A Hole in the Universe - Mary McGarry Morris [79]
Kevin, the father testifies, and Gordon’s lawyer jumps up in protest, not wanting it allowed humanness or gender.What does its name have to do with the facts of that night? “Everything!” the father bellows back. Gordon burrows deeper into the stony silence of shame one newspaper describes as “an unflinching disregard for the victims. During testimony, the young man stares into the distance, making eye contact with no one, not even his own family.” But in the years since, he has found solace knowing the fetus was allowed that—at least a name in his father’s mind, if not a memory, a name on some brittle page of court transcript, a name never entered on a birth certificate, but perhaps carved into granite, a name to mark his existence. Kevin Walters, a fact in the eyes of the defense, not a being.
It was four o’clock and they still weren’t back. One more favor he’d owe Delores now. He wished he hadn’t called her, but when Jada returned later in the morning, the dull-eyed puppy panting and limp in her arms, Gordon panicked.
“He’s dying. Look at him, he’s gonna die, I know he is. His heart’s hardly even beating,” the girl wailed. “My poor sweet baby’s gonna die.”
He tried to explain over Jada’s sobs, tried to apologize for calling Smick’s, but there was an emergency. That’s all Delores had to hear. She didn’t even hesitate. Help was needed, so she closed the store and got there in less than ten minutes. Dr. Loop in Hilliard, that’s where she used to bring her mother’s cats, she called back as Jada’s long skinny legs folded into the front seat with the dog wheezing at her chest. “He’s really good!” Delores called before she drove off, leaving Gordon confused but strangely energized, as if there were a thousand things he might do, if only he knew what they were.
When they finally returned, Jada had four different kinds of medicine for the slightly livelier dog that was sniffing the leg on the coffee table. Delores told Jada he had to go to the bathroom.
“Here.” Jada grabbed a section of the newspaper and tossed it. Leonardo squatted, spraying the paper. The long yellow stream dribbled over onto the floor.
“Jada!” Delores said.
“What?” Jada said.
“You can’t let him do that in somebody’s house!”
“But he’s paper-trained,” Jada said as Gordon hurried out of the kitchen with paper towels and Pine-Sol.
“Here . . .” Delores took the roll from him and handed it to the girl. “Clean it up and then bring him home. Poor thing’s had enough excitement for one day.”
After a quick wipe of the floor, Jada gathered up Leonardo and his medications. She had already thanked Delores and said good-bye, but she lingered in the doorway. She asked Delores how long her nails had to grow before they could be manicured.
“I already told you—you gotta have some white showing. At least to the tips of your fingers,” Delores said.
Jada frowned over the dog’s head at her chewed nails. “How long’s that take?”
“Not long. You’ll be surprised,” Delores said.
“What if they don’t grow?”
“They will. And if you’d wash your hands once in a while, they’d grow even faster.”
“What if they all grow, then one breaks?”
“Then we’ll go anyway!” Delores laughed. “Now will you please leave now so that poor thing can get some rest?”
“Oh, yeah, you sweet little baby,” Jada murmured, nuzzling his ear as she left.
“Wow! Is she a piece of work or what?” Delores sighed, watching through the window.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you. I just didn’t know what to do,” Gordon said. He felt foolish for having dragged her into this.
“No!” She was glad he had called her. What she meant was that she’d never met anyone quite like Jada Fossum.