The Black Sheep (9 page)

“I was sure you'd blow it with Judy,” he says.

Okay, so he doesn't exactly love me. “Thanks a lot.”

“Can you blame me? Every time I turn around, there's a camera in my face.”

“Tell me about it.” He opens his mouth to speak, and I hold up my hand. “I know, I know, it's my own fault.”

“Well, I don't want to see cameras here. Judy would suck the magic out of this place in three seconds flat.”

“And then ask for a re-shoot,” I say.

He gives me another smile before unsnapping his skirt and pulling out his knapsack. Then he maneuvers his kayak next to mine and passes me a banana, a juice box, and a bag of trail mix. Setting our paddles across our boats, we drift along eating our breakfast. Every so often he reaches out to grab my kayak to keep it close by.

It's a perfect moment—maybe the best of my life so far. At first it's hard for me not to start up a little chitchat about the scenery or the kelp or just about anything else to break the silence. But I sneak a sideways glance at him and decide to keep a lid on it. He looks happy enough. Maybe he's the type of guy who doesn't expect to be entertained on a date.

Eventually, I stop obsessing over the fact that I am on the most exciting, most uncomfortable date anyone ever had, and start enjoying the sound of the water slapping quietly against the boats, and the seabirds calling to each other as they circle above.

The sun has climbed over the ridge behind us and is glistening on the water like a million silver sequins.

“It's like Fifth Avenue,” I say wonderingly.

Mitch looks at me as if I've lost my mind.

“The water,” I explain. “There's something in the pavement on Fifth Avenue that sparkles just like this on a sunny day.”

“Don't you ever get sick of all that concrete?” he asks. “And all the buildings? I bet you can't even see the stars at night.”

“Maybe not the ones in the sky, but there are millions of lights in New York City. It's a constellation all on its own.”

He watches me curiously. “Homesick?”

I think for a moment before answering. “Sometimes. This has been a lot harder than I expected.”

He collects the remains of my breakfast and stows the bag under his skirt. “You expected moving alone to a strange city to be easy? You're more intrepid than I am.”

Intrepid? I love that! Intrepid screams Black Sheep. Talk about evolving! They'll never let me back into the primordial ooze at this rate. I, Kendra Bishop, am an intrepid person.

Except that I'm not, really, and there's no use pretending. “More like stupid. If I could take back that letter I wrote to Judy…” I shudder. “It was awful.”

“Do you wish you hadn't come?”

He's scanning for otters, so I can't tell if he cares one way or another. “Not exactly. But I wish I weren't part of this show. I wish I hadn't exposed my family's weirdness to the whole world.”

“Not the whole world—just North America.”

“That's comforting.”

After a pause, he says, “They don't seem that weird to me.”

“Oh, they are. You're only seeing the tip of the iceberg. And Judy's slanting the story.”

“What did your parents do to make you write the letter?”

I consider telling him about Rosa but decide against it. The sun and the waves have lowered my defenses, but I still know he could use that against me. “I can't really talk about it.”

“No problem,” he says, letting me off the hook.

If the situation were reversed, I'd be trying to pry the story out of him just to see what makes him tick. “Things just weren't good at home, that's all. My parents are trying to mold me into a banker against my will, and it's a painful process.” I turn the tables before he can ask anything more. “I think it's cool that you're doing exactly what you want to do with your life. By studying marine biology, I mean.”

He shrugs this off. “It happens to be exactly what my parents would want, so I got lucky, I guess. I've been involved in environmental causes my whole life.”

“I don't know very much about environmentalism.” That's an understatement.

“I guessed that from the dollar signs on your underwear,” he says.

“That's a joke. I'm not as shallow as you think.”

He gives me a little splash with his paddle. “I'm kidding. Environmentalism just means being aware of how our behavior affects the planet. Even making small changes can help to leave the world a little better than when we found it.”

I'm not so enthralled by him that I don't recognize a lecture when I hear it, but it's more tolerable when I can look into those blue eyes as I listen. There's something sexy about a guy with a cause.

Suddenly I hear a familiar grunting sound and spin around so fast I almost tip the kayak again. Mitch steadies it with his paddle and pulls out his binoculars. Ahead of us in the kelp a dozen brown heads bob up and down. Mitch puts a finger to his lips and we paddle toward them. Every whiskered face turns curiously to watch our approach. I want to see how close we can get, but Mitch stops well back from them and lifts his binoculars.

