The Owl & Moon Cafe: A Novel (No Series) (4 page)

“—our national epidemic of drug abuse,” Dr. Ritchie finished. “Now, I want to be sure that you girls comprehend what I’m saying. If we were to study drug abuse properly, to take Country Day’s holistic, interdisciplinary approach, it would quickly become obvious that there is more to the issue than mere science. As such, this would make a far too complex topic for your upcoming science projects, particularly within our short time frame. Let’s brainstorm….”

The room was warm, and Lindsay, having fallen asleep in the nurse’s office, had awakened too late to get her lunch from her locker. She yawned, and let her mind wander, picturing a terrible storm with a blue-black sky and jagged yellow lightning moving through the lobes of her brain. Instead of rain, prize-worthy Science Fair ideas hailed down into her cluster diagram, a way of arranging your ideas nonlinearly, which Lindsay had learned in her second year at Country Day. Clusters weeded out the bad ideas, until all that remained was the best choice.

Last year, when Sally took the blue ribbon, Lindsay wondered where she’d gone wrong with “The Human Genome Project and Future Implications.”

“Yours is nice, honey, but it lacks ‘the wow factor,’ ” Gammy Bess had said. “Just look at the cookies we sell at the café. People always reach for the one with the most chips first.”

Sally’s project was so great Lindsay couldn’t find a single fault with it. “The Effects of Soil Rotation on Salinas County’s Agribusiness.” Since the migrant workers had struck, Sally even had a video loop of interviews in Spanish that she had translated herself.

Allegra had sniffed at it, saying, “Whatever happened to growing tomato plants to music?” and they went out for ice cream to soften the blow. Lindsay’s mother had been teaching that night, so she missed it.

Lindsay clicked the lead mechanism on her mechanical pencil. She wondered whether her mother would be home that night, or stuck in faculty meetings she said she hated but Lindsay bet she secretly liked. Otherwise, why not get a job that allowed you to come home at the same time every night and read a book, or watch
NOVA
? Sometimes she pretended Dr. Ritchie was her mom. They both ate red licorice and drank Diet Coke first thing in the morning, but somehow Lindsay could tell that Dr. Ritchie’s life was more interesting.

Lindsay imagined her peeling out of the parking lot on her orange moped, headed toward something better than teaching, like a boyfriend. Dr. Ritchie’s boyfriend would look just like Carl Sagan, smart, kind of thin, and with a craggy face that was always smiling. He would have a cat named Stephen Hawking, or a big yellow dog named Marie Curie. They would stay up all night doing experiments. Lindsay wondered if they would have sex.

She knew all about sex, and it worried her. Sex sounded like a very tricky thing. First off, the diseases you might get could kill you. Just look at what was happening in Africa. Then there were accidents that resulted in pregnancy, and the pro-choice or pro-life question. Lindsay was pretty sure her mom had only had sex that one time, because she’d gotten pregnant with Lindsay when she was twenty-one years old, and as soon as Lindsay’s father found out, he left to take a job in another state. She knew his name: Professor Ephraim Cantor. He didn’t write or visit, send money or call. Her mom said that was fine with her; he didn’t know what he was missing, so poop on him. Every once in a while Lindsay wanted to write him a letter, and maybe send him her school picture, but Gammy Bess always talked her out of it, saying “Let lying dogs sleep and you won’t get bitten.”

It wasn’t like Lindsay missed having a dad. Pretty much all her mom did was work at The Owl & Moon when they needed her, teach classes, and stay up late correcting papers. After listening to her schoolmates talk, that sounded pretty much like a dad. Most nights her mom fell asleep on the couch. Lindsay would cover her with a blanket and she wouldn’t even move, but she was always up early pouring out Lindsay’s cereal.

Sally poked Lindsay with her shoe, then leaned her head back and pretend-snored. Lindsay smiled and turned away. No way was she getting in trouble in Dr. Ritchie’s class.

