19

A NECESSARY CHANGE

Wendy sat in the middle of the living-room floor, giving Lucky her bottle. Kyle appeared in the doorway, holding a piece of paper. “Wendy,” he asked in a worried voice, “can this be right?”

“What?”

“You spent $1,978 at Home Depot last week?”

“I’m afraid so.” Wendy looked down at Lucky, who seemed to have had enough milk and was now trying to climb out of her lap. She carried the kitten back to the bathroom and put her in the litter box, to teach her that one doesn’t go pee-pee just anywhere. She also gave her a couple of pats on the rectum with a piece of tissue, to remind her that there are other things kittens are supposed to do in a litter box, too.

Then she went back into the living room to discuss the bill with Kyle. “I’m sorry I had to take it out of our account. I’ll replace it as soon as possible. I’ve already talked to more small business owners in town about doing their accounts for them.”

“It’s not the money,” Kyle said. “I mean, it is the money, of course. But I just don’t understand …” He didn’t finish the sentence.

“What? You wanted BB out of the house, so now he’s out of the house. That bill also includes materials for Velvet’s enclosure, which I’ll build this week.”

“What I don’t understand,” Kyle said, “is when this change came about.”

“What change?”

“You always said that wild animals belonged in the wild, and if they got taken out of their natural habitat for some reason, they should be returned there as soon as possible.”

“I still believe that,” Wendy said. “That’s why I went to the trouble of becoming a licensed wildlife rehabber.”

“Yeah, but now all of a sudden we’ve got these animals that have to have permanent places to live. Big, permanent, expensive places.”

“That’s because all of a sudden we’ve got animals that can’t be released back into the wild.”

“The deer and the bobcats, you mean?”

“Yes, because they’ve lost their fear of humans.” Wendy pointed at Velvet, who was butting against Kyle’s knee. “If a hunter pointed a gun at Velvet, she’d probably think the gun had milk in it, and run toward him.”

“What about that state park where you let the raccoons go?” Kyle asked.

“That works for animals that are still more wild than not. But what’s to keep ones like Velvet or BB from wandering out of the park? And they would, specifically to find people, because they’ve come to associate people with food.”

“I guess there’s nothing to keep them from wandering off our place, either,” Kyle concluded. “Unless they’re kept in some kind of pen.”

“True,” Wendy admitted. “Right now Velvet is so small that she could crawl under the barbed-wire fence that runs around the edge of our place. And in another few months, she’ll be big enough to jump the fence. She’ll need a special corral.”

Kyle sat on the footstool, folding and refolding the bill from Home Depot. Finally he said, “So, does this mean that instead of the farm being a wildlife hospital, with patients released as soon as they’re well, you’re turning it into a wildlife orphanage, where animals will live permanently?”

“I guess,” Wendy said. “Only in wildlife circles, they don’t call it an orphanage. They call it a sanctuary. A place for wild animals that for one reason or another can’t be released back into the wild. I’ve done a lot of research on the web.” She paused, then said guiltily, “I was going to talk to you about it, but you’ve been working such long hours, and coming home so tired …”

“And you figured I’d freak when you told me how much this so-called ‘sanctuary’ is going to cost.”

“Well, yeah,” Wendy admitted, and added hurriedly, “but I’m working on that.”

“So you said.” Kyle glanced at his watch, and seeing that it was time to leave for work, went to the closet for his holster and gun. “You’re going to start doing accounts for more businesses.”

“And I’ve talked to the wildlife conservation people about getting free venison that they confiscate from hunters who’ve shot animals out of season. That way it won’t cost so much to feed BB. And Lucky, when she’s old enough to eat meat.”

When Kyle didn’t answer, Wendy followed him to the door. “Kyle?”

He turned to face her. “What?”

“Are you mad?”

“Not if this is what you want. But I hope you understand what it means.”

“In what sense?” Wendy asked.

“Meaning, the money we might have used for a vacation is going to be spent on animal pens and animal food and whatever else it takes to run an animal orphanage.”

Wendy put her hands on her hips. “Kyle Collins, we’ve been married almost three years. And how many vacations have we taken?”

“Well, none, because — well, you know how hard it is for me to get time off.”

“Because you won’t take time off. Admit it, Kyle. You’re a workaholic.” Wendy paused, and gave him a crooked smile. “That’s because, like me, your work is more interesting to you than doing nothing on a so-called vacation.”

“I guess.” Kyle gave Wendy a kiss and headed for the door. As he stepped out onto the porch, he said over his shoulder, “But I get paid for the work I do.”

Wendy knelt to hug the fawn. “You hear that, Velvet? Kyle hasn’t twigged to the fact that keeping a sweet thing like you alive is all the pay I need. Danny would understand, though, that being surrounded by animals is my idea of a perfect vacation.”

She rose and looked around the living room, at the little black pellets scattered across the hardwood floor. “Except for the fact that everywhere you go you leave your poop, and I have run around after you cleaning up! That’s no vacation.”