Leaving Time(103)

But Thomas shook his head. “It’ll be worth the wait,” he promised.

“I could help you. I’m good at painting …”

“You’re good at a lot of things,” Thomas said, and he kissed me.

We had been having a lot of sex. After Jenna went to sleep, Thomas would come back from the African barn and shower, then slip into bed beside me. Our lovemaking was almost desperate—if I was trying to escape the memory of Maura’s calf, Thomas seemed to be trying to keep himself tethered to something. It was almost as if I didn’t matter, as if any body beneath him would have done the job—but I couldn’t place blame, since I was using Thomas, too, to forget. I’d fall asleep, exhausted, and in the middle of the night, when my hand inched across the sheets to find him, he would be gone again.

At first, on the picnic, I kissed him back. But then his hand slid under my shirt, fumbling with the clasp of my bra. “Thomas,” I whispered. “We’re in public.”

Not only were we sitting in the shadow of the African barn, where any of the employees might pass by, but Jenna was staring at us. She pulled herself to her feet and stumbled toward us, a tiny zombie.

I gasped. “Thomas! She’s walking!”

His face was buried in the curve of my neck. His hand covered my breast.

“Thomas,” I said, shoving him away. “Look.”

He backed off, annoyed. His eyes were nearly black behind his glasses, and even though he didn’t say anything, I could hear him clearly: How dare you? But then Jenna tumbled into his lap, and he scooped her up and kissed her forehead and each cheek. “What a big girl,” he said, as Jenna babbled against his shoulder. He set her down on the ground, pointing her in my direction. “Was it a fluke or a new skill?” he asked. “Should we run the experiment again?”

I laughed. “This girl is doomed, having two scientists as parents.” I held out my arms. “Come back to me,” I coaxed.

I was speaking to my daughter. But I might as well have been pleading to Thomas as well.


A few days later, when I was helping Grace prepare meals for the Asian elephants, I asked her if she ever argued with Gideon.

“Why?” she said, suddenly guarded.

“It just seems like you get along so well,” I replied. “It’s a little daunting.”

Grace relaxed. “He doesn’t put the toilet seat down. Drives me crazy.”

“If that’s his only flaw, I’d say you’re incredibly lucky.” I raised a cleaver, chopping a melon in half, focusing my attention on the juice that bled out of it. “Does he ever keep secrets from you?”

“Like what he’s getting me for my birthday?” She shrugged. “Sure.”

“I don’t mean those kinds of secrets. I mean the kind that make you think he’s hiding something.” I put down the knife and looked her in the eye. “The night the calf died … you saw Thomas in his office, didn’t you?”

We had never talked about it. But I knew Grace must have seen him, rocking back and forth in his chair, his eyes empty, his hands shaking. I knew that was why she had refused to leave Jenna alone with him.

Grace’s gaze slid away from mine. “Everyone’s got their demons,” she murmured.

I knew, from the way she said it, that this was not the first time she had seen Thomas that way. “It’s happened before?”

“He always bounces back.”

Was I the only person at the sanctuary who didn’t know? “He told me it was just once—after his parents died,” I said, my face hot. “I thought marriage was a partnership, you know? For better or for worse. In sickness and in health. Why would he lie to me?”

“Keeping a secret isn’t always lying. Sometimes it’s the only way to protect the person you love.”

I scoffed. “You only say that because you haven’t been on the receiving end.”

“No,” Grace said softly. “But I’ve been the one who keeps the secret.” She began to shovel peanut butter into the empty bellies of the halved melons, her hands quick and practiced. “I love taking care of your daughter,” she added, a non sequitur.

“I know. I’m grateful.”

“I love taking care of your daughter,” Grace repeated, “because I’m never going to have one of my own.”

I looked at her, and in that moment, she reminded me of Maura—there was a shadow in her eyes that I’d noticed before, that I’d chalked up to youth and insecurity, but that actually may have been the loss of something she never really had. “You’re still young,” I said.