Second First Impressions

“I just give them a place to rest and recover.” I go to the edge of the low enclosures I’ve put together in the courtyard. “I think number 44 has to go to the Reptile Zoo. We’ll send this one along for an x-ray and they can do the repair. They come through town pretty regularly, and they don’t charge us.”

“Wish I’d known that before I flirted the vet’s receptionist into giving me an account.” He grins at the memory.

I feel a pang, but it also injects a little resin into my heart. This is what he does. I’ve got to keep these Teddy Shields Up. “I know you didn’t get your money’s worth. Sorry I didn’t hear you. I’m not used to having anyone else around.”

He frowns over his tiny victim. “I knew you’d be really disappointed with me for this.” He’s got eyes like a little kid when he looks up, expecting a scolding. “You’ve never stepped on one, I bet.”

“I’ve been walking around these paths in the dark for years now. I’m sure you’ll watch your step.” I take a red lipstick out of my kit. “This one is number 50.”

“You rescue them and let them have a soft landing. I’ve never identified with a tortoise so much in my life.” He picks up his pen and writes a number 50 on the back of his hand. “I don’t think it’s too late for you to be a vet.”

I’m flustered. “I’m just an office assistant. Anyone can do this.” I turn to a fresh sheet and give him the clipboard. “You can do the form. Write his ID on his shell. Before you ask, I’ve tried the label maker, but they don’t stick. Long wear lipstick is perfect.”

He takes the lipstick and initials the shell TJ. “Teddy Junior. Where are you going to put him?”

“Just with the others.”

When it’s time to hand both the creature and the paperwork over, Teddy looks at my outstretched hand like he doesn’t trust me. Now he’s squinting up at the sky, checking for rain. He looks around the courtyard. It’s not good enough for his little prince.

Maybe like my sketch-for-coffee deal, it would be better if Teddy had to fix this himself. Besides, he invested a lot in this c

reature. “If it makes you feel better, you can keep him until his ride arrives. Just keep the box very level, don’t jiggle him around.” We put some bedding material in the box.

Teddy checks the time on his phone and does one of his huge lion-roar yawns. “Shit, I’ve got to start work soon. I have not been awake this early in years.”

I’m perplexed enough to recheck my watch. “It’s eight A.M.” I’m so early for work myself, I give myself a break and sit down on the cold metal chair beside him. Another thing I’ve never done? Actually sat in this courtyard in the morning sunshine.

“I can’t function this early. How bad is today going to be for me? Here’s your drawing,” he adds offhand, scribbling his initials in the bottom corner. I take the page he’s torn out for me. How was this detailed tortoise rendered with so little apparent effort, with a one-dollar biro? I expected a cute cartoon and I now own a one-off piece of art. I need to frame this.

His ego will be inflating but I don’t even care. “Teddy, this is amazing.”

Careless shrug. “So’s this coffee.” He turns over to a fresh sheet in his notebook and begins drawing with loose, easy motions. The outline of a long wool cardigan emerges, shaped onto a female figure. She’s rounded nicely at the breast and hip, and there’s an arch to the back and a flattering slim line to the waist.

I ask, “Where’d you go last night?”

“The bowling alley. Memory Lanes has got this insane thing on the bar menu called Frankenfries, and every now and then I can’t say no to the craving.”

“What are Frankenfries?”

“It’s a chain, so each location has its own version. At this one, it’s french fries, topped with macaroni and cheese”—he’s layering his hands now, TAKE-GIVE-TAKE—“then they put gravy, then a layer of breadcrumbs and it goes under the grill. Before you get it, they put a hotdog frank into it like a torpedo. It looks like dog food. We go there most Friday nights after we close up.” He means his tattoo buddies. Scrolling through his photo album he says absent-mindedly, “I need to look up if there’s one near the new studio.”

He shows me a photo of a hideous pile of food. His friends all crowding over it, pretending they puked it up. Tough guys with piercings and tough girls with presence. “See?” He uses two fingers to zoom the photo. “Yummy dog food.” One of the girls is looking at the camera, and the silly boy holding it. The look in her eye reads loud and clear. He’s divine.

I mean it when I say: “How disgusting.”

“When you need to eat your feelings, it’s the only thing that’ll do.”

“Your feelings must have been pretty gross and mixed up.”

“Yeah. You get it.” Sketch, sketch. “Anyway, that was my sad night. I came back late, imagining myself alone in the world. Then I found your care package and I remembered that there’s nice people everywhere.”

You may have noted that I only gave him one towel.

“I probably should have mentioned this, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring guests on-site. During the day when they’re signed in at the office . . . that might be okay if a friend wants to visit you. But I need to know every single person on-site. In the event of an emergency.”

“Who would I bring to a retirement villa?”

I can’t bring myself to say it. Don’t bring any of those people from the photo here. I’ve cracked a hole in the wall of my little world, and it’s only big enough for you to squeeze through. Don’t make me hear a woman’s laugh through our wall.