The little girl talks all the way, a running commentary on our progress. “We’re in the elevator, Ms. Claire; now we’re in the lobby; now we’re outside and walking down the stairs.” She holds my hand as we go; it’s small but fits perfectly inside my palm. “And I’m Maree, like Mary with a y but with two e’s, ’cause of Anne of Green Gables and . . .” She stops, leans over, hands on her knees, back heaving up and down. “All that talking is taking my breathing away!”

We stand in front of the pen; the reindeer have sequestered themselves around a small shelter to get out of the wind. One turns his head, antlers rising up like a small tree, then eyes the little girl and turns back.

“Aw, damn, I should have grabbed carrots,” she says.

“You should think about the words you use,” I say.

She looks up, gives me a side smile. “You sound just like Ms. Kiko!” Her fingers weave into the fence, bend over the wire, her eyes on the reindeer. “Too bad we don’t have carrots.”

My hand goes to my pocket, and to my delight I pull out a couple of carrots. “Here you go . . .” A total blank. I stare at her, my tongue wanting to say her name, my brain refusing to release it, and my pulse speeds up at the uselessness of my thoughts.

She points to her name tag. “Maree; I’m Maree, and you’re teaching me how to play the guitar and stuff, except today we’re on a field trip to see the reindeer ’cause I asked and you said yes.” She smiles, looking quite pleased with herself.

“Thank you, Maree,” I say, amused by her efforts.

The smallest of the reindeer begins to make his way over to us, his hooves squishing into the muddy earth, antlers rising above his head. Maree hops up and down on her toes, holding the carrot through the fence, teeth chattering in the cold air.

“Here he comes! Oh, he’s so small!” she squeals. “He’s the smallest!” She clicks her tongue, but instead of a sharp sound, it comes out mushy. The reindeer plods over regardless, and Maree jumps up and down, the carrot wiggling in the air. “Here, little baby buddy, here!” He eats it in two bites, leafy green hair and all, and stays still long enough for Maree to pet the velvet tip of his nose. A larger reindeer moves toward us now, ears pricked forward. “Feed the big guy, Ms. Claire!” She struggles to take her camera from her neck while still petting her little buddy. “I’ll take a picture of us.” She tries to hold the camera up and away, another selfie, and I have to keep from laughing at her efforts. Click!

“How about I take one of you?” I say.