“So,” I said, “who’s next on the list?”
Ana looked at me as though this were very interesting, what I had just said. “Your loyalty astounds me, Nan.”
“I want to help,” I said. “I like doing this stuff with you.”
“You enjoy the Karma Factory,” she said.
“I do.”
“It’s kind of like a secret club, right?”
“Especially when you wear that blanket over your head. You look like…”
“Jesus?”
I laughed. “Maybe.”
“Or the Unabomber.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t like that one. Too violent.”
Ana chuckled. “Unabomber.” She tapped the eraser on the pad. “You know who I can’t stop thinking about?”
“Who?”
“Peter with the horse. It’s just tugging at me.” She pulled an imaginary string out of her heart. “And I know he lives somewhere up here. I swear I can feel it.” She looked out at the grass, at the jungle surrounding us.
In the silence my stomach whined like a whimpering dog.
“Are you hungry, Nan?”
“I am,” I said, getting up. “I’m going to make some oatmeal. Do you want some?”
Ana smiled. “You are such a mom, Nan.”
I don’t know why I said, “No I’m not.”
“Yes you are. It’s a good thing, it’s cute. And yes, I would love some oatmeal.”
“Great,” I said, rolling up my mat. “I make it on the stove, the old-fashioned way.”
“Then what do you do?”
“I usually look at my blog.”
“Your blog? You’ve never told me about your blog before, Nan. What other things aren’t you telling me?”
Of course she didn’t know. She couldn’t.
Keep it light, Nancy. “No other things.”
“I want to see your blog. Will you show me?”
“Of course.”
Just then the gecko from the overhang—or another one; there were so many—fell to the armrest of Ana’s chair. Quickly she covered it with her hand. “I caught you,” she said in a joke menacing way. Then she said, “Watch this, Nan.” She lifted her hand partway off the gecko. Then a little more and a little more so its head was poking out, and then its middle with the pink and orange spots, and then she took her hand off and quickly pressed just the end of the gecko’s tail into the armrest. The gecko raced away soundlessly. Under Ana’s finger was just the tip of the gecko’s tail, which was still alive and wriggling. She picked it up and pressed it between her palms. Then she lifted her thumbs to her third eye. The blanket was still on her head. When she smiled her glistening teeth were all I could see. “I can feel its heartbeat,” she said. And then she held her cupped palms open for me. The tail was still moving, but less. “Take it, Nan.”
I didn’t move.
“Hurry before it fades!”
I wrapped my right hand around the wrist of my left hand. The braver right hand made the unwilling left hand move toward her. She dropped the tail into my hand. The second I felt it move I shrieked and the tail fell through the wooden beams on the lanai.
Ana laughed, and then I was laughing, and she said, “You’re scared of death, man!”
Still laughing, I said, “Don’t call me man! My name is Nan!”
Then Ana stopped laughing. When she looked up at me, her eyes were blank and her skin was pale, too pale. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice hollow, “we’re all scared of death.”
?
Ana drank her oatmeal out of a mug—“This is the path of least resistance”—while I showed her my blog.
“See? And then she has all of these amazing recipes you can make in under twenty-three minutes,” I said, scrolling.
Ana read aloud. “To die for times ten.”
“That’s her rating system,” I said, hoping Ana would find this smart.
“Whole-wheat flautas with cranberry sauce. To die for times twelve,” she read on. She sounded unconvinced.
“So that one must be really good,” I said, too enthusiastically.
“Have you made a lot of these?”
“Not yet, but I plan to.”
Ana pointed to my blogger’s face on the screen. “Who is this person?”
“Here, let’s go to the ‘About Me’ section.” I clicked.
Ana read: “Hi, I’m Sandita, a health-food nut/lover of life/vegetarian activist living in San Antonio. Blah blah blah.” Ana took the mouse and scrolled down to the bottom, where there was a picture of muscular Sandita about to eat a tortilla chip with a radiant hunk of red salsa on it. “I am so relaxed when I eat this food,” her talk bubble said.
Ana leaned back in her chair. “Nan, I’m sorry, but no one with a body like that is relaxed. Look at her biceps. She’s not a lover of life. She’s at the gym all day lifting heavy metal objects off the ground.”
I sprang to Sandita’s defense. Because by this point, I felt like I knew her. “Actually,” I said, “Sandita enjoys Pilates once a week, but other than that, her only form of exercise is the brisk walks she takes with her dog, Jacobo.”
We both did a double take of Sandita’s biceps then, which did look oddly pronounced for an easygoing pedestrian.
“I’m sorry, honey, but Sandita might be a fraud. And by ‘might be,’ I mean she is one. I’m good at spotting frauds.” She stretched her arms up. “Because I used to be one.”
?
In the shower, Ana was singing. Again, I thought it was “Lean on Me,” but again it was something else. When the water stopped, she called, “Can I wear your clothes?”
“Sure!” I called back. I was in the kitchen doing dishes and thinking about Sandita in San Antonio and wondering if, right now, she was cooking chicken adobo with organic ingredients only or at the gym flexing her biceps in the mirror.
Ana appeared in my purple dress, the one I’d worn to Bite Me with Chuck on our date when things were going well. It made me a little sad to remember that night.
“What do you think?” She twirled. The dress was way too small for Ana, and so tight I was surprised she was forming sentences while wearing it.
“Is it comfortable?” I asked nicely.
“Like a glove.” She leaned her head back and ran her hands down her sides.
“Well, whatever makes you feel good is good right now.”
“Oh, I need shoes.” She scampered down the hall.
“Where are you going?” I called.
“To the doctor!”
The doctor? I thought Ana was done with doctors. And why did she seem so happy if she was going to the doctor? “I thought you said no more doctors!” I called. It was fun calling to each other across the house. It felt so marital.
She came down the hall clacking in a high pair of heels. Hers, not mine. I’d never seen them before. She pouted her lips and stuck her butt out. “So?”
“Mmm-hmm,” I said, toweling off a pot. “How are you feeling? It seems like you have a lot of energy today.”
“I do.” She looked out the window as though she’d just thought of something. “And I know it’s not going to last,” she said somberly. “So”—she sighed—“I’m going to take advantage of it now, you know what I mean?”
“Yes, Ana, that’s great.” I kept toweling the dry pot. “Do you want me to come to the doctor with you?”