Lucy by Laurence Gonzales Page A

who could turn violent in a heartbeat.
    Jenny heard the squirrel crying, “Caw! Caw! Caw!” And as she watched, Lucy turned her gaze on Jenny. Those eyes. It wasn’t quite like the feeling she had when Harry looked at her, into her, but it was equally powerful.
    “What?”
    “I hope we don’t have to go to any stores today.”
    She said it with such earnestness that Jenny turned away, her lips pursed over a smile. “No. No, we don’t. We’ll just take it easy today. But I have some work to do, so you’ll have to entertain yourself.”
    “I saw that vampire series, Twilight , on the shelf in your living room. May I please read those? Papa said that was trash. He always wanted me to read intellectual things. But I want to read trash, too.”
    “Of course. You should consider this your home until we find your family.” And Lucy gave Jenny that pained look again. As Jenny was trying to read into it, the phone rang.
    “Listen, doll,” Harry began, “the girl is clear of any infections that we could find with lab tests.”
    “Yeah, she seems a hundred percent this morning. Thanks for being such a champ and getting that done. I owe you one.”
    “You’ll have to let me think about how to collect on that.”
    “You do that.”
    “Gotta run. Illness beckons.”
    “Goodbye, Harry.” Jenny turned to Lucy. “Harry says you’re okay.”
    “I feel better. A little tired.”
    “So I’m going to clean up these dishes and then do some paperwork.”
    “I’ll clean up. You can go work.”
    “That would be great. Just ask if there’s anything you want. I’ll be in my study.”
    Jenny had turned a sunroom into an office. She loved the bright light, the lush green of the garden, bursting now with pink and yellow hollyhocks. She had planted local vegetation and let it grow naturally after her mother had moved to an apartment. Great heavy tree limbs plunged down to the earth, and a flowering hedge towered ten feet tall. A high cedar fence to the east added privacy. Her mother had been horrified at what Jenny had done with the garden.
    “You’ve turned my nice backyard into your own private jungle,” she had said more than once. “Don’t you get enough of that in Africa? Well, it’s your house now.”
    Jenny smiled, musing about her mother and turned to her desk. She found her backpack where she’d dropped it by the window that first day. Even after they were safely home, Jenny had felt shaky from the experience. She had been through two wars in Congo, the first in 1996, then again in 1998. She had missed several years of research because the Hutus and Tutsis were busy killing what would eventually amount to five million people. But most of the fighting was to the north and west of where Jenny worked. It wasn’t until the last outbreak that she’d actually come under fire.
    She lifted her bag and sat at her desk. Her father’s big antique Shelbyville. She’d always thought of the desk as a part of her father. He had died when she was ten, and afterward, she would sit in his chair with her head on his desk and smell the oiled wood. She still used the same oil.
    She opened her pack with a heavy heart. She knew that in all likelihood she wouldn’t be going back to Congo again, and she already missed the rolling green hills, so green that the color seemed impossible beneath an exploding cobalt sky with clouds scudding along like great white schooners.
    The first thing she saw when she opened her pack was the photograph that she’d salvaged from Stone’s hut. Even in her panic, she had thought that the girl might want the photograph. It showed Stone down on one knee with his arm around Lucy, who was about ten years old. They were both smiling. He had a rugged face, craggy but kind. He had bright eyes, a nice smile, a mischievous look. Lucy’s great mane of curly hair engulfed her small face. But she had the same intense smile that Jenny had come to know. She set the frame on the desk.
    She pulled her chair