“Hey, it's Dory,” he says, his voice more animated than I've ever heard it. He hands me the binoculars. “The one with the scar on her head. She's Number 505—the first otter I ever tracked.”

Dory is floating on her back, calmly grooming herself.

Mitch's smile is so bright it competes with the sparkle of the waves. “She's doing great. I lost track of her a couple of years ago and wasn't sure she made it.”

I hand him the binoculars so he can watch a little longer. When I figure he's spent enough time mooning over his old girlfriend, I take them back and ask, “So you're a fan of
Finding Nemo
?”

He raises his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Don't be embarrassed. Lots of wilderness-loving tough guys love Disney.”

“Well, not this one.”

I can tell he's lying. “Meadow says you own the DVD—and that you've watched it a hundred times.”

His mouth drops. “She's dead.”

“Ha. Busted. She never said a word.”

He grins sheepishly. “For the record, it's no more than twenty times.”

“I won't tell anyone—as long as you agree to keep quiet about my Material Girl underwear.”

He reaches out and pulls my kayak right next to his. “Deal.”

Something about the way he's looking at me gives me goose bumps, although it may just be the cool breeze on my wet clothes. Whatever he is thinking, I don't think he hates me anymore. Obviously the rules of kayaking apply equally to relationships. If you make any sudden moves, you're tipping all over the place. Once you slow down and find the balance, it sorts itself out.

Mitch cocks his head to listen. “Do you hear that?”

For a moment, all I can hear is the water and gulls. Then I catch a distant hum.

“It sounds like a boat,” I say. “I thought you said no one ever comes here.”

“Not till today,” he says. His brow furrows and I know the spell between us is broken.

A boat appears around the jut of land. I can make out three passengers, and as I watch, the smallest one raises a hand to her lips as if she's drinking something. My heart sinks. I can almost smell the decaf double-shot, no-foam, extra-hot latte from here.

“Oh, no.” I raise the binoculars to see Chili at the back of the boat, steering, while Bob films from the middle seat. Judy is at the bow, Starbucks cup in one hand. She raises the other and waves.

“Tell me this isn't happening,” Mitch says.

I look at him helplessly. “I'm sorry.”

His eyes become blue lasers. “This is
my
place. You promised.”

“Mitch, honestly, I didn't tell her.”

“Then how would she know?”

He shoves my kayak away and I fight to steady it.

“They're heading straight for the kelp,” he says. Raising his voice, he shouts, “Cut your engine!” The otters are startled at the commotion and dive.

In the other boat, Judy waves her coffee cup and calls, “Stay right where you are. We'll be right there.”

They can't hear Mitch over the sputter of their motor, and when they reach the kelp, the motor makes a horrible screech as its blades get snarled in the plant's rubbery tentacles. The boat jerks to a stop, sending a rush of waves our way. I hastily loop the binoculars around my neck and pick up my paddle, but it's too late. The wave catches the side of my kayak and flips it.

Hanging upside down in the water, I fight to free myself from the spray skirt, tearing at it with both hands. Finally someone else's hands tear it away for me and pull me to the surface.

“Are you okay?” Mitch asks, releasing me.

Gasping, I tread water, just as Nana Russell taught me. “I'm fine.” Then a horrible thought strikes me. “The otters…?”

“None injured—no thanks to you.”

Just as fast as I fell into the water, the old Mitch has returned. “I didn't—”

“Save your breath, you're going to need it,” he says.

He hauls himself out of the water and flops across his kayak. His wet shorts cling to his butt, and I have to admit, if I weren't in the process of drowning, I'd enjoy the view.

“Heads up, KB!” Judy shouts as Chili rows toward us. “Look this way.”

Mitch rights himself in his kayak and collects his paddle. “You owe me a set of binoculars.”

“Stop all that splashing. Bob needs a tight shot,” Judy says, now much closer. “Okay, kick it up again—make it big. Where are the seals, KB? I want a shot of you swimming with the seals.”

Mitch snorts in disgust and starts paddling away.

“Where are you going?” I call after him. “What about me? I can't get back into the boat on my own!”

