Chapter 3
Mr. Parks visited Mimi every day. Was he cheering her up or just tiring her out? He didn’t know. He could wrangle business people so easily, but he found doctors and nurses to be puzzling. But then again, he knew, they were puzzled too. He looked for ways to cheer Mimi up. He came in one afternoon with a bag full of multivitamins and fish oil.
Mimi smiled. “This isn’t like you!”
“I looked it up. Okay, well, Margaret looked it up. She’s into vitamins.”
“And she looks great,” said Mimi half encouraging, half teasing. She often teased her father about his beautiful and obsessively healthy, marathon-running secretary.
“Well, she said you should see her herbalist as well, but only if you want to, sweetheart.”
“Sure, it can’t hurt. Is this lady discreet?”
“The best, according to Margaret.”
“I don’t want to end up accidentally becoming the spokesperson for lavender oil or flaxseeds or whatever it is they prescribe.”
He laughed. “I’m going to start taking the fish oil too. She got me a bottle. You’ve been telling me for years to do something to protect my skin,” he said.
“Right, I completely believe that you will remember to do that.” She laughed a big, real, open laugh. The sound was so sweet to him; he was overjoyed that he had thought to buy the vitamins. He would have taken castor oil just to hear her laugh at him. She was sitting up in bed and looked more energized than before. The doctors had told them that she would get more accustomed to the seizures, in a way get stronger, be less tired afterward. Even the tingling, the strange sensations, she would come to understand those, not to panic.
“When you’re ready for them, Margaret has an overwhelming number of suggestions for you, and for me. She wrote them down. I think there’s even a feng shui consultant in there somewhere. She says this woman is the best in LA for making your house promote health and tranquility.”
“Who doesn’t want health and tranquility? I’m guessing that suggestion was really for you. But don’t hire her because we are not updating the ’70s spaceship kitchen, ever,” Mimi teased. “Don’t even try to get me to do that.” Mimi remembered when she was sixteen and had asked him to update the house. He had done a few cosmetic things but nothing to the dark, wood-trimmed, ’70s interior. He loved the safe, cozy feel of it. Compared with everyone else’s mansion, at the Parks’ house you felt like you were in a real house. Mr. Parks didn’t want a house in which the ceilings were high enough that they could harbor birds of prey, didn’t want a house in which you could get lost. When Mimi and Paloma were little, he loved that he could sit in the living room and always hear where they were, their little feet tromping around, their games.
“I won’t touch it. The orange spaceship stays,” he said, enjoying her banter.
“What else does Margaret want me to do?” asked Mimi.
“Yoga.”
“Maybe,” an impish grin came over her face, “if you do it too!”
“What?”
“Don’t you want me to get better?”
“That’s not fair!” He laughed.
“What? Me using my illness to manipulate you? It’s totally fair.”
“Is not!”
“It’s practical from my point of view. You’ve always said to use the tools you have. Because of my illness, you might live forever!”
“I don’t know how to feel about that.”
“You’ll feel better about it once you’ve taken a bunch of fish oil and yoga.”
Mr. Parks prepared his rebuttal but stopped mid-thought as he looked at Mimi. She was looking over his shoulder and her face fell. He turned to see a doctor, one they hadn’t met yet, with a clipboard and a very forced smile.
“Miss Parks. Good news; we can let you go home tomorrow!”
Mimi didn’t know what to say. Was that good news? They were going to discharge her with no real diagnosis? That was it? They had nothing for her? Mr. Parks read her mind.
“How can you discharge her if you don’t even know what’s wrong?” Mr. Parks felt fury rising in his throat. “She’s having a seizure or two every day.”
“Well,” the doctor’s voice was practical, sensible, impartial but also nervous. Mr. Parks had to remind himself that doctors are people too. The doctor continued, “She’s not improving here. She can’t stay here forever. To be perfectly honest, we’ve done everything we can do in the hospital context. She didn’t respond to the most common anti-seizure medications. Her care will have to be managed by a neurologist who can try different medications, combinations of medications. Dr. Betts does see patients outside the hospital. Or you can choose someone else. She may need more testing, but there’s no reason for her to stay here for that. She may see some improvement from just being at home where she can get better sleep and be surrounded by familiar things. She does need to be very careful about falling.” The doctor handed him some papers and a pamphlet titled “My Seizures.” It fell open to reveal pictures of multiracial people smiling. Mr. Parks couldn’t remember the last time anyone had handed him a pamphlet. He thought the world had moved far beyond pamphlets. Were there really only three pages of information about seizures to be learned? Where was the flash drive full of information, and the eager interns? Where were the multiple proposals for him to choose from, the pie charts? Where was the boardroom?
He took a breath and tried to take stock of the situation. Mimi would see the best neurologist. He would get her a nurse. She would be happier at home, with Martine. He turned to Mimi. “I’ll phone Martine and let her know. She will be thrilled.”
Mimi wanted to go home. But she wanted to go home healthy. She wanted to go back to her life. If she went home sick, did that mean they were giving up? She wanted to get up in the morning and sail down the stairs to her espresso machine while fielding phone calls about promotional ads and appearances. She wanted to slip into the pool and let the world melt away. She figured that was not going to be an option. She had yet to research swimming with epilepsy, but she didn’t think she should get her hopes up.
Mr. Parks called Martine.
“Yes, tomorrow, they’re letting her come home tomorrow.”
“Oh, Mr. Parks! Muchas gracias!” Martine sounded so relieved on the phone that that he felt relieved too. He halfway listened to Martine’s plans for what she was going to cook and how she was going to make Mimi safe and happy. He watched his daughter out of the corner of his eye and could tell that she was terrified. He was terrified too. What if this was going to be their new forever?
The next morning he stood by the door waiting for Mimi to change into the clothes he had brought. She was so fashionable, even in her casual, leaving-the-hospital wear. She had given him very specific instructions on where to find the right oversized shirt, which ballet flats. He stood in the hall and marveled at her attention to detail. Maybe he hadn’t given her chosen career enough credit. The hospital counselor approached him. He recognized her from Mimi’s disparaging description, the precision of her hairstyle, the protrusion of her elbows. She was skinny even by LA standards and weaving side to side like a skittish animal. He tried to ignore her until it was embarrassingly obvious that she was approaching him.
Finally he said, “Yes?”
“I heard you’re taking Mimi home today.”
“Yes, the doctors feel it’s best.”
“You know she’s despondent. She may be depressed.”
“Well, she suddenly started having seizures and there doesn’t seem to be any reason for it. Also I don’t know why we haven’t found the medication that controls it yet.” His frustration was measured, but formidable. He wanted this woman to go away.
The counselor continued, “It’s particularly hard to be sick when you’re famous.”
Mr. Parks was rattled. He hadn’t expected to have to have a conversation about fame. It felt vulgar to him.
“Being famous gives you a feeling of invincibility. People think being f
amous makes your life easy, but, in some specific ways, it makes life very difficult. To have a chronic illness…”
“We don’t know that this will be chronic,” he snapped.
“No, we don’t. But it’s worth thinking about. If you come out with it publicly you become the person who defines it. It’s not just being sick, it’s being sick for the whole world to see, or it’s plummeting out of the spotlight. Some people channel the shock into doing something productive. It’s okay if she doesn’t want to do the show anymore, but try not to let her hide completely.”
Her last words echoed in his ears. Try not to let her hide completely. He supposed it was possible to be both obnoxious and astute in her profession.
Mimi stared out the car window on the way home. Was it her imagination or was everything too bright, too clear? Her eyes were wet. She realized she had forgotten her sunglasses. They pulled up to the house. Mimi wondered what the feng shui expert would think of this low-lying house with large asymmetrical windows and cedar trim. When it was built, it was the nicest house in the neighborhood. Now it was the oldest. The angle of the roof sloped down in the back where the lawn also sloped away. This was one of the gentlest of the Beverly Hills. The long, single-story kitchen and living rooms made a sharp right angle into the two stories of bedrooms. All the bedrooms had their own french doors and small rectangular balconies, making the house look like a Lego hotel. Martine’s suite was downstairs; Mimi’s, her father’s, and Paloma’s rooms were upstairs. She saw that the blinds were drawn on her balcony in preparation for the hangover she was expecting to wake up with when she left the house more than a week ago. Mr. Parks drove slowly into the garage. The eight-car garage was the most extravagant thing on the property. They had moved in when Mimi was a baby; even though SkyCut was already a booming company, Mr. Parks was hesitant to buy something he thought was excessive. Since Mimi’s mother left, they had only made two upgrades: the pool and the garage. Mr. Parks got out of the car and looked at her expectantly.
