said.
“Straight’s a twentieth-century term. Everybody’s on a sexual spectrum now.”
“Not on the Wasatch Front they aren’t.”
“Hence my point,” Tean said. “People suck.”
“Ok, sweetie, just get it all out of your system.”
“If you insist—”
“I was talking to Divorcee.”
The Yorkie was pausing every eighteen inches to mark another clump of grass.
“Oh. Well, I’m going to tell you anyway.”
Sighing, Hannah nodded.
“In the ocean—” Tean began.
“So help me, if you bring up the whale thing again, I will kill you, and then I will kill myself.”
Divorcee trotted back toward them, steering straight for Tean. She had some sort of obsession with using his shoes as her personal potty pad, and he darted behind Hannah. “I wasn’t going to bring up the whale thing.”
“Uh huh.”
“I wasn’t.”
“The ocean was just a logical place to start,” Hannah said.
“Exactly. Where all life began,” Tean said. “As a biologist who specializes in native aquatics, you should know that.”
“Oh my gosh,” Hannah said. “I might honestly have to kill you.”
“Do you know how many people get murdered on first dates? Especially blind dates?”
“How many?”
“A lot,” Tean said.
“Just because you saw one Lifetime movie about it doesn’t mean it happens a lot.”
“He could harvest my kidneys.
“Rand doesn’t need your kidneys; his kidneys are perfectly healthy. That’s the first thing I ask every guy before I set you up with him.”
“He could traffic me. I could wind up in sexual slavery.”
“Heaven help whoever buys you.”
A breeze picked up; crabapples lined one side of the park, and the too-sweet stench of rotting fruit floated on the air. Tean decided to try a different tack. “Do you know how many bear-related fatalities occur every year? In the United States, anyway.”
“On average, three,” Hannah said.
“You only know that because you work at DWR too,” Tean said. “Other people would be suitably shocked.”
Hannah paused long enough to tuck her chestnut hair behind her ears and arrange her features in an expression of surprise.
“That’s better,” Tean said. “And do you know how many homicides occur every year?”
“Five.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” Hannah asked.
“Four hundred thousand, globally. Every year. In some countries, it’s the leading cause of death. People killing each other is the leading cause of death.”
“Please tell me this is not what you’re going to talk about with Rand.”
“And do you know how many bears kill other bears?”
“It’s rare,” Hannah said.
“Again, insider knowledge; unfair advantage because you’re a biologist. Most people wouldn’t have any idea. It’s so rare that the Smithsonian wrote a whole article about it.”
“Divorcee, sweetie, come on.”
The Yorkie was investigating the shoes of an old woman perched on a bench.
“Leave her alone,” Hannah said. “I’m sorry!”
The old woman waved and laughed.
Divorcee saw her moment of opportunity and struck, drenching the woman’s foot.
“Oh my gosh,” Hannah shouted, “I’m so sorry!” Then, to Tean, “I’ve got to handle this. Good luck tonight.”
“People suck, that’s what I’m trying to explain.”
“See you at Sook’s service?”
“And if you compare the number of bears—”
“Don’t screw it up,” Hannah called back as she ran toward the old woman, who was now trying to hop on her unsullied foot while using the back of the bench for balance.
“Animals are better than people,” Tean shouted after Hannah.
“You’re a wildlife vet,” Hannah shouted back. “You know that’s not true!”
“At least animals don’t—”
“Talk about movies,” Hannah shouted over him. “Rand loves movies.” She turned to the old woman, apologizing. When she reached for Divorcee, the Yorkie sprinted away from her.
“The whale story is better,” Tean informed Divorcee as she pranced up to him. He glanced over to check on Scipio, who was playing tag with Bear now, both dogs sprinting the length of the park. The late afternoon sunlight drew long shadows: the fence, the dogs, the guy with the tank top and tattoo.
Out of the corner of his eye, too late, Tean registered what was happening. Sniffing his shoe, Divorcee got into position and gave him the rest of the tank.
“Damn it,” Tean shouted. “Your dog, Hannah!”
“What were you saying about animals?” she called.
3
“People suck,” Jem said, carrying the TV tray with a Stouffer’s single-serve lasagna into the living room. He had to kick aside some of the bagged newspapers, and his foot came down on something that was soft and still possibly alive. On his next step, he connected with a loose can of store-brand cola, and it shot out, ricocheted off the entertainment center, and hit a pyramid of root beer bottles. The bottles came tumbling down, brown glass tinkling, but at least none of them broke. “God damn it, Benny, you’ve