“Miss Malone!” a stern voice called.
Lynda's eyes flew open, and she jumped away from Greg. “Mr. Holmstein!”
Her history teacher scowled at them. “You have ten seconds to get to class before I issue a tardiness detention for you both.”
Lynda turned and sprinted for the classroom door.
“See you in biology,” she heard Greg call before she darted into the room.
When Mr. Holmstein entered seconds later, she was sitting at her desk, rummaging through her backpack. A concerned look flitted across his face before he turned and wrote the day's assignment on the board.
BY LUNCHTIME, watery sunshine had replaced the rain, and a warm breeze shredded the remaining clouds. Though the wet grass kept most of the students in the cafeteria, Greg and Lynda decided to eat outside and picked a spot away from dripping branches. He spread his jacket on the ground, and they both sat down.
Lynda was taking her lunch out of her backpack when she spotted Ellen at the top of the stairs. She waved and patted the ground. “Take off your coat and stake out a piece of grass.”
Ellen trotted down the steps and crouched beside them. “I can't stay. Ms. Cavelini's expecting me at the dance studio. But I just had to tell you something. Have you seen Richard?”
Lynda frowned. “No. And I don't want to.”
“Oh, yes, you do. You can catch him by the bus stop after school.”
“Bus stop?” Lynda shook her head. “Richard always drives.”
“When he has a car.”
Lynda heard a deep rumble and realized Greg was chuckling.
“I hope nothing happened to that BMW he's so proud of,” he said.
Ellen grinned. “It seems he was so busy Saturday night, he forgot to put his car in the garage. Somebody, maybe the guys who attacked Lynda, vandalized it. From what I heard, nothing was stolen, but they totally trashed it. Top ripped, tires slashed, paint scratched, the works. It's going to be in the shop at least a month. Richard's riding the bus with the rabble until it gets back.”
Lynda ripped open her lunch sack. “It couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. I hope they have to special order parts from Germany that take an extra month to get here.”
“Or two,” Greg seconded.
“Or three. See you in class, Lynda.”
“See you.”
Ellen waved before turning and running toward the gym. Greg continued chuckling until Lynda turned and asked through a bite of cheese sandwich, “What?”
His eyes gleamed. “I was just imagining Hammer standing at the bus stop with all the elementary kids. May-be having to wait in line will teach him some manners.”
Lynda laughed and choked on the cheese. Greg shifted closer and patted her back. Somehow, once the coughing stopped, she found herself leaning against his chest. She sighed and lay her head back against him.
He wrapped his arms around her. “I'm so glad you're all right,” he murmured into her hair.
“Greg?” Lynda asked hesitantly.
“Uh huh?”
“Do I seem crazy to you?”
“No crazier than normal. Why?”
“Something happened Saturday night. More than I told you, I mean. You know when I said I managed to get away from that gang?” She waited until she felt his head nod before continuing. “I didn't just get away. I was rescued. By a bear.”
The last three words were almost whispered. Lynda sat very still, staring straight ahead. She was afraid to see the look on Greg's face. Greg leaned into her while she spoke, as if he had trouble understanding her. When he remained silent, she added, “My parents think I had a stress-related hallucination, and Ellen thinks I had too much to drink, but I really saw it. I think it was a European Brown bear, the kind we did the report on.”
When he still didn't answer, she sighed. “Maybe I am going crazy.”
“No, you're not.”
Lynda jerked forward. “What?”
“I mean,” Greg said. “I believe you. If you say you saw a bear, then as far as I'm concerned, it was a bear. You're not crazy, and I don't believe you were drunk. But I wouldn't say too much about it,” he whispered in her ear. “The mind police might come by one afternoon and pick you up for contributing to the insanity of a minor. Me.”
Lynda was still laughing when lunch ended.
THE JOKE didn't seem as funny by the end of the day. Lynda decided to go to the animal shelter and see if Dr. Lopez could make sense of what she'd seen. Feeling a little queasy at the thought of walking near Richard's house, she waited at the corner for the University bus. The bus ride took longer, but she felt safer inside the white and maroon vehicle.
Forty-five minutes later, the bus finally rolled up to the corner of 50th and Ellis. Lynda stood, stretched, and shuffled down the steps and onto the sidewalk.
