Hannah's Dream Page 28

  ON THE SAME day that Ivy got back to her home on San Juan Island, off the northern Washington coast, Truman sat at his computer drafting a staff memo with a subject line reading No More Fear and Trembling at the Zoo! Though he had only been appointed zoo director six weeks earlier, he knew the Biedelman zoo very well, even intimately. He’d been its business manager until three years ago, when he’d cast aside his normally pragmatic judgment and colluded in a plot to smuggle the lone Asian elephant, Hannah, out of the zoo. After that, his career in shambles, he’d enrolled in law school. He had just gotten word that he’d passed the bar exam when the Bladenham City Council petitioned him to come back as the zoo’s director. The board had just fired his predecessor and former employer, Harriet Saul, and thought he’d be an excellent replacement. Unfortunately, the zoo had also just completed construction of a porpoise pool for which Harriet had advocated tirelessly.

  “Nothing brings people in the door like dolphins. Have you ever seen one? Of course not. No one in the Northwest has, except maybe on vacation at SeaWorld,” she’d famously asserted during her campaign to persuade—some would say browbeat—the city’s mayor and councilmen into approving the expansion. They had eventually capitulated in the face of Harriet’s tireless hectoring, but from the moment ground was broken, a year and a half ago, the pool had proved to be a never-ending son-of-a-bitch. The fourteen-month timeline had been determined by Harriet’s trademark impatience rather than by its inherent doability, forcing the facility’s design and construction to occur more or less simultaneously. There had been issues with the ozone filtration system; with the company responsible for constructing realistic-looking underwater rock work that would make the pool look less like the cement box that it was and more like some undersea grotto; and, most recently and disastrously, with the intergovernmental permits required to move three harbor porpoises from their current rehabilitation facility in Vancouver, British Columbia, to theBiedelman Zoo. No one seemed able to say when the animals might be transported; the pool had already been filled, making its lack of inhabitants that much more damning. The fiasco had cost Harriet her job, though Bladenham News-Tribune reporter Martin Choi allowed her a face-saving quote in which she stated she’d been successfully headhunted by an up-and-coming safari park in Texas.

  It was Harriet’s dramatic fall from grace that had motivated the skittish Bladenham City Council to woo Truman to take her place, and not only because of the extensive working knowledge of the zoo he’d gained during his tenure as business manager, but also because he had not one contentious or narcissistic bone in his body, which would be a welcome relief after Harriet’s disastrous reign. Being the quiet only child of one appellate court judge and one high-profile attorney had made Truman an ideal consensus-builder, though it sometimes gave him a falsely milquetoast demeanor. Milquetoast he was not.

  Truman had no illusions about his lack of passion for the law, but he’d worked hard to get where he was, and was looking forward to the relative financial security it offered him and his fourteen-year-old son, Winslow. Working at the zoo, even at the top, would mean a life of basics. Still, he’d invested a lot of himself in the place before he left, and he felt the facility could thrive under a measured hand, so before he could think better of it he’d said yes.

  Harriet Saul had been a bully and a micromanