K. D. Wentworth - Kaleidoscope.pdf - K. D. Wentworth - margozap

Kaleidoscope

by K. D. Wentworth

K. D. Wentworth says her current projects include a western fantasy for

young readers and a pair of books she’s co-writing with Eric Flint. Her charming

new story owes its origin to a neighbor’s escaped German Shorthaired Pointer,

but we’re hopeful that the rest of the story is more fancy than fact.

* * * *

After she took early retirement at fifty-two from her job at the university

library, Ally Coelho’s life ran along like an old car, occasionally missing on one

cylinder or the other, but in the end, usually getting her at least close to where she

wanted to go. Of course there were disappointments, especially in the relationship

department, but she made do with whatever came along until the universe started

amusing itself by playing dice with her life.

It had begun with a stray dog that bounded past the front yard when Ally was

on her knees, weeding geraniums. The day was golden June, the temperature already

climbing toward the nineties. Her auburn hair clung to her perspiring face like the

calyx of one of her flowers.

The dog was a sleek German Shorthaired Pointer, lean as a racing hound and

panting from the day’s heat. Ally lured it with a bowl of water and then examined its

tag, which revealed its name was “Sadee.” She phoned the owner, who drove over

in a silver van and collected it with many expressions of gratitude.

That was how it had happened. But she also knew that the dog had merely

glanced at her with freedom-crazed eyes, then careened off into the street where a

Ford Tempo had knocked it into the gutter. That time she’d checked for a tag and

called the owner, too, who had arrived with two weeping boys, eleven and nine, to

collect Sadee’s broken body in an old blanket for burial.

Both scenes played in her mind like dueling movie trailers. She remembered

the boys’ beaming faces when they hugged their retrieved companion and their tears

as their mother picked up the pointer’s carcass.

It wasn’t one or the other. Somehow, it was both.

She knew she could resolve the question of which memory was real by calling

the family, who lived less than a mile away, and asking after the dog, but she feared

the answer. As long as she didn’t inquire, the pointer might very well be frisking in

its backyard, digging holes and playing ball. If it was buried under a tree somewhere,

she did not want to know. So she didn’t even drive past the dog’s house, hoping to

catch a glimpse. She just tried to put the whole matter out of her mind and worked

on dividing her hostas for replanting.

But then her young friend Melinda, a former coworker from the library, called

to say she and Carl, her longtime beau, were finally getting married. They would have

a huge ceremony at the Methodist church and then leave on a wedding trip to

Scotland. There were rings to buy, invitations and music to be selected, the perfect

dress to be found. It was all joyous and anticipatory, as though Christmas and

Thanksgiving both had arrived in June.

When Ally got up the next morning, though, she also knew that Carl had been

transferred to Rio and not asked Melinda to go with him. Instead, he had said it was

too far to carry on a long-distance relationship. They had best agree just to be

friends. Melinda was inconsolable and no longer answered the phone.

Ally felt she must be going crazy. Both time lines ran in her mind, equally

valid. Surely one of them had happened first, but when she tried to remember which,

they danced through her memory, woven together and inseparable.

Later that afternoon, when she was pruning her roses, she realized that

Melinda had caught Carl with another woman at the local bingo casino and ended the

relationship herself. Melinda had booked passage on a cruise to Alaska, alone. Carl

had gone out drinking and wrecked his car. His arm was broken in two places.

She would not think about it, Ally told herself firmly. It was just her

imagination running away with itself. She would call her friends, Lynn and Ron, go

out to dinner, and forget all this nonsense.

They accepted and agreed to meet her at a favorite local Mexican restaurant,

the one that resembled a festive village inside and featured a two-story waterfall. But

she waited there at the hostess station alone on the green vinyl couch, as parties of

diners came and went, for forty minutes until her cell phone rang.