“I’ll just be a minute,” she said, and pulled out her phone. He didn’t want to leave her there. They had told her to always walk with someone.
She understood the meaning of his hesitation. “It’s all of a hundred feet,” she said irritably. Mr. Parks walked into the house.
Mimi texted her agent, short and to the point, “Cancel all my contracts except the perfume.”
The swift response came. “Has someone hacked your phone?” A few moments later, “Are you having a reality TV meltdown?”
“No,” Mimi texted back. “I’m sick. Not drugs. Don’t tell anyone, just cancel everything but the perfume.”
A minute later Mimi wrote, “And start looking for other clients.”
“Bastien will call you about ‘Mimi does Europe’,” her agent wrote back immediately. This was a woman whose phone was in her hand every second of every day. Mimi could almost hear the clipped tone of voice in her text, at the same time no-nonsense and slightly gossipy. It was true that Bastien wouldn’t let her off the hook without talking to her. Better to get it over with.
“Fine.”
He would call. She would tell him. He would let her off the hook for season two with a quick, “Okay, I’ll come up with a plausible excuse.” He was direct. He was busy. His world had already moved past her.
Mimi got out of the car and walked into the house. She ran her fingers along the front of her green vintage Jaguar. She didn’t know if she would drive again. Don’t cry, she thought, don’t cry, and don’t think about anything else you might never do again. Just don’t think it. She opened the door to the house. Her father looked relieved even though it had been only a few minutes. Martine came up and gave her a big hug, then stepped back, smoothing back Mimi’s hair with her gentle hands. Mimi felt like going to bed though it was eleven o’clock in the morning. She was faced with a terrifying thought: What am I going to do all day, every day, if I feel this bad? At least there was the television.
Where once she had enjoyed dramatic television, and foreign art movies, now she found she liked the Discovery Channel, anything with animals, and action movies with a lot of car chases; the more car chases the better. She tried listening to books on tape, but could only make it halfway through before shutting them off. Only Sherlock Holmes and Agatha Christie murder mysteries could hold her attention to the end. She best liked the ones where she already knew the plot.
Now that she was home, her eating, always difficult for her, waned to an all-time low. Half-eaten items started to pile up around her: half a sandwich, half a muffin, a half-opened yogurt container without a spoon.
Mr. Parks offered to hire her a nurse, but the truth was she only wanted to see Martine. Actually, she wanted to be completely alone, but they had warned her about falls. She stayed where Martine could see her; Martine, to her credit, didn’t try to talk. She just cooked Mimi’s favorite things, set them out to be eaten or not, sat by her when she showered, slept on the couch in Mimi’s room.
Mr. Parks watched her glide around the house, like a ghost. It was agony for him. He was a doer. And what was he doing? He was watching his daughter disintegrate. He put off trip after trip. He was always traveling, but now he spent most of his time on the phone trying to avoid travel. But what’s a business venture when you have a daughter? The biggest SkyCut event of the year was coming up in Oslo. Before Mimi got sick, he had been looking forward to it. It was shaping up to be a good year. He had even started to enjoy public speaking. Now he wasn’t sure he could get out of it. He made plans to go, feeling guilty even though he wasn’t sure that he was helping Mimi by being at home. She wouldn’t even let him take her to her appointments with the neurologist and the herbalist; Dennis took her. Who could have guessed how useful having a driver would prove? Two days before Mr. Parks was supposed to leave for Oslo, he came and sat by Mimi, who was lying in a lounge chair by the pool. She didn’t look up at him.
“I can cancel my trip,” he said tentatively.
“Please don’t. I’m okay.” A gust of wind caused the water to lap the edge in soft waves.
“You know you can’t go in the pool.” He meant to say something sweet, but somehow the rules came out instead.