“Your friends will give you a hand,” he calls back over his shoulder.

“I could drown before they get here!”

I'm exhausted and I can't tread water for much longer. Now that it's too late, I can see that an occasional jog with the folks would have helped my lung capacity.

Mitch is almost out of the inlet when I gather what's left of my breath to bellow, “If I die, it's on your head! You'll rot in jail for the rest of your life, and then how are you going to save the world, Superman?”

He shouts back, “Go home, City Girl.”

“You may love the planet, but you don't give a shit about people!” Oops. I hope Bob's mike didn't pick that up. On the other hand, if Bob is getting this, I want America to know what a monster Mitch Mulligan is. And what a wonderful person I am. “Tell my parents I forgive them!”

I don't need Judy to point out that this is good TV. I wonder if they give out Emmys posthumously.

“Tell them yourself, drama queen,” Mitch calls. “You've thrashed your way into shallow water. Stand up.”

It's just as well I didn't drown this afternoon, because my parents are too busy bonding with Maya to plan my funeral.

With Bob's camera in my face, I struggle to keep my expression neutral as I watch Maya and Dad touring his office; Maya and Mom having an animated discussion at the Whitney; Maya and Lucy laughing their asses off at a Broadway play. It's not like I care that much, but would it kill them to pretend they miss me a little?

There's no escape from the images, however, because Judy read me the riot act after Bob and Chili pulled me out of the water earlier. Belching coffee fumes into my face, she ranted about how she'll sue me for breach of contract if I run off again, and how it's her right to document every aspect of my life because she “owns me.”

It was enough to make this little black sheep feel cheap.

T
oday there's a production assistant on security detail in the upstairs hallway as I leave the bedroom. Judy usually keeps the crew “lean and mean,” but she's obviously brought in reinforcements.

“The lamb's on the move,” the PA says into her walk-talkie. “Kitchen ETA, sixty seconds.”

“Got it,” Judy's voice crackles back. “Keep a close eye on her.”

How I'd manage to escape between bedroom and kitchen is beyond me, unless that magic wand I got at Cannery Row last week actually works. Still, the PA follows me so closely that when I turn at the bottom of the stairs, she runs into me.

She presses her walkie button again. “Incoming.”

I shake my head in disgust. Since my ill-fated trip to otter country with Mitch,
The Black Sheep
crew has been out in full force. Things had been a bit more relaxed lately, with occasional moments of privacy, but no more. Judy has stepped up surveillance, and a camera follows me wherever I go, with the exception of the bathroom.

The kitchen is abuzz with activity when I enter. Bob is at the stove beside Mona, stirring a vat of scrambled eggs.

Chili is standing behind him playing backseat cook. “Add a dash of cream.”

“Water makes a fluffier egg,” Bob counters.

Judy picks up a camera and shoves it at Chili. “How about doing your job—while you still have one?”

He tracks me to the kitchen counter, where I stand by to grab the next two slices of bread as they pop out of the toaster.

Meadow looks up from the toast she is buttering, and I see she is wearing full makeup applied with a very heavy hand.

“Is that my purple eye shadow?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I found it on the dresser.”

“You mean in my makeup bag.”

“I can't remember the details. I've got a lot going on, you know.”

I start spreading peanut butter on my toast. “How about asking first? Maybe I don't want your eye cooties.”

“Then I'll keep it. It suits me better anyway.”

“You think? Let's check with Kieran on that.”

Her hand spasms midair while reaching for the strawberry jam. “Who?”

“That guy from your class we ran into at the drugstore last week. You know, the one who asked for your autograph. Maybe he'd like to weigh in on the eye shadow.”

Her face matches the jam. “You think you're so smart.
Mom!
”

Mona turns from the stove, where she's frying a couple of pounds of turkey bacon. “What, honey?” Seeing me, she says, “Oh! You're here.”

Of course I'm here. Where else would I be?

Max comes in from the backyard with the twins. “Kendra! What are you still doing here?”

“I'm supposed to stay another two weeks,” I say. “If I've been fired, no one's told me yet.”

Max laughs. “No such luck, kid. I just thought you'd be in Big Sur with Mitch.”

