But the day they were entertaining their friends, the energy Lew had mustered in the early morning flagged all at once halfway through lunch. His shoulders drooped, the sacs under his eyelids became puffier, his eyes shone more brightly. His body was limp, his ankles beginning to swell. Misery showed on his face. The guests hurried through dessert, departed soon afterward. Lew walked upstairs to the bedroom, hand on the wall to support him along the way. He lay down in his clothes, this time on top of the bed. She covered him with a fleece throw, and he closed his eyes.

But earlier in the day, Hazzley had felt the current of success, however brief, that had sparked between them. Maybe during the planning, maybe in the moments before their guests arrived, or when everyone was seated around the table. She recognized the feeling for what it was: a revival of their old selves, the Hazzley and Lew who had existed a half century ago.

Escape

GWEN

Gwen heard the customary shrieks from outside.

The moment the key touched the lock, the house fell silent. Every day, same pattern. Predator on doorstep. Predator sucks air from room.

“It’s me, Rico. Who else?” She removed her jacket and walked through to the family room. “Look! I brought something for you. But not to chew. If you chew these pages, you’re off to bird camp. Permanently. You’ve heard of bird camps, right? They’re out there, so be warned.”

She pulled several clipped-together sheets of paper from a folder and held them up to the bars of the cage. A bit too close, because Rico dodged and scurried back. Never turning away completely, because he was the scrutinizer of her: messenger, feeder, conversation provider, companion of sorts.

He continued to stare hard. Head and neck hunched defensively so that two eyes looked out from under the tight-fitting grey hood.

She stared back, trying to create an expression that might appear friendly. Relaxed her eyes, relaxed her jaw, smiled—but the smile was tight, she knew that. Would the parrot intuit how much effort this took?

Rico came forward slowly. Tilted his head to the left, looked up, down, to the side.

“Sorry if I startled you. I’m getting used to you, too.” She laughed. “I have the advantage, we both know that. I’m big. Bigger than you. And I can leave this house. Though I don’t mean to rub in the facts.”

Oh, beady-eyed creature, she thought. And wondered, not for the first time, if he could read her mind, or if she was mad to consider this.

Well, what about Sugar, the cat? When Gwen was a child in the late fifties, her mother had told her the story. Sugar’s owners were embarking on a permanent move from California to Oklahoma. The cat, who was supposed to accompany them, leaped from the car’s open window moments before they were to depart. To the family’s great sorrow, Sugar had to be abandoned because she couldn’t be found. After an amazing fourteen-month journey on her own, across varied terrain—desert, mountain, untold bodies of water—Sugar showed up one day at the family’s door in Oklahoma. Fourteen months! Family films had been made of stories like Sugar’s. Psychologists from parapsychology labs had become involved and interviewed pet owners whenever such an account became public news. Early experiments had been conducted in an effort to discern telepathy between animals and humans. Sometimes clairvoyance, sometimes telepathy and clairvoyance.