“Yes, or my car or anywhere with hard surfaces.” She turned her face away from him.
“I’m sorry. We’ll figure this out, honey.”
“I know,” said Mimi, but she knew they would not. She hadn’t made any progress with the neurologist except to try some drugs that made her vomit, which did not help her eating. The neurologist had started weighing her, making clucking noises over the scale. She tried to wear her heaviest pants and belts when she went to his office. It was embarrassing.
Mr. Parks squinted into the sun and made a decision that he had been laying the groundwork for over the last couple of weeks. “I have something for you that I think you’ll really like,” he said. “I’ll be back.” As he walked away from her, he pulled out his cell phone, made a quick call, and said, “We’re ready, now, if at all possible.”
Mimi watched him leave and then went back to staring at the pool. What could he be talking about? She couldn’t imagine anything that she would really like right now except maybe a miracle drug. She turned her e-reader on, and a slightly robotic British accent began to dictate Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s “Sherlock Holmes: The Final Problem.” She stared into space, trying to lose herself in the mechanical voice. She had downloaded this retro e-reader voice on purpose. She preferred the older e-reader voices, the ones that made mistakes. She always felt a little glee at their mispronunciations and a little pity for them. After all, they were just machines, trying their very best. She felt no pity for Sherlock Holmes, though. He was making foolish choices with his life. Why didn’t he just go back to London and find some other way to kill Moriarty? She was looking forward to the part where he falls off the cliff. It’s amazing, she thought, she used to hate sitting. She used to be busy all the time. Now her sore, exhausted body was glued to the lounge
chair all day.
The e-reader droned on. Dr. Watson was too naïve, it was not believable. Someone who spent that much time with Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t be so gullible. He would have learned something. The afternoon was hot and she wanted to get in the water, maybe even more so because she wasn’t allowed. What if she just put her feet in? Maybe up to the knees? Her father had the pool put in when she was a child. She had gotten to pick it out. Of all the possible shapes, she chose this elaborate teardrop with a big staircase and attached Jacuzzi hot tub. It had been so fancy when it was new. Now everyone had something more exciting, but really, why bother? She couldn’t believe that she was an adult and she was going to waste her twenties, maybe even her thirties and on into forever living a half-life, lying down. According to her e-reader, Holmes was lost forever, and Watson felt sad. She didn’t bother to close the app when it beeped at the end of the story. She dozed off.
Her father drove up an hour later; she heard the sound of his car on the drive and remembered he had gone to get something for her. He had left the gate open in the privacy fence of the patio when he left, and now he pulled right up to it. He got out of his car, and opened the back door as though he were a working valet. Mimi was so surprised at what she saw that she stood up without thinking. A pair of big brown eyes stared at her from the back seat, where a sleek gray dog was comfortably seated, his face calm, his ears alert.
“Okay, boy!” her father said awkwardly and made a sweeping gesture with his hand.
The dog jumped gracefully to the ground and stood by Mr. Parks.
For a moment Mimi completely forgot all of her problems. She ran up to them.
“Really? Really, for me? Oh, he’s so cute! Daddy, he’s CUTE! I thought you didn’t want me to have a dog.” She fondled his ears. They were unbelievably silky. He wagged his tail patiently. He had a wide chest. Mimi scratched him behind the ears and he leaned into her hand. She felt a swell of joy in her heart.
His fur was short and soft; she ran her hands along his back and patted his sides. His tail kept wagging.
“He’s a seizure dog,” said her father.
“Oh,” she said. Her enthusiasm for the dog suddenly drained out of her.
Mr. Parks saw her smile fall. “Just try him, please. With his trainer he was a hundred percent effective.”
“Oh.” She stopped patting the dog’s head and her hands fell listless at her sides.
“The head of the program actually said he’d never seen anything like him. He’s not just accurate; he’s so calm. I don’t…” Mr. Parks looked at Mimi’s crestfallen face. “You don’t have to take him, honey. I just thought…because you’ve been…he can help you. Service dogs are allowed everywhere now. He can even go out with you, if he works well, when you go out with your friends.”
“I don’t want to go out with my friends.”
Her father searched for words, “Then he can…sit with you.”