Fat chance of that. Mitch and I haven't spoken a word to each other since he left me to drown. In fact, he's spent the last two days next door at the Watsons. I know that because I've seen him from the bathroom window coming and going with Calvin. Not that I'm spying or anything. I just spend as much time in the bathroom as Judy and the family roster allow because it's the only place I can be alone.

“Kayaking isn't really my thing,” I tell them. Actually, I kind of liked it, except for the drowning part, but I can't be straight with them. They're nice people and they don't need to know their son is a moron—a moron who had the nerve to call me a drama queen.

“They're releasing an otter this morning,” Mona says. “The one you've been monitoring. We figured you'd go to watch.”

“Maurice?” I drop my knife on the floor with a clatter. “They're releasing Maurice?” Egg starts to whimper in his high chair.

Judy twitches, and Bob immediately abandons the eggs to seize his camera. Chili hustles around the counter to get a clear shot.

The cameras don't inhibit my reaction today. “Why didn't someone tell me?”

Mona goes over to soothe Egg. “I'm sorry, dear. We thought you knew.”

I can understand why Lisa wouldn't tell me—she's still mad that I broke the rules. But Mitch is another story. He knows how much Maurice means to me. “I didn't even get to say good-bye.”

I race for the front door, followed by the entire entourage. On the porch, I toss my toast into the bushes and grab Maya's bicycle.

“Honey, you can't ride,” Max says. “It would take hours to get to Big Sur on a bike.”

“Can you drive me?” I plead. “It's really important.”

“I would if I could, but the van broke down again.”

Mona turns to Judy. “
You
drive her.”

“Mona, sweetie,” Judy says, “I don't think you understand my role here. I'm supposed to document events as they unfold. If I started chauffeuring KB around, I'd be influencing the outcome of those events, thereby destroying the authenticity of the show.” She leans in a little and adds slowly, “I'm an observer, not a participant.”

Mona flips her long gray braid over her shoulder and gives Judy a look that would turn anyone who had a heart to stone. “That's the biggest load of crap you've delivered so far.” She holds one hand in front of Chili, palm up. “Give me the keys to your van.”

Chili lowers his camera. “Huh?”

Judy shakes her head. “Don't, Chili. Insurance…”

“If you know what's good for you, young man, you'll hand them over,” Mona says, crowding Chili a little. He surrenders them without delay.

Max looks on in obvious pride as my guardian angel in purple Birkenstocks leads the parade down the driveway.

“This is highly unorthodox,” Judy calls from the rear of the van, where she's sitting on camera cases with Bob and Chili.

Meadow and I are sharing the passenger seat, and we have to brace ourselves as Mona takes a hard right. Equipment slides across the floor of the van, and something collides with Judy's flip-flops.

When Judy stops screaming, Mona glances in the rearview mirror and asks, “Shouldn't you be wearing safer footwear?”

Judy mutters something unintelligible.

“There are children present,” Mona says.

“One child,” I point out. “Although she's made up to look thirty.”

Meadow pinches me savagely.

“I could have you charged with stealing,” Judy continues.

Mona chuckles. “Add it to my record.”

“What record?” Meadow asks.

“Never mind,” her mother says.

Meadow starts dancing in her seat when we get close to the beach. “I can see them launching the Zodiac!” We hang on to the dash as the van careens down the gravel road toward the ocean. “Faster, Mom! We're going to miss it!”

Mona guns the engine and people on the beach turn to watch as we streak toward them. When we reach the end of the road, Mona slams on the brakes and the van skids to a stop in a spray of gravel and sand. We miss a jeep by inches.

I scramble out before everyone else and run to the shore. Mitch is standing with a group of people, watching the Zodiac as it approaches a small raft of otters. That he doesn't show the slightest recognition when he sees me infuriates me even more. In fact, the only time I remember feeling this angry is when my parents fired Rosa.

I waste no time in getting to the point. “I hate you.”

Mitch makes a show of looking over both shoulders to see who's with me. “Save the drama for the cameras.”

He's trying to throw me off, but I'm not falling for it. “Why didn't you tell me this was happening today?”

Mitch shrugs. “I didn't think you'd care.”

“You knew I'd care.”

Noticing that Bob and Chili have sidled up behind us, Mitch says, “You're right, I did know you'd care about missing a good photo op. It was horrible of me. I'm so sorry.”

“Thank God your parents are nicer than you are. Mona hijacked the show's van and nearly killed us all to get here in time.”