Lynda took a deep breath and lifted her head. She refused to feel nervous, refused to shrink from the young men lounging on the corner. After giving them a single glance, she walked up the stairs and into the shelter.
The familiar sights and scents of the building wrapped around Lynda even before the door closed behind her. Feeling her shoulders relax, she let herself smile. There was something about the smell of dirty cages that drove all other worries from her mind.
She walked straight to the veterinarian's office. “Dr. Lopez?” she called after her quick knock didn't receive an answer. Pushing the door open, Lynda saw the vet slumped over her desk, her dark hair cascading over unfinished pa-per work.
Lynda turned, meaning to leave without waking her friend, but the head lifted. “Lynda, is that you?”
“Yeah.” Lynda steeled herself for the vet's reaction, then faced the desk.
“
Madre de Dios
, what did you do to your face? Come closer, girl. Let me take a look at you.”
Dr. Lopez stood. Turning on the desk lamp, she motioned Lynda to sit in her seat, then tilted the lamp until it shone on her face. The vet leaned over, and Lynda felt the cool pressure of Dr. Lopez's fingertips on her chin and near her mouth.
“Whoever sewed you up did a good job.” She turned off the lamp and leaned back against the wall. “So tell me what happened.”
Not daring to watch Dr. Lopez's expression, Lynda told the vet everything that had occurred Saturday night, including her rescue.
“...And so I was wondering,” Lynda concluded, still staring at the forms on the desk. “Could a bear live in Chicago? In an abandoned building, maybe. I know raccoons live in urban settings, and I've heard stories about alligators in New York City sewers. Why not a bear in Chicago's slums?”
“A bear,” Dr. Lopez said, her voice level.
Lynda looked up and tried to guess what Dr. Lopez was thinking, but the veterinarian wore her professional demeanor like a mask. “I know it sounds crazy, but that's what I saw.”
“You realize how hard it would be for someone to keep a bear as a pet?” Dr. Lopez asked. “An animal that big would be hard to hide. And you say it was nearly grown?”
Lynda nodded. “I think so.”
“A full-grown bear could not live wild in the city for any length of time. Unlike a raccoon, or the mythical New York alligators, a bear would compete with people for the same space. Its den would be too big to escape detection; the animal itself too big to slip by unseen.” Dr. Lopez sighed. “I don't see how it could have been a bear. I'm not saying you're crazy,” she quickly added. “Only that you misinterpreted what you saw.”
“What else could it have been?” Lynda asked. “It was big, had small, rounded ears, a broad skull, short muzzle, and thick brown fur. It looked like Winnie the Pooh.”
Motioning Lynda to follow her, Dr. Lopez walked to the canine holding area. She pointed to the kennel closest to the door. “Animal Control brought him in Sunday. What does he remind you of?”
Lynda knelt on the cement floor and studied the large ball of fur. Rusty brown, it had rounded ears and a short muzzle. She held her hand close to the steel mesh and let the black nose catch her scent.
“It's a chow,” she said after the dog licked her hand. She reached a finger past the mesh to scratch him under the chin. “He does look a little like a bear.”
“In the dark, Lynda, and you terrified, he could look a lot like a bear. For all you know, this boy here was your rescuer. Animal Control picked him up just north of 47th Street.”
Lynda looked into the dog's warm, dark eyes and shook her head. “Couldn't be. The animal I saw had blue eyes.”
Dr. Lopez knelt beside her. “Then it couldn't have been a bear. Bears don't have blue eyes. If it wasn't this dog, it was another, perhaps a chow-husky mix. I've seen Siberian Huskies with blue eyes.”
Withdrawing her hand, Lynda sat back on her heels and wondered if it could have been a dog. “Maybe.”
“Certainly.” Dr. Lopez stood, and Lynda followed her back into the hallway. “Did you only come by to discuss bears? Or can you work today?”
“Mom and Dad want me home before dark.” Lynda checked her watch. “It's a little after five, I can work a while—as long as I stay away from the dirty cages. Mom made me promise not to go near anything that might get the cut infected until the stitches come out.”
Dr. Lopez opened the door to her office. “I have just the job for you. You can file my paper work.”
Lynda stared at the papers scattered across the desk. It was going to be a long afternoon.
