Crisco, the bear they’d helped nurse back to health more than a year ago, was swimming in a tiny pool designed to resemble a natural pond.
George used to weigh six hundred pounds. Now, he was an old man and starting to shrink. He had arthritis. Crisco was still a youngster, about two years old, and not so friendly.
She didn’t blame him. Being mistreated, declawed and underfed was hard to overcome.
At least she’d not been declawed.
The mural for the bear habitat would be the first Janie would complete alone. Adam Snapp, who’d been painting murals around BAA for the last four years, was busy doing other projects outside the zoo. Projects that made him money. He was at BAA today, though, finishing up a few odds and ends, and now showing up just in time to help her.
She’d wanted to be alone, lick her wounds, and try to cleanse her mind.
Within minutes, Adam had already asked her a dozen times if she was all right. Maybe the fact that she’d been staring at the crowds of people—all going somewhere, smiling, acting normal—instead of getting ready to draw the bears gave him a clue something was amiss.
He’d assumed her mood had to do with the mural she was about to start.
He’d never been more wrong.
“You’ll do fine,” he said, standing back, arms crossed and waiting for her to do something, anything. “You have a whole month to finish.”
Until yesterday, finishing this mural and adding it to her portfolio was the most important item on her to-do list. Today, taking the lead on a zoo mural that tens of thousands would see almost seemed frivolous. But Adam couldn’t understand her lack of enthusiasm because she hadn’t told him about last night, or this morning, or any of what had taken over her life. What she couldn’t stop thinking about.
He was her brother-in-law’s best friend, and for a short while, she’d thought about making him a bit more. But there’d been no chemistry beyond what they had in common.
They were artists.
Adam was making a name for himself, even as far as California and New Mexico. And now she was aiming to secure a spot as an artist in residence in South Africa.
Just last Friday she’d mailed in the last of her application. For the next month, she’d need to inform the judging panel about her ongoing projects, both in the community and at school. She felt confident about her application.
This was what she wanted to do: paint real animals in their natural habitat. She’d wanted it since the day Tyre, the black panther, had attacked her, since hearing someone say, “You can take the cat out of the jungle, but you can’t take the jungle out of the cat.”
“Show me your ideas,” Adam ordered.
Today must be her day for getting ordered around. First from Katie, who’d dictated, “We are going to see Sheriff Salazar.” Then from Salazar: “I will pick you up at two and escort you to Adobe Hills.” And now from Adam. “Show me...”
Didn’t anyone say please anymore?
Nevertheless, because he was a reference and a friend, she dutifully complied. That had been her assignment from him: come up with thumbnail sketches for the mural. She opened her art book and studied her drawings—done with colored pencils—that were her final choices for the design.
“Crisco’s story still makes people cry. It seemed a logical choice.” She turned the tablet so he could see that she’d created a time line, starting with Crisco being found with his head caught between the slats of fence, segueing to his rehabilitation and ending with now. Crisco, named because of how they’d managed to free him, now lived in luxury with a pool, plenty of food and a town full of fans who’d read his story in the paper.