair scraping the linoleum. “I want you to properly introduce me to Sema so she’ll know me when she arrives.”

  I made Fielding wait until I’d prepared Sema’s breakfast. When I’d finished loading the tray with mixed greens and fruit, I reluctantly led him from the house to Sema’s trailer. The sky had stopped drizzling, but lingering raindrops sprinkled over us as we walked beneath the sprawling oaks.

  I batted at my bangs, trying to dislodge a few water droplets.

  “By the way,” Fielding said. “I like your hair that way. Short and shaggy suits you.”

  “Um . . . thanks. I think.” Not certain that I wanted to encourage any further personal observations, I quickened my step and led the way up the stairs that led to the trailer.

  “Sema’s probably still asleep,” I said, jangling the keys in the lock. “I usually wake her up when I come in.”

  The atmosphere inside the trailer was heavy with early-morning quiet. I set the breakfast tray on the table, then tiptoed across the room to unhook the latch on the gate to Sema’s room. She lay curled up in her Care Bear nest, her hand resting on her cheek, her stuffed bear sandwiched into the crook of her arm.

  As Fielding waited in the doorway, I sank to the floor beside my girl. “Hey, sweetie,” I whispered, trying to ignore the pressure of Fielding’s eyes on my back. “Are you ready to get up?”

  Sema’s eyelids fluttered, then lifted. Seeing me, her black lips spread in a broad smile, then her eyes closed again. Sema sleep.

  “I know you’re awake. I saw your smile. Besides, you can’t sign in your sleep.”

  Her eyes opened; her grin deepened.

  “Today’s a big day, girlie.” I reached out and ran my finger down the furry length of her arm. “Today we get to visit the other gorillas.”

  Her eyelids flew open. Hurry hurry visit .

  “Don’t you want to eat first?”

  I could almost see her mind shift gears. Always eager for food, Sema pushed herself into a sitting position, then looked toward the doorway.

  Her eyes widened when she saw Fielding. What man?

  “Sema,” I deliberately slid to the side so our guest could observe this exchange, “that is Fielding .”

  “Hang on a minute.” A note of impatience lined his voice. “You may think of me as Fielding, but I’m pretty sure I’m on a first-name basis with all the other g’s.”

  I cast him a quick, irritated glance, then shrugged. “Have it your way.” I turned to face Sema. “His name is Brad. You sign it like this.” For the sake of simplicity, I combined the sign for B , an upraised flat hand, with the sign used to indicate a person, a downward movement of both hands with palms facing each other.

  Sema understood immediately. When she signed B-person and grinned at Fielding, I hoped he had the good sense to recognize his name.

  “Brad takes care of the gorillas we’re going to visit,” I told her, signing as I spoke. “He knows Mosi and Kamili and Rafiki and Aisha and Dakarai.”

  “She knows their names already?”

  “Sure.” I pointed to the photographs taped to Sema’s walls. “She’s been signing to the pictures for weeks now.”

  “Wow.” Fielding stepped into the room and crouched behind me. “Will she talk to me?”

  “If you talk to her. Otherwise, she might only talk about you.” I rested my arms on my bent knees, wanting Fielding to see how special Sema was. Only when he realized how much she could understand— and how much more she could learn—would he realize that confining her in a zoo was nothing short of criminal.

  Fielding clasped his hands together. “Hi, Sema. How goes every little thing?”

  Sema tilted her head and blinked, clearly puzzled. I laughed. “She’s fairly literal and doesn’t always understand slang,” I told him. “Ask her how she’s feeling. I ask her that every morning, and I’m always amazed at the range of her responses.”

  Fielding nodded, then turned back to Sema. “Hi.” He spoke as stiffly as a middle school boy practicing his lines for the school play. “How are you feeling today?”

  Sema grinned and shook her head, then signed a response. “Fine,” I said, interpreting. “Sema happy to visit gorillas. Sema loves gorillas. Sema loves stinky gorillas.”

  Fielding quirked a brow. “What’s that about?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure, but she usually uses the word stinky when she’s feeling mischievous.”

  “Oh.” Moving slowly, Fielding reached forward and gingerly touched Sema’s arm. “You be good, okay? I’ll see you later.”

  Mesmerized by the items in Fielding’s shirt pocket, Sema stretched out her long fingers and daintily withdrew a felt-tip pen. “You have to watch her,” I warned. “She’ll rob you blind if you’re not careful.”

  “That’s okay. I have others.” Fielding watched, smiling, as Sema pulled off the cap and situated his pen between her dark fingers. With the air of a distracted poet searching for a notebook, she held the pen high and looked around her nest.

  Leaving her to her entertainment, I wrapped my arms around my knees and turned to Fielding. “It’ll take me some time to get the car packed. I’m bringing her flash cards, her favorite books, her bedding, and her portable toilet. Has the observation room been cleaned and prepared?”

  Grinning at Sema, he inclined his head. “Done.”

  “I’ll be bringing some of her favorite snacks, too. I know you’ll want her to eat what the other g’s eat, but you’ll need to let Sema be an exception for a while. She’s used to having her juice boxes after enrichment sessions, for instance, and sometimes I give her treats as an incentive. I’ll keep track of all those things, but you can’t expect me to record every little bite in the diet log.”

  Still watching my girl, Fielding’s face split into a grin. “Do you often encourage her to do that ?”

  I turned as Sema reached up and made three bold marks on the plasterboard.

  “Sema!” My voice rang with rebuke. “You know you’re not supposed to write on the wall!”

  Thoroughly busted, Sema reacted with a human defense mechanism— she popped the inky tip of the pen into her mouth, then withdrew it, looking for all the world like Marlene Dietrich taking a drag on a long cigarette.

  Beside me, Fielding chortled.

  I rose to my knees. “Sema! What do you think you are doing?”

  While her right hand held the pen, with her left she made a V with two fingers and tapped them to her lips. Smoking .

  Fielding looked at me with laughter in his eyes. “No need to translate that one.”

  I blew at my bangs in exasperation. “She picks these things up from TV. I try to shelter her, but sometimes I’m not quick enough.”

  He shook his head. “I hope you’re documenting these kinds of things. I think she’s just demonstrated that animals can tell fibs.”

  “I hope you don’t think I taught her to do that.”

  A thoughtful look entered his eyes. “I’ve never had kids, but I don’t think you have to teach children how to lie. That kind of thing comes naturally.”

  The remark about having kids opened the curtain on a memory I thought I’d closed off forever. Fielding had just come out of a live-in relationship when we dated eight years ago. Rumor had it that he’d asked his girlfriend to marry him because she was expecting a baby, but then suddenly she wasn’t pregnant and the stress of whatever happened— I didn’t ask—caused them to break up. Fielding moved out, and back then I’d been so fascinated by him that I’d happily put his ex-girlfriend out of my mind.

  I hoped he wasn’t thinking I might be interested in him again. I leaned over and straightened Sema’s blanket, hoping to appear nonchalant. “You ready for breakfast, girlie?”

  Eat now?

  “Sure. Why don’t you go potty while I get your tray?”

  Fielding stood and moved out of the way while Sema knuckle-walked to her toilet. His grin widened when she sat to relieve herself.