She looked at the dog, who sat quietly, ears alert as though he understood their words. “Did he come with a name?” she asked.
“Ky,” said her father.
“When I wanted a dog a couple of years ago I was going to get a Husky/Pomeranian mix puppy and name him Thor. They look like tiny, tiny Huskies and I was going to put him in a carrier and take him everywhere.” Her voice took on a note of hysteria. “Everyone was going to love him because he was so little.”
“You can change his name,” Mr. Parks said, gesturing to the dog, trying to calm her agitation.
The gray dog pushed his head gently back under Mimi’s hand. Surprised, she pulled her hand away.
“I like Ky, I guess.” She looked back and forth between Ky and her father as though they were teaming up against her. “I just hate everything else! I don’t want the dog, I don’t want the seizures, I want to do my show! I want to get in the pool! I want to drive! I hate being sick, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I HATE it!” Her tears started flowing freely, but she could hardly feel them running down her face. The heat of her tears matched perfectly with the heat of the afternoon. She knew she should be embarrassed to cry in front of her father, but she was too frustrated and disappointed to care. “I don’t want THIS to be my life!”
Mr. Parks looked at her helplessly. A year ago he would have wished that Mimi would take her life seriously; now he realized he’d give anything to watch her walk out the door as she was before, careless, chaotic, young, sporting a new dress. He wished he’d gotten her the pocketbook Husky that she had wanted.
Ky was motionless, but his eyes were on Mimi.
Mr. Parks left for Oslo. Ky’s trainer from the Seizure Dog Center came to the house every day for a week. They went over possible seizure alert behaviors. They also practiced regular dog training: sit, stay, come. But the training turned out to be just a formality.
“He never misses,” said the trainer.
And it was true. Patient, insistent, he was always by her side. He never pulled the leash. He never snatched a treat. He sat down in front of her ten minutes before every seizure and gave a gentle bark as if to say, “You cannot pass this way yet. You have something you have to do.”
Mimi asked the trainer if all the dogs were that good.
“They’re not all that good around the house,” he laughed. “Some of them come with regular dog behaviors, stealing food off the counters, chasing squirrels, stuff like that. One of our families has to hide all their socks and shoes from their alert dog.”
“Oh, I’m so glad that’s not me! I know it’s a stereotype but, as you can imagine, I have a lot of shoes.”
He shrugged. “It’s your job.”
“Was,” she corrected.
He reached out a hand and patted her on the back with the most sympathy and camaraderie she had ever felt from another human being. Mimi admired his ease in talking about seizures.
He continued, “All of our dogs excel at seizure alert. They have to. Otherwise it would be dangerous to have them. But what’s interesting about Ky is that his timing seems to be perfect; you could set a clock by him. Not all of our dogs are like that.”
“Yes,” said Mimi, “always exactly ten minutes.”
“And I know you said he’s just as good when I’m not here, even at night,” said the trainer, impressed.
“Yeah,” said Mimi. “It has only happened once, but he barked to wake me up so that I could put in my bite stick, ten minutes exactly. And you know what’s crazy? I feel like he’s so familiar. I recognize him somehow, from somewhere. I recognize his eyes.”
“Well that’s common with seizures, that sense of déja vu. They didn’t tell you about that in the hospital?”
“They didn’t tell me much at the hospital.”
“Well, déja vu and seizures have been reported together forever, not for everyone, obviously, but for some. It’s not even culturally specific. It’s the same feeling all over the world.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think that’s it,” said Mimi. “I mean, it’s not a situation I re-live. It’s his eyes, his face that I recognize. Plus, I don’t have déja vu about anything else.”
“Seizure feelings are hard to explain. I definitely feel that my dog is familiar, but I’ve had him for a long time. Still, there is something odd about Ky. He came to us just a few weeks ago, and he’s already more than ready to go into service. When your father came to get him, it was as if he was ready to go. It was like none of the other dogs was even an option. I felt that way too. Now I can’t quite think why.”
Ky cocked his head at them and exhaled, like a sigh.
“Sometimes his gestures are so human,” Mimi laughed.
