Chapter 7

The mountains to the left stood out sharply against the uncluttered blue of the sky. No haze, the air might even be breathable. Virginia turned in the direction of the uplifting view and let its prospect wash over her. By the time they had turned the last curve of the loop around the park and were on the home stretch, she had allowed her mind to empty. No sparkles or multiple perspectives, no muffled or all too comprehensible imaginary sounds disturbed the total exhilaration brought on by the clean air, vast sky and distant horizon. As they approached the final clump of bushes beside the cement path, she and Anax both caught sight of a movement at ground level at the same moment. Part of the grass—no, something of a color not too different from the grass, shifted in ponderous but purposeful progress away from the path and toward the bushes. It was a turtle making a break for the safety of the vegetation. The turtle was a good 10 or 12 inches across, its head thrust forward, lifting one foot at a time in slow determination. Virginia held Anax tightly so they could watch together as the turtle placed each foot, one after the other, plodding toward freedom.

A woman up ahead turned away from the young people she had been chatting with.

“Is it yours?” Virginia asked, still staring at the turtle in fascination. Anax transferred her attention to the woman and wagged her tail.

“Yes, they’re box turtles.”

Only then did Virginia notice a second turtle farther away from the bush. This one was only about six inches long.

“I’m the one who lost the box turtle,” the woman went on, as if that were a perfectly natural way to introduce herself.

“When did that happen?” asked Virginia, still staring at the lumbering progress of the turtle at her feet.

“Oh, maybe a year ago, or it might have been longer. It was over there next to that bush.” She pointed at the one both turtles seemed bent on reaching. “I was on the path, watching. I don’t know where it could have gotten to.” The woman picked up the big turtle. “This is Thomas.”

“Pleased to meet you, Thomas,” said Virginia. “This is Anax. She likes being introduced too.” The turtle flipped one paw in greeting.

The woman held Thomas up so she could see his underside. “See that darker line on his shell? That’s a bruise. Did you know turtles were so sensitive?”

Virginia shook her head and watched as her new friend snatched up the small turtle just as it reached the sheltering edge of the shrubbery.

“Now I’ve lost the key fob to my car,” said the woman, nodding in the direction of a vehicle parked at the side of the road. “I’ve been looking all over.”

Virginia thought this woman must have a genius for losing things. While it hardly seemed like the kind of characteristic to ensure survival, the woman did not appear to be either helpless or particularly worried. “The car starts anyway,” she said. Virginia had never had a car that started without the key, and she wasn’t completely sure why a person would want one.

“So,” said the woman, “that must mean the key is somewhere in the car, don’t you think?”

“I’m the wrong person to ask. I don’t know anything about these newfangled things.”

She decided to move on with Anax, who was obviously wanting to sniff the turtles, who just as obviously were very anxious not to be sniffed. They crossed the street, taking a good look at the magic car that started without a key. How long ago was it that garage doors stopped having to be opened with a key? Surely that was well within her own lifetime.

Amanda had come home while she was out. “How’s the office?” Virginia asked her.

“Dead,” said Amanda. “On Monday I’m going to have to find out what’s wrong with our printer here at home. It’s crazy to have to go all the way over there on a weekend.” She looked down at the dog. “Hi Anax, how was the park?”

“We met a woman who lost a box turtle,” Virginia answered for her.

“Oh, you met her! What’s she like?”

“What, is she famous?”

“Well yeah! I couldn’t lose a box turtle if I tried! What was its name again? Bill? Bob?”

“It wasn’t Thomas, was it?”

“No, did she lose another one?” Amanda’s concern showed in her face.

“We actually met Thomas. But I don’t think it’s a great idea to take your turtles walking in the park if you don’t want to lose them.”

“Well, it sounds a lot more interesting than the usual walk. How did Anax get along with the turtle?”

“I’ll let her answer that one.” Although Virginia was accustomed to interpreting for Anax, she felt as if she herself had interacted with the turtles more than the dog had. Amanda had set down her bag and Anax stuck her nose into it and rooted around for a bit. “No, Anax!” The dog looked up in surprise. She ran over and wagged her tail, looking hopefully at the leash that had just been removed from her collar.

“Have you read much Virginia Woolf?” Virginia asked.

“Oh yes, quite a bit. I loved Orlando.”

“Isn’t that the one where the guy turns into a woman?”

“Right. It was transgender way before her time. And her style is pretty amazing.” Amanda picked up her bag and put it behind the toaster.

“Didn’t she write a book about a dog?”

“That’s right. Flush.”

“What kind of a dog was it?”

“Let me think. It was Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s dog, but I don’t remember what kind it was. Just a second, I have it on my shelf.” Amanda quickly located the slender paperback and showed her mother the cover illustration. “Looks like a cocker to me.”

“Yes,” said Virginia, remembering the voice in her head saying, “Spaniel.” How or why anybody should be reading Virginia Woolf aloud (in her head, no less) was a question for another day. “What are we doing for supper?”

“I got some chicken out of the freezer last night.” Amanda bought things on sale and stashed them in the freezer in the garage.

“Shall I fix it?” Virginia proposed.

Putting the book back in its place on the shelf, Amanda answered, “That would be great.”