“I need to get to the airport,” I tell Kai, scrambling out of bed and pulling on my sand-wrinkled sundress. “Now.”
He rolls over, a sleepy, dazed look in his eyes. “Huh?”
“I need to fly home right now. Zuri’s sick.” I’m already crying so hard that I can barely see well enough to find my flip-flops.
Kai’s out of bed in an instant, crossing the room to hug me. “Okay. I’ll call Freya and we’ll book the first flight out. It’s gonna be okay.”
“You don’t know that.” My voice is choked, panicked, with a flinty edge. I’m sick of people offering empty words of consolation that they have no way or intention of seeing through. I’ll be back in a week, Karina told me. I don’t want kids, either, Nick promised me early on in our relationship. You’re enough for me. It was bullshit, all of it, and even though Kai’s doing his best to calm me down, there’s no guarantee that everything will turn out okay. There’s no guarantee they’ll turn out anywhere close.
“I should never have come here,” I tell him, grabbing my purse off the floor. “I shouldn’t have left Zuri. And I shouldn’t have spent the whole day frolicking on the beach like an idiot instead of checking on her.”
“Lucy, come on,” Kai says, hurriedly putting on a pair of jeans. “Zuri was doing well when we left. You had no way of knowing that wouldn’t last.”
Oh, but I did. “Of course I did,” I insist, hot tears stinging my eyes. “Good things never last. It’s the way of the world, in case you haven’t noticed. And maybe I would have known if I’d been at the top of my game. Maybe she had symptoms or signs that she wasn’t healing completely, and I didn’t notice because I was too busy watching 90 Day Fiancé and playing house with you.”
Kai sucks in his breath. “I know you’re upset, but let’s not lash out at each other. Let’s stay calm and get to the airport.”
But I’m not really lashing out at him. I’m lashing out at myself, for doing the one thing I promised myself I wouldn’t: losing my bull’s-eye focus on work for something as fickle and fleeting as a summertime hookup. I think of Zuri, the gorilla who changed my life all those years ago, sick and suffering and probably scared out of her mind more than two thousand miles away. I should be there with her. I should have never left.
And I have no one but myself to blame.
We manage to get a six thirty a.m. flight, but I still have to spend five agonizing hours waiting for the plane to take off. I pace around the San Diego International Airport, my phone pressed to my ear as I get updates from Phil and Lottie and even Nick. They don’t know exactly what’s going on with Zuri; Jack first noticed her pressing a fist to her chest yesterday afternoon, as if she was in pain, and a stat call to the veterinary team determined her heartbeat was irregular. They suspected a pulmonary embolism, a rare postsurgical complication. Imaging showed a small clot, but when they administered blood thinners to dissolve it, her heart rate didn’t stabilize.
Kai tries to hold my hand as we wait to board, but I can’t stand to be touched. All I want is to get home to Zuri, for her to be okay, and to never leave her again. It’s late afternoon eastern time when we land in Columbus, and Freya stays behind to grab our checked luggage while Kai and I sprint to passenger pickup, where Sam waits with a box of Kleenex and a lead foot. She breaks a dozen road safety laws as we rush to the Animal Health Center, and I try to open the car door before she even switches the gear into park.
I sprint inside the health center with Kai behind me, and when I round the corner to the surgical suite, I find Phil, Lottie, Jack, Scotty the intern, and Dr. Trotter clustered around an anesthetized Zuri. Everyone’s eyes are red, and Lottie gasps when she sees me.
“Lucy,” she says, grabbing my hand and guiding me toward Zuri’s side. “You got here just in time.”
Just in time for what? In time for Dr. Trotter to do chest compressions? In time to help administer another round of anticoagulant drugs?
“It’s time for her to go, Lucy,” Phil says, placing a hand on my shoulder.
No. It can’t be. Three days ago she was scurrying across the exhibit to grab a chunk of pumpkin. Three days ago she was clutching her new surrogate baby to her chest. Three days ago I was telling her I loved her, that I’d be right back.
“But she was fine,” I say, barely able to get the words out. “She was fine, and we just need to—”
Dr. Trotter shakes her head, and even though I want to rip off her stethoscope and fling it across the room, I know what she’s thinking: fine three days ago doesn’t matter. And she’s right. Animals, just like people, can be fine one minute and dead the next, and sometimes all the medical interventions and life-saving techniques and love in the world aren’t enough to stop it.
“Her blood pressure won’t stabilize,” the vet explains, her eyes wet. “She’s clotting and bleeding and clotting and bleeding, and her body’s just given up the fight. She’s held on as long as possible, and we’ve done all we can.”
I stare at her in disbelief before turning my attention to Zuri. Her chest rises and falls, but slowly, and when I reach out to touch her massive hand with my smaller one, she doesn’t react.
“She’s not in any pain,” Dr. Trotter assures me.
It’s only a small relief, because the pain ripping through me is a knife that shreds my insides, down to my very heart, and all that’s left of me is sorrow and despair.
“Zuri,” I whisper, lowering my face to her ear. “I love you. I love you so, so much, and you’re my smart, strong girl. Always have been, always will be.” I can hardly breathe because of the sobs wracking my body, but the vet and my colleagues back away slightly, and the message is clear: they’ve said their good-byes, and now it’s my turn.
I press my hand to the beautiful blaze of copper fur that crosses Zuri’s forehead and nuzzle my face against her chest. I think of all the days we’ve spent together, all the times she’s listened to me pour my heart out to her in exchange for popcorn and protein biscuits. I think of how many children have visited the zoo to marvel at her and left with the same love for gorillas that she sparked in me when I was young. I think of how she saved Keeva from a lifetime of living without a troop, and how much better so many lives have been because of her existence.
I think that this is the last time I’ll ever see her.
“I love you,” I tell her again, my tears wetting her thick fur. “You saved my life and gave it purpose. I will make sure you are never forgotten.”
The heart rate monitor beeps, followed by a long warning buzz, and I keep my face tucked into Zuri’s chest as Dr. Trotter announces the time of death. I stay like that for a long time, sobbing and telling my favorite gorilla how sorry I am as Jack and Lottie and Scotty the intern try their best to comfort me. Finally, when it’s time to transport Zuri’s body for a necropsy, I lift my head up. Despite my desperate claims that I never should have let myself get distracted by Kai, I need him right now. I need him to wrap his arms around me and tell me it’s going to be okay, even if I can’t believe him. Even if I still have to wake up tomorrow, and every day after that, and live without the gorilla who changed my life.
But when I turn away from Zuri, expecting to find Kai waiting with open arms, what I see knocks the air out of my lungs. Because his arms aren’t open at all. They’re holding up the camera he’s got hoisted over his shoulder, the one he’s pointing straight at me.