They had sex once a week, Sunday mornings before breakfast. It took fifteen minutes and involved primarily the missionary position. When she once asked if they could vary this a bit, he sat up in bed and looked away. His face held discomfort. Perhaps things could have been different, if not for that magazine cover. It haunted him. She’d tried once to tell him what had actually occurred, but he’d gotten very angry (one of the few times) and told her never to mention Junior or that summer again.

She felt fortunate he wanted to be with her at all. He was kind to her in other ways, listening to her about her day, smiling at her with his eyes helpless.

After the magazine cover, the research center was closed and put up for sale. In spite of the beach and the lagoon, no one wanted the infamous building. The price went lower and lower until her vet put a down payment on it, saying they might as well benefit in some way.

Before they moved in, he demolished the homearium using a sledgehammer and single-minded energy. The walls, the pool. Perhaps this demolition was his real reason for buying the place. He erased it all, filled in the deep end of the pool with dirt and rebuilt the flagstone deck. He said the building looked better this way.

After that, there was no sign she’d ever lived with a dolphin, ever taught him to speak.

They both hoped her pregnancy would bring them happiness.

* * *

She kicked forward, heading to the far end of the bay. There was a coral reef there where she liked to snorkel. She was still a strong swimmer. Her fins churned through the water. She listened to the hissing static of the ocean depths. There was the Martian ray gun bweep-bweep of a seal.

The seal appeared 30 feet below in the clear water, looking up at her with big cat eyes, then it shot away.

* * *

Seven months pregnant, she learned what had happened. Tibbet had been the one to write to her. She didn’t know if he’d done this out of kindness. He was undergoing chemotherapy at the time. Opening the envelope, she stopped for a moment to rub the side of her stomach, a little like he used to. When standing, she could no longer see her toes, and there seemed always to be movement churning inside her. At the birth, she’d find out she was carrying twins. Ned and Rachel.

She read the letter there in the hall. Three short sentences.

There was a kick in her gut. This life inside her was what kept her going.

She withdrew cash from the bank and boarded the next flight to Orlando, to the NASA research lab where it had happened. She did not tell her vet before she left.

What had she expected to learn?

She arrived in her maternity dress, at the lab’s gate. The guard said she needed an appointment, a name. She was crying. She did not know the names of the researchers involved. She had not considered how to persuade anyone. She’d never imagined she might not have the right to see, to hear, to know.