With Ky around, Mimi started to regain confidence. She could walk around the house and yard without holding onto someone’s arm. She started to have fewer seizures. She was elated the first time twenty-four hours went by without a seizure. The trainer said that was a known side effect of the dogs.
“Doctors think it’s because they reduce stress,” he said. “Who knows what it
is, really? It’s pretty amazing that dogs can sense seizures when we can’t at all.”
“You know what I think it is? I think the dog makes you feel like you’re not going to die. I mean, I know you’re not likely to die from seizures. I’ve read the statistics. A long seizure that you never wake up from, that’s so unlikely. But when it’s you, you think, I could die, like, there’s something special about me, and not special in a good way. Like sometimes when you get on a plane and you know in your mind that people don’t mostly die on planes but you think, I could. That could happen to me right now. But the dog makes you think, oh, right, this is normal. Okay buddy, I’ll be here when you wake up. And I’ll be the same.”
“The dog definitely always feels that you’re going to come out the other side,” the trainer agreed.
“And hopefully he’s right.” Mimi sighed dubiously. They had come out to the lawn to go over sit, stay, come. Ky always got it right, so they were practicing heel without a lead, just walking around the yard.
“Are you in a support group, Mimi?”
“No. I see a neurologist and an herbalist. I might start seeing a counselor or a hypnotist or an acupuncturist or a feng shui consultant,” she laughed. “Those are just a few of the suggestions I’m considering.”
“At least you’re considering all your options,” he acknowledged with a grin. “Isn’t feng shui interior design?”
“People who do it would say it’s more than that, but, yes, sort of.”
“How would that help?”
“Who knows? Therefore, there’s no reason not to try it.” Mimi smiled. “But right now I’m trying to just add one thing at a time.”
“Support groups are really helpful.”
“Right, but then all it takes is one indiscreet person.”
“I know. Your life has some special considerations. But think about it.”
“I will.”
“There really is nothing quite like people who understand exactly what you’re going through.”
“I believe it. I didn’t realize how lonely I was before Ky showed up, you and Ky. It’s like other people just made me feel lonelier.”
“I’ve always had seizures,” said the trainer, “never had a time in my life without them. I think it’s probably easier that way.”
“I never thought about it. Never once in my life did it occur to me that I could start having seizures. Honestly, it never occurred to me that I could get sick at all. I was stupid, pompous, naïve, and…did I say stupid?”
“I think that’s pretty normal.”
“To be stupid, pompous, and naïve?”
The trainer laughed. “Yes. I think that is normal. But it’s also normal to not even wonder what other people’s lives are like, or to imagine that you could be different.”
“I wondered what people’s lives in other countries were like.”
“Naturally; that’s how you ended up with your show.”
“And I wondered what people’s lives were like who were watching the show sometimes. I actually had this daydream that I would switch sides of the television, that I would end up in a doublewide trailer somewhere in Middle America watching ‘Mimi Does Europe.’ In case you’re wondering, fake me admired real me, in the daydream.” She looked down at her hands. “Sorry, that probably sounded really pompous. Maybe all those people in Middle America just watch because there’s nothing good on TV. I guess I am pompous, but that’s not what I meant about the daydream. I meant…I just want to know what the other side of the TV is like.”
“Now see,” said the trainer cheerfully, “I never wondered what that would be like.”
“What?”
“To be on television, to have millions of people know your face and your name.”
“You never wondered that?”
“I don’t think so. I just watch television, I don’t think about making it.”
“I took for granted that everyone wants to be famous.”
“I grew up as a sick kid. I just wanted to be normal.”
“You’re more normal than I am,” said Mimi. “I mean, kind of, that came out wrong.”
“I’m over it, wanting to be normal. Well, I’m almost over it.” There was a rawness to his words.
Ky licked the trainer’s hand appreciatively. Mimi had almost forgotten he was there.
“He’s such a good dog,” said the trainer. “You lucked out.”