“I want to see your précis next week, girls. More than two ideas, please. And girls? Please do not wait until the last minute and Google subjects you care nothing about in an effort to impress me. One must have passion for a project. It must
pertain.
”

Out the corner of her eye Lindsay saw Sally finger spell the word
Y-A-W-N.
Students were required to study two languages at Country Day. French and Spanish were the most popular. Lindsay opted for Latin, which would help her in science. She also took American Sign Language, which she felt offered a view into another culture. Sally was in that class, too. ASL was valuable for lots of reasons. You could help a deaf person with it, and also pass a “note” that a teacher couldn’t confiscate and read out loud. Cuss words were not so bad when you said them with your fingers.

“Sally?” Dr. Ritchie said. “I notice you’re finger spelling. Is there something you want to share with the class?”

Sally folded her hands on top of her desk. “No, ma’am. I was just stretching my fingers out. To become fluent in sign you pretty much have to stretch the muscles whenever the opportunity presents itself. I’ll try to be less distracting.”

“Do.”

As soon as Dr. Ritchie turned her back, Sally rolled her eyes and finger spelled “E-P-I-C Y-A-W-N.”

Lindsay smiled wider this time.

Pretty soon you could feel the tension in the air. Everyone’s eyes were on the clock. Finally Dr. Ritchie gave up. “Go,” she said, sighing. “I don’t know why we bother to teach anything after lunch. Your circadian rhythms are at their lowest point. Go, you brilliant minds, brimming with potential. Go have a great afternoon and think about projects. Remember, every little thing that happens—autumn leaves turning, a dog barking, your very breath—occupies its own little niche in science.”

“God, I thought she’d never shut her trap,” Sally said as they lugged their backpacks outdoors into what was left of the dappled sunlight. Clouds were moving in, and the sun was moving on.

Lindsay didn’t know what to say. “I like Dr. Ritchie. I could listen to her all day.”

“Me, too. It’s just that my butt was going to sleep. So, you want to do the science project together?”

“Do you mean it?”

“Of course I mean it. We both rock at science. You almost beat me last year. Why not work together on some really gnarly subject and get twice as much credit? Plus, the money! Start thinking about it. It has to be radical, and have social implications.”

“Like what?”

“You know, the ethics factor. Stuff people argue about. Abortion, stem cell research, things that get people all whipped up.” Sally peered around the tree they were standing under and groaned. “Oh, man. Here comes Taylor. I gotta run before she starts in on me or I just might clock her.” Then she signed “E-mail me!” and turned away.

Lindsay watched Sally sprint toward the curb, where her stepdad was waiting in his red convertible. Taylor sniffed and said loudly, “Does anyone smell burritos?”

Lindsay began walking to the café. Whenever Gammy Bess and Lindsay went to the Del Monte mall, they saw Taylor and her friends there, roaming. Gammy said they dressed so alike they looked like a litter of pit bull puppies, but to Lindsay it looked like they were having fun. They wove into and out of places like The Body Shop, Victoria’s Secret, Cinnabon, and Dillard’s. They never seemed to stop laughing. Lindsay walked the last half block to The Owl & Moon in the rain.

“Gammy Bess,” Lindsay called out.

Her great-grandmother was standing in the middle of the restaurant looking at nothing, holding Khan in her arms, petting the tiny black dog a lot harder than he liked, which wasn’t a good idea. Khan had limits, and if you crossed them, he’d bite.

“What’s the matter?” Lindsay said, scanning the room. There weren’t any late customers, and apparently Simon had already gone home. She held out her arms for the dog, but Gammy hung on to him. That was weird. Every afternoon Lindsay and Allegra took Khan to Dog Beach for his run, well, for as much of a run as any six-pound dog required. If Khan didn’t get his walk, he peed indoors, and then they had to listen to Gammy rant about the Health Department paying The Owl & Moon a surprise visit and shutting them down. “Where’s Allegra?”

Gammy gave a quick smile, one Lindsay didn’t buy for a minute. She lifted one of Khan’s paws and made him wave. “Well, look who’s here, Khannie. It’s my little honey bun. Alice is out. A doctor’s appointment. Totally routine. Nothing to concern yourself with. Your mother went with her. Just for the company. What do you want for your snack today? There’s a bowl of beef barley soup with your name on it, and I set aside some oatmeal cookies. How about a nice slice of cheddar with that, and some cocoa?”

