“No, I can’t,” I said, but it was weak.

“Yes, you can!” Bella Mae insisted, cross again and turning on me in frustration, Mr. Pitto almost flying right out of her arms. “Do you want to go to dinner with my mom and feed her up with a whole pizza?” She turned back to Gerald, who seemed confused, but not as confused as Mr. Pitto.

“That’s it.” Jolla, blushing, grabbed Bella Mae holding the embarrassed iguana and dragged her out of the waiting room.

“You should think about asking Jolla to dinner,” I told him.

“You’ll never go out with me?” Gerald smiled. He was cute, but not for me, and I knew he was asking a serious question that needed an honest answer.

“No.”

“I like your honesty.”

“I don’t always like it, but I can’t do the whole fake-talk thingie. It makes me feel nauseated, so there it is.”

“Okay.” Gerald thought about things, his gaze shifting to the window where Jolla was dragging Bella Mae out while Bella Mae held poor Mr. Pitto in the air. This was not a pleasant day for Mr. Pitto at all. If he wasn’t sick walking in, he would be sick by the time he arrived home.

“Evie?” Gayle, Marco’s assistant, said. “You ready? Marco said to bring Virginia Alpaca out back.”

“Yes. See ya, Gerald.”

“You broke my heart.” He clasped a hand to his heart and feigned dying.

“You’ll live, buddy. Go guzzle a beer and watch football or another mind-numbing sport like other men do, and you’ll be all better by halftime.”

* * *

I headed outside to be with Virginia Alpaca, where I’d put her in one of the stalls, behind the clinic, while I waited for Marco.

I tried not to get nervous. I am a tough bird on the outside but not so tough on the inside, hence: breakdowns. Three of them in the past, to be precise. When I’m going to see Marco the result is: jitteriness and gangs of butterflies in my stomach all fluttering around.

I decided to distract myself. I pulled a chocolate bar out of my purse. I would eat only one today. For courage and nutrition. If I had part of a second one after dinner, it would not count as two, because part of a chocolate bar doesn’t count.

Marco’s property is stunning. He has five acres, and the houses on either side of him are on the farthest ends of their property, so he can’t see any neighbors.

He has a view of the ocean, and a dock, where he has his boat. I looked away from the boat as an overwhelming, regretful sadness drifted over me.

Towering fir trees rim the property, but where his home and clinic are, the sun shines right on down. He also has a stable and a red barn, and his meadow is used for animal rehabilitation.

His home is within a short walk to the clinic. I have never been in it. It’s a light gray with black trim and about twenty-five years old, but I know that he and one of the only two contractors in town worked nonstop to gut the kitchen and put in new wood floors and take down a couple of walls. I’ve heard it’s modern and filled with light and windows.