Martine watched them out the window, strolling through the grass. She was hopeful. Martine felt as if the dog was real medicine. Plus, she liked having him around. She liked feeding him. Dogs were so appreciative of food, much more appreciative than young women who had to make a living in Hollywood, she thought. Martine had worked for Mr. Parks for twenty years and they had never had a dog, even though Mimi had wanted one. Mimi had begged for one, but Mr. Parks said no, they traveled too much to get a dog. And, Martine thought, a puppy is a lot of work. When the girls were young, he was also probably trying to protect Martine from having to work too much. She appreciated that. Watching Mimi walk so comfortably with Ky was one of those ironic twists of fate, she thought. You never really get what you want in the way you want it.
After Ky had been with them for a week, Mimi had a terrible night, seizure after seizure. Ky sat at the foot of her bed all night. Every time she went to get up he gave a warning bark. Martine made soft cooing noises over her when she regained consciousness, got her water, turned her on her side. The next morning Mimi watched the sun rise pale and watery over the hills as if it too was struggling to come up for air. Bleary, confused and exhausted, she took coffee in her bed. She drank it black.
“I can’t even face a latte,” she said miserably. “How come you are so great, Martine? I know you didn’t sleep at all.”
“Mothers don’t always need sleep, querida,” said Martine.
“It’s like I’m becoming a little kid again.”
“No, my heart, it’s like you’re really becoming an adult. But I still wish it away for you.”
Mimi spent the day in bed. Martine brought her cheese sandwiches. Ky sat and looked at her. She looked into those deep, dark eyes that she swore she recognized. She thought either he was plotting to destroy her, or he really wanted a cheese sandwich. She gave him a cheese sandwich. For a dog, he was a tidy eater.
“Don’t start begging, though,” she told him. “I don’t want you to be a bad dog.” She could have sworn he raised his eyebrows at her. She thought about how she used to lie in bed with a hangover. What a waste of time, and health.
That night she asked Martine to go back to her own room.
“I have Ky,” she said. “Unless he warns me, I really want to be alone.”
Mimi curled up under the covers, her face toward the windows and the pale orange California night. Every muscle and nerve in her body felt as though it had reached its limit.
“Ky, I’m glad you’re here.” She spoke without looking at him. “I don’t know what I’d do if you hadn’t shown up.” She paused long enough that the dog settled his head on his paws, thinking she was asleep, but then she continued in a soft voice, “I know it’s stupid but I thought the world wanted me, needed me. I thought I was important. I thought I was destined for greatness, all kinds of greatness, fame and fortune and a healthy, happy little family with some hot husband. I know that makes me sound ungrateful. I was just lucky, I guess, and now I’m just unlucky. Or maybe it’s really like they say and you create everything in your life by thinking about it, the whole ‘law of attraction’ thing. But I don’t know how I created this.” She winced, trying to arrange her sore shoulders underneath her so that she could get comfortable. She felt as though even the marrow of her bones was sore. “You know what I am now? I’m the antelope that gets eaten by the lion, the one that can’t quite keep up, the one the announcer talks about on the nature channel. The one where he’s like, ‘Oh, you don’t have to feel bad for that antelope, it was sick anyway, a lion’s gotta eat!’ Does it matter that I don’
t want to be that one? I want to be the girl I was before.” She sighed deeply. “Except not exactly. I want to be that girl except I want to remember this feeling, so I don’t take anything for granted anymore. I don’t want to be left behind.” She fell asleep with tears sliding across her nose onto her pillow.
Ky stood up and shook himself, then paced for a few moments at the foot of the bed. He hadn’t changed for a long time, too long. He could tell because he was starting to feel restless and, despite the momentous decisions before him, his mind kept reverting to the several boxes of treats Martine kept in the pantry. He rounded the corner of the bed and looked at Mimi’s face. She was really asleep. The tears had stopped and her breathing was rhythmic.
Ky stopped pacing; in a moment, the figure of a man had taken his place.
The transformation was so quick and so quiet it was as though it hadn’t happened at all. He looked at Mimi thoughtfully and then sat down in the easy chair that faced her bed. He knit his hands together tightly. He needed to think the way a human thinks. Mimi shifted and sighed. Asleep, she looked young, healthy, unblemished. He sat through the night looking out the window, looking at Mimi. He couldn’t wait out the safer course of action much longer. Just before dawn he returned to the floor, changed back into the dog, and fell asleep. Ky thought he might make a radical decision, but not today.