Lindsay, who never wanted anything for her afternoon snack but carrot sticks, opted for the soup. While Gammy Bess fetched it, Lindsay took in the aspects of the environment like any good scientist. In times like this, when you clearly weren’t getting the entire story, a person could use Carl Sagan’s Baloney Detection kit.

Fact: Allegra hated Western medicine. When she felt sick, she went to see Krishna Dahvid, the acupuncturist. If she was at the doctor’s, something could be seriously wrong. A broken bone, or maybe she needed stitches.

Query: Why keep that a secret? It wasn’t like Lindsay would faint from hearing the news.

Invoking Occam’s Razor: When a simple answer will do, a scientist has to go with it, even though other more complex answers are also true.

Conclusion: Allegra was sick-sick. Go-to-the-doctor sick. Scary sick.

Lindsay ate the vegetables out of her soup while sitting at the table by the window. “Why did Allegra have to get a ride to the doctor? Why not drive herself, in Cronkite?” That was what Allegra called her Volkswagen van.

“She just wanted company, that’s all. Don’t you like company when you go to the doctor?”

“Not really,” Lindsay said. “Did she cut herself?”

“No,” Gammy said. “It’s just a checkup. She’ll be fine.”

Lindsay watched her great-grandmother start polishing salt and pepper shakers. That meant she was done talking. Lindsay set down her spoon. “Gammy, Khan likes his routine. If it’s all right with you, I’ll take him for his walk now.”

“Honey, it’s raining. Khan can miss his walk today.”

“I’ll put on his raincoat. We’ll just go around the block.”

Her great-grandmother nodded distractedly. “Okay, then. You be careful. Take an umbrella, and wear your rain boots.”

Lindsay fastened on Khan’s yellow slicker and harness. Allegra loved to dress him up. He had a cowboy outfit and also a Superman cape. At Halloween she made him a bumblebee costume and he won first prize in the Petco parade small dog division. “Bye, Gammy,” Lindsay said, but her great-grandmother stayed right where she was, staring out the café windows as if she were waiting for Publishers Clearing House to show up with the oversized cardboard check. Allegra must be really, really sick.

Downtown Pacific Grove was a dog walker’s heaven. From Lighthouse Produce to Tillie Gort’s, there were dog biscuits for the asking. Even the bookstore set out a water bowl. Every other corner had a poop bag dispenser. Khan trotted from trash can to trash can, taking in the rainy world through his tiny nostrils. A dog’s sense of smell was so far advanced that Lindsay could hardly imagine it. She unfurled the umbrella and sat down on a bus bench. Umbrellas were part of her world. In the summer she had to sit under one, otherwise she’d get sunburned. That was because of her father’s genes, which included red hair and freckly skin. She wondered if Ephraim Cantor had any other kids, if somewhere out there in the world she had a half-brother or -sister. Did they also like vegetables more than pizza, and reading science fiction? Were they too short, like she was, and what did they think of the Human Genome Project?

Khan was Allegra’s third Chihuahua. Allegra loved dogs more than she did cats, birds, dolphins, or horses. Lindsay liked Khan, but sometimes she imagined a longhaired orange cat curled up on her lap while she typed scientific findings into her computer. She imagined two tiny goldfish swimming in a bowl, waiting for the moment her fingers would release a pinch of flakes into the water. She imagined a cage with finches in it, too, with all their peeping and jumping, and then Khan whimpered for attention, so she stood up and started back toward the café. It was raining hard now, and her feet—she’d forgotten the boots—were soaking wet.

“We’re having dinner here tonight,” Lindsay’s mother said as they set out the day’s leftovers on the counter.

“Why?” Lindsay asked, her backpack in hand already for the usual rush home.

Her mother looked at her blankly. “What do you mean, why?”

Lindsay eyed the counter: a cinnamon bun that could feed a family of five, crumpets, almond horns, blackberry pie, and more beef barley soup. Reluctantly, she set her things on the floor, took a plate, and began filling it with two-day-old take-out salad. “It’s the week before college classes start. Why aren’t you meeting with students?”