He points to Judy, who's limping across the beach on her injured foot, and says, “She should have tried a little harder.” Then he turns to another aquarium volunteer and says, “Can I borrow your binoculars? Someone dropped mine in the ocean and hasn't bothered to replace them.”

The Black Sheep code is quite precise on matters of this kind:
Life is too short to waste it on losers
.

Mona is on a rocky outcropping above the crowd when I find her. How she made it up there in a skirt and Birkies I don't know, because it's pretty tough going in jeans and sneakers. Judy and crew gather at the bottom to fight over who should haul the equipment up after me.

“Are you all right, dear?” Mona asks, patting the rock beside her.

I shake my head. “I'm worried about Maurice. What if the other otters don't accept him? This isn't his family, you know.”

“Actually, it might be,” she says. “We're very close to where he was recovered. But if not, he'll find a way to integrate. Didn't you tell me he's a genius?”

I smile in spite of myself. “He is. But what if he isn't ready?”

“He's ready,” she reassures me.

“What if he gets into trouble out there on his own?”

“Then they'll bring him back in.” She points to the electronic equipment the aquarium staff have set up. “They'll be tracking him with a transmitter, and volunteers will be keeping an eye on him from a distance.”

This makes me feel better. “He can really come back? I mean, if it doesn't work out in the wild?”

“Absolutely,” she says, giving me a one-armed hug. “We're his surrogate family, and the door is always open to him.”

She passes me her binoculars. Three people in Darth Vader costumes are aboard the Zodiac, which is floating a few hundred yards from the otters. I can tell which one is Lisa by her bossy gestures. After surveying the scene for what seems like hours, she finally moves Maurice's cage to the edge of the boat and tips it. He slides into the ocean with a little splash.

I hold my breath until his auburn face breaks the surface of the water. He swivels to take in his surroundings before diving. When he comes up again, about thirty yards from the boat, he turns toward the shore, and for a split second, it seems that he is looking right at me. Then he begins a slow approach to the other otters until he is ultimately absorbed into the mass of kelp and bobbing heads.

And that's it. He's gone.

“Don't cry,” Meadow says. “Your makeup will run.”

I turn and see that hers is already running, and because there's so much of it, the effect is frightening.

“I'm not crying,” I say. The Bishops don't cry. Our tear ducts are sealed off at birth.

Meadow isn't the only one who clambered up the rock while I was distracted. Chili is there, and even injured Judy, who is clearly willing to suffer for her art.

Mona stands and pulls Meadow away. “Let's give Kendra a moment to say good-bye to her friend.”

I scan the surface of the water with Mona's binoculars. If all goes as it should, I will never see Maurice again.

“Now that's the stuff ratings are made of,” Judy booms in my ear. “Well done, KB.” She grabs my shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

“Leave me alone.”

“No can do. Chili's battery died in the middle of it all,” she says. “We missed the emotional blah blah, so I need to get Mona back here and you're going to run that conversation again, okay?”

“I can't just—”

“Sure you can, sweetie. And if you could make the crying bigger, it would help sell the wide shot.” After pointing at Bob, who's shooting us from the beach, she demonstrates a mock sob. “You know, put a little shoulder into it.”

“I am not crying,” I repeat. “The wind is making my eyes run, that's all.”

“It's all the same to me.” She turns and calls, “Mona! Be a doll and climb back up here, would you?”

I raise the binoculars once more. “I need to make sure Maurice is all right.”

“Your seal is fine. He's free, isn't he?” She yanks the binoculars away from my face. “Now, let's get this shot while the Zodiac is still in the background.”

I try to resist, but Judy has a vise grip on my shoulder, and the cord of the binoculars is strangling me.

“Let go of her,” someone says.

Judy stops bullying me and turns to glare at Mitch. “Well, well, if it isn't the knight in the shiny red kayak. As I recall, you took off when KB really needed rescuing. I was the one who brought our girl home safely.”

“Yeah,” he says, “you're a real humanitarian.” He turns to Chili and holds one hand up in front of the lens. “Just give her a minute, man.”

Chili lowers his camera. Mitch looks at me for a second and I hastily wipe my face with my sleeve. Maybe he will think my eyes are just tearing from the strangling.