TUESDAY MORNING, Lynda was closing the front door when she heard a familiar voice. “How's my favorite maniac?”
“Greg!” She turned and glared at him.
“Just kidding. It's a beautiful day, isn't it?”
The smile that broke across his face was brighter and warmer by far than the cloud-shrouded sky. Running down the steps, she returned his smile. “Sure is.”
He took her hand before they headed toward school. “I talked to Dad yesterday about staying out later at night.”
“What did he say?”
“Well, he started saying it was out of the question, like he always does. But I reminded him that Megan and I did all right last Friday, and that I'll be eighteen on June 5th. He admitted his rules should be relaxed after my birthday.” Greg stopped and turned to Lynda. “Want to go out with me Friday, the 7th?”
“I'd love to!” Lynda said, beaming. Then her smile wilted. “But I'm not sure I can. The seventh is Mom and Dad's anniversary. They're going away for the weekend, and John and I are staying with Grandma Malone in Evanston.”
“I can borrow Dad's car and drive you to your grand-mother's house afterwards. We won't be staying out that late.”
“Believe me, it'll be too late for Grandma. She goes to bed by nine.” Lynda thought a moment. “You know, Tom should be back from college by then. I told you about my older brother, didn't I?” Greg nodded. “Well, Mom said he's coming home next month. He's got a job downtown and will be living at home. Maybe they'd let me stay with him instead of Grandma. Then we wouldn't have to worry about getting back early.”
“That'd be great,” Greg said. “I'd hate to put it off. There are only so many Friday nights before I go back to Santa Cruz. I don't want to waste any.”
Lynda felt a cloud drift over her happiness. “Me either. Not a single one.”
FROM THEIR seats on the porch, the men heard the clink of glasses in the sink and the clatter of silverware. The woman of the house had evicted them from their evening chores with the admonition to, “Talk.” So they sat, father and son, surrounded by sounds from the kitchen and snatches of conversations that filtered through screened windows and sifted down the light well. They sat, unable to release the words that had choked them all day.
The son broke the silence. “I'm eighteen. Legally, I'm an adult.”
“You are my son. What do I care for ‘legally'? As your father, it is my duty to care for you, to protect you. Is it too much to ask that in return you respect my wishes, follow my instructions, admit that I am older, wiser, and perhaps know a bit more than you do about certain things?” The father spoke quietly, his sincerity conveyed by the precision of his words, not their volume.
“It's not too much, and I do. About most things, any-way. But I'm eighteen, now. You have to let me make my own mistakes, take my own risks. How can I learn if you don't?”
“It is not a matter of learning. It is a matter of the heart. You grow too close to the girl. Perhaps you are an adult, but she is still a child. Have you forgotten that in a few weeks we go home, and you will never see her again?”
“I haven't forgotten.”
“The more time you spend with her, the harder it will be to forget her.”
He turned on his father. “I don't want to forget her.”
“Son,” the older man said, laying his hand on the younger man's arm. “Believe it or not, I, too, have been young. I remember meeting your mother.” His face broke into a reminiscing smile before growing serious again. “But we were older, ready to settle down. You risk more than you know by playing this game. Even if you are serious, the girl cannot be. Don't risk your future by investing your heart too soon.”
“Lighten up, Dad,” the young man responded. “It's not like I asked her to marry me. I just want to go out with her Friday. It's no big deal. I'll be home by midnight, twelve-thirty at the latest.”
“It is a big enough ‘deal’ that you are unwilling to wait for a safer night.”
“I don't see any reason to wait. Come on, Dad. I'm going to college in the fall. You'll have to trust me to show some sense then. Why can't you start trusting me now?”
“It is not a matter of trust.” The older man sighed. “I will not stop you; you already know that. But please try to remember the consequences. There is a limit to the difficulties I can overcome.”
The young man smiled. “I will.” He glanced upward and his smile brightened. “It's a beautiful night, and the moon will be up soon. After Mom surprises me with the cake, do you want to go for a walk?”
The older man chuckled and slapped his son affectionately on the shoulder. “Your mother will object. Still, the three-quarter moon is worth a scolding. Come, let us eat the cake before we tell her. Dessert always gentles her tongue.”
Laughing, they rose and entered the apartment together.