Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
ALICE
Bill Tipton saves the best part of our tour for last. The clinic building where we started is impressive, but it’s the large animal enclosures outside that are really going to stick with me. The acres and acres of property he’s devoted to caring for his animals.
There are so many different fenced-in structures, so many safe places for animals to recuperate and get used to living outside again before they’re released back into the wild. Bill shows me everything, from the raptor enclosure to the fawn pen, sharing little facts about the animals along the way. Eventually, though, we wind up at the one place I wish we hadn’t.
My new least favorite place on earth. Because those fear-wounds are still fresh.
“Oh, look!” I overcompensate. “Raccoons! Isn’t that great?”
Bill chuckles. We’re basically strangers, but that man is already onto me. “I hear you had quite the adventure today.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“A thing like that might make a person afraid of raccoons for a bit.”
“That’s an understatement.”
Bill chuckles again. Then he gestures to the pen and shares some facts about raccoons, as if education is the key to me loving that animal again. Although I’m pretty sure the real key is them not chasing me.
After he tells me how smart they are and how their black masks cut down on glare, Bill gets quiet. We just stand there watching the four raccoons in the enclosure jump and play, and I get the feeling he could stand here watching them all day. That little blissful moments like this mean the world to him.
There’s a small blue kiddie pool filled with a few inches of water in the center of the enclosure. It’s surrounded by a rope ladder, toys, and a maze of branches to climb. Watching them splash and leap and play is a lot more endearing than I expected. The fact that they can’t get out and terrorize me probably helps.
“They’re natural mischief makers,” Bill says, a hint of fondness in his voice. “You gotta keep them busy.”
He pauses and chuckles, that fondness in his voice growing stronger. “Kind of like Charlie.”
I can’t help smiling. It’s clear how much Bill likes him. He makes it sound as if Charlie’s mischievousness is one of the best things about him, and I couldn’t agree more. When it comes to Blythe, I like the way he keeps me on my toes.
I try not to think about him too much, though. Remembering how good it felt when he cornered me in that mining exhibit isn’t going to do me any favors—and that goes double for how he protected me from the raccoon at his house, how he tucked my body behind his to keep me safe. But it’s the little things he does too. Even the small moments with Charlie feel special somehow, our little conversations and all his kind gestures.
This morning I was convinced he wasn’t my type. Now I wonder if he’s secretly been my ideal guy all along, if he’s the only man I’ve ever known who likes the real me as much as I like the real him. I’ve been a grumpy sunshine girl for so long, but when I’m alone with Charlie, it’s nice not being the only ray of light in the room.
I don’t know I’m smiling softly, that I’ve gotten lost in those good thoughts, until Bill speaks again. And he’s smiling softly too.
“Is Charlie taking good care of you while you’re in town?” he asks.
I nod, unable to help how my smile shifts. How shy but happy that question makes me. “He’s been great.”
I want that moment to last forever. I want to stay outside and enjoy all those new feelings I’m having, everything I’m realizing about Charlie. But moments always end eventually, even the really good ones.
When we finally return to the clinic, a few of the volunteers stop Bill to ask him questions about one of the owls, and he sends me ahead, giving me directions on how to find my way back to the intake desk. I wish he hadn’t. I wish I’d gotten good and lost or stayed outside with those raccoons. Anything so I wouldn’t have to accidentally overhear Charlie’s conversation with his mom.
“There’s nothing going on,” he tells her. “Alice is just my roommate. She’s a temporary houseguest—she’ll be gone before you know it.”
“Charlie, Carl knows what he saw. He said?—”
Charlie interrupts her gently, his voice calm but insistent. “Alice is too nice for me—I don’t do nice. Good girls have never been my type.”
Good girls?
I hate those two words the second I hear them, even if they’re true. They sink into my soul, and I don’t like the way they make me feel about myself. A quiet voice in my head whispers I’ve never been interesting enough for a guy like Charlie, and that feels true too.
I can’t explain how that knocks the wind out of me. Charlie and his mother stop talking as a wildlife tech rounds the corner, and I wait a few beats before I join them. They both smile when they see me, and I smile back.
But I’ve never felt more like a liar in my life.
Keep it together, Alice.
We don’t leave right away. I’d forgotten about our to-do list, but then Charlie leads me into the nursery, a small cozy room where they keep their baby animals, and I remember why we’re here: Nice List item number one.
Pet a raccoon (very carefully)
This would’ve been a dream come true yesterday, but a lot can change in a few hours. Now that I’ve been chased across an entire house by a raccoon and had my heart broken while eavesdropping, this is the last place I want to be. There are no blanket cocoons anywhere, no cat videos. There’s just a weird, anxious feeling in my chest I can’t get rid of and a perfect guy standing right beside me who doesn’t want me.
If everyone wasn’t being so nice, I would’ve tried to leave a long time ago. But Bill putters around the nursery preparing bottles of raccoon formula while Charlie’s mother chats with us, and I stay put—like a good girl. Doing everything I can to push those bad feelings away and keep it together .
“You okay over there?” Charlie asks as we sit down at a long table to feed our raccoons.
I smile as I force myself to meet his gaze, but I make sure it’s a calm smile, nothing too bright or too much—which isn’t hard. I’m feeling a little hollowed out to force a thing like that anyway. Apparently, my atomic cheerfulness has its limits.
“I’m fine—I’m just a little nervous. Thanks for doing this, by the way.”
Gratitude. That’s what’s going to save me. Remembering this is a special opportunity, and I should be grateful for it, no matter how scared I am of raccoons or how sad I am about Charlie.
Gratitude.
That’s my sunshine strength, and I lean into it as hard as I can. It works, too. Charlie’s mom brings each of us the most adorable little raccoon to feed, and I’m amazed by how cute they are. How special it feels to be so close to them and get to feed them.
There are only two orphaned raccoons in the litter they rescued a few days ago, and they’re about four weeks old according to Bill. They have the sweetest little faces, their signature black mask framing big dark eyes. We drape them across a few rolled blankets on the table to feed them, tummy side down, and they fidget and squirm, reaching to grip their bottles with their tiny black paws.
I pet mine a little while it eats, and I can’t help the calm feeling that stretches over me. Baby raccoons are just magical like that, I guess.
“What’s the verdict, Kilpatrick?” Charlie asks. “Was it worth it? Is this Nice List–worthy?”
He searches my face as he waits for an answer, and he’s been so thoughtful today, so kind. Even if I’m not his type.
“It’s incredible,” I tell him. “This couldn’t be more perfect.”
And maybe I’m lying. But only a little.