“Like her family. Serafina knew she could cry about losing her scales, but what would that do? It wouldn’t bring the scales back. Plus, every time she played with her brothers in the waves, or they swam out to sun themselves on a tiny island in the middle of the ocean, or rode on the backs of whales altogether, she knew it was worth it. She never could have been happy without her brothers, if they had been locked in King Koradome’s cage.”

“What happened when she had no more scales left?”

“Well that’s where this story gets interesting.”

Chapter 25

Chapter 25

“I love you so much, Evie.”

“I love you, too, Mom.” It was Sunday afternoon, and we were walking the property, greeting the animals. Alpaca Joe was standing close to Virginia Alpaca, as if afraid to let her out of his sight. He’s a little too possessive. We said hello and Virginia Alpaca stuck her nose out to be pet. I hugged her. Alpaca Joe spit.

Sundance walked right beside me, wobbling a bit as usual, while Butch and Cassidy ran around ahead of us. I saw Ghost in the distance, right by the yellow-orange rose garden, and I saw Mars and Jupiter underneath the iris leaves. I think Jupiter had a mouse, but I didn’t look too carefully.

We said hello to Shakespeare and Jane Austen, who whinnied. I gave them each an apple. The lambs filed in as a line of five to see us, and the goats stood on the roof of their little blue house. “Stay in your pen today, Mr. Bob and Trixie Goat,” I called out. I picked up Ghost and gave her a hug after she wound herself around my legs. I love my animals.

My mother was wearing a plain old blue hat today, which was highly unusual. Where was the fluff and frill, her ribbons and flowers? Her mind was elsewhere. She was deep in thought, worried, distracted.

“Mom?”

She turned to me, and I stared. Were there tears in her eyes?

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I was . . .” She cleared her throat, took off her hat, and ran a hand through her neat, bell-shaped hair. “I was thinking about how wonderful it was when I held you in my arms the first time when you were a baby. You were pink and sweet, so tiny.”

“Probably screaming.”

“Yes. You were screaming. You screamed for days. Weeks.” She stopped, as if she’d said too much.

“I didn’t know that. Sorry about that. Hope I didn’t blow your ears out. I didn’t know I was that loud for that long.”

She nodded, her face drawn. “You had a lot to say.”

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

“Time goes by so quickly.”