Where was she, Lynn wanted to know. They were at Caruso’s, a popular

Italian buffet, and the hostess wouldn’t seat them until Ally arrived. Aghast, Ally

pleaded car trouble and apologized, then went straight home and shut herself into the

dimness of her bedroom. Hungry, head whirling, she curled up in her favorite old

green throw.

* * * *

The next morning, Saturday, she remembered that the three of them had eaten

dinner at a P. F. Chang’s restaurant, how Ron, engaging as ever, had teased her

about the threads of gray in her auburn hair, and Lynn had told stories of her fourth

grade classroom. They’d ordered the monstrously large chocolate cake, split it

among the three of them, and still couldn’t finish.

Her life seemed to be going on without her, splintering off into a hundred

different directions. Maybe she needed Prozac, she told herself. Or Valium. Maybe it

was time to hibernate, or she should talk to a counselor.

But no. She was just letting her mind wander. All she had to do was pay

closer attention to what was going on around her and all this ... confusion ... would

melt away.

Just after lunch, Lynn dropped by to see Ally as she was trundling the lawn

mower around to the backyard. Her friend parked her Ford SUV on the street and

got out, long legs tan and fit. Her dark hair was caught up in a clip on the back of her

head and she wore threadbare cutoffs. “Wasn’t that Barry a card last night?” she

said as she walked across the grass. “I don’t know when I’ve laughed so hard!”

Lynn and Carl had brought a friend—a single gentleman her age—with them

to Fuddrucker’s, Ally realized. He’d had thinning silver hair and deep brown eyes

half-buried in smile lines. He worked at the zoo with the hoofed animals, technically

known as “ungulates,” specialized in zebras, and had been divorced for five years.

She stared at Lynn, clutching the lawn mower’s battered handle, unable to speak.

“He wants to go out with you.” Lynn waved a persistent fly out of her face.

“It’s okay that I gave him your phone number, isn’t it?”

“Sure,” Ally heard herself say, though her voice trembled. Sweat soaked the

back of her old T-shirt. “He was quite—charming.” And he had been, she knew

now. How could she have forgotten?

“Who knows?” Lynn said with an affectionate smile. “This could be the start

of something big.”

* * * *

Barry called that afternoon. They made a date for that evening, dinner at a

retro diner that served wonderful milk shakes, and then a movie. Ally hadn’t been

out on a real date for more than a year now. Sweet old-fashioned anticipation

washed through her, laced with a bit of fear. What if he hadn’t really called? Any

minute now, she might remember how much he’d disliked her.

But the day wore on and the date stayed firm. Maybe she’d just dreamed all

those other things. Maybe she’d even go see the pointer’s family and assure herself

that Sadee still romped in her own backyard. Everything would be all right.

She dressed in a cool white summer skirt with her favorite aqua blouse and

met Barry at the door. He was taller than she remembered and mostly bald. His lips

were thinner, and he didn’t look like he found much in life amusing.

“Did you work at the zoo today?” she asked as they walked to his car. The air

was hot and sticky, and she fanned herself with one hand. Cicadas were droning like

a Greek chorus in the neighborhood trees.

“I sell life insurance,” Barry said, giving her a sideways glance. “I thought

Lynn told you that.” He opened the car door. It was a black Jaguar, low-slung, sleek,

and somehow menacing.

Ally slid in across the fine leather seat, heart thumping.

They drove to Finelli’s, a shadowy Italian restaurant staffed by sneering

waiters, to eat bruschetta and garlicky ravioli. He related mind-numbing tales of his

best sales months, the reluctant clients he’d coaxed aboard, and the thrill of

exceeding his quotas, then drove her to a claustrophobic club to listen to

progressive jazz.

The discordant music washed over her, battering her nerves. Each chord

seemed to reinforce all the strangeness of the last few days. She knotted her fingers.

What had happened to the other Barry, the one with the shy smile? That was who

she was supposed to see at her door tonight, not this slick stranger with his

intimidating expensive car.

It was like the universe was playing tricks on her, tantalizing her with the

promise of one thing, then sending her quite another. All her life, she had

determinedly dealt with whatever came her way, but she didn’t know how to cope

when everything kept changing, second by second.

He took her home at midnight, and they parted with only a chaste peck on the

cheek. She wasn’t to his taste, she was quite certain, and she had definitely been

expecting someone else when she’d answered the door.

Her sleep was filled with dreams of a silver-haired Barry who charmed her

with tales of fractious zebras and red-spotted deer. They finished huge chocolate

milk shakes, then left the diner, skipping the movie to walk the zoo after hours,

where he pointed out the different ungulates in their paddocks by silvery moonlight.

When she woke, though, that scenario stayed only a dream, the night with

insurance salesman Barry a reality. She was disappointed. Though the chronic

changes of the last few days had been disconcerting, just this once, a different

outcome would have been welcome.

* * * *

Insurance-Barry didn’t call again, nor did she expect that he would. Most

likely he’d made the date with someone else, too, a different Ally, who was sure and

sophisticated, twenty pounds slimmer, well versed in progressive jazz, and decked

out in tottery high heels. Perhaps the universe had played a trick on him, too. If so,

she was sorry for her part in the deception.

Thereafter, life calmed down for a few days, running only on a single track,

almost boring. Lynn called to see how her date had gone, but wasn’t surprised. “He

already has four ex-wives,” she said. “I was surprised you agreed to go out with

such a jerk. Ron only asked him to sit down with us at dinner because it was

obvious he wouldn’t go away.”

Of course, she hadn’t agreed to go out with that particular Barry, but she

couldn’t explain that.

At loose ends that afternoon, after watering her backyard impatiens, Ally

drove across town to the zoo and walked its winding pathways for hours. The

ungulate paddocks were just as she’d dreamed them, though not nearly as

glamorous by daylight. She hung on splintery wooden fences and studied water

buffalo, camels, giraffes, and the exotic okapi with its striped legs. Large and small,

they each moved with a grace that brought peace to her heart.

“Lovely, aren’t they?” a voice said behind her shoulder.

She looked around. “Barry?”

His silver hair gleamed in the late afternoon sun. His eyes were half-buried in

smile lines. “Have you been here before?” he asked. His name was stitched in red

thread across the khaki shoulder of his keeper’s uniform.

“No,” she said slowly, heart thumping, “but I’ve thought about it.” She

watched the stately giraffe amble across its paddock, ears waggling. “It’s a bit like

my gardening, so many different varieties, each with its own requirements for water,

sunlight, and food.”

“Exactly.” He leaned on the rail beside her and gazed at the giraffe as it

stretched its elegant neck to nibble oak leaves. His face creased in thought. “Most

people prefer the big cats, though, because they’re so dramatic, or the reptile house

for sheer shock value.”

“They have their own attractions,” she said, “but I’ve been dreaming about

these.”

“I’m pretty much finished with my duties for the day,” this Barry said.

“Would you like a backstage tour of the facility?”

So they walked through the barns as he explained each species, what was

special about it, what unique care it required. The smell of baking earth, hay, and

feed filled the air, along with the redolence of dung. She watched his face more than

listened to his words. He loved his work—in fact, in many ways, he was his work.

The zoo closed at six, so he walked her back to the entrance as families of

tired children drifted toward the parking lot. “This was lovely,” she said, stopping

beside the pond that isolated Monkey Island. The green water rippled, and then a

turtle head broke the surface to stare at them. “Thank you so much.”

“We’re always looking for volunteers,” he said, “especially docents to handle

tours.”

“I would like that.” She fumbled in her purse for a stray scrap of paper, then

wrote her name and number. “Please give my information to the proper authorities.”

She drove home in a warm joyous haze. She had taken her fate into her own

hands, and for once things had come out at least close to the way she wanted.

* * * *

The next morning, she knew that she had encountered only a mumbling man

K. D. Wentworth - Kaleidoscope.pdf

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