Searching through the second stack, Amanda found an account of the rescue inNational Geographic. She had read this before, but she read it now with new eyes, thinking of the den. The team at the station had found Molly abandoned in a maternity den. It was a cold April, they said. A week later, they had found the carcass of her mother on the ice. It had been partially consumed by other bears.
Amanda dug out an unpublished paper on the Anger Bay polar bears. Polar bears were distinctive by region. They mated and gave birth at different times, depending on their genetics. The polar bears of Anger Bay typically gave birth a little later than most, in February.
She used her fingers to count. Molly had been two months old when she was found.
Taking a deep breath, Amanda combed through the papers, finding more articles about the rescuers. She began checking their names against the staff list, marking them off as she went.
There was one name left. One man had not talked to reporters.
She sat down abruptly, rain flecking to the floor—she would wipe it up later—and opened her computer and began to search for his name.
Larry was just sitting down for supper—he had made Hawaiian Toot-Toot and was looking forward to tasting it—when Amanda called.
He picked up the phone eagerly.
“How is the coast?” she asked.
“There’s an ocean. And sand.”
The joke seemed to go over her head.
“You called earlier? I was working.”
He told her about the drawings by Aspire’s dad, and his talk with Patty.
“What do you think it all means, Larry?”
“The constable would say we’re chasing shadows.”
“No. We’re learning about Dennis. And Brightwood.”
She was very literal, he thought.
“I think I’m going to come back down,” she said. “I have something else to do down there too.”
They hung up. Larry took a bite of his Toot-Toot. It wasn’t very good.
“It’s just not the same without you,” he told the urn on the mantel.
16
Dennis awoke in the middle of the night. It was the hour of dreams. He made his way down the hall on silent feet. He could hear the night watchman downstairs, snoring at his desk.
The second-floor bathroom was dark and empty. He peed, looking out the window at the trees.
There was a sound. He turned, his eyes adjusting. A boy was sitting in the corner. It was Reggie. He had his back against the wall, his head in his hands.
Dennis went and sat next to him. The floor was very cold.
Reggie flinched and moved away.
“Are you okay?”
Reggie turned his face to the wall.
“She said I’m sick,” Reggie whispered.
“She tells me the same thing. She tells me I have to accept the bottle. I’m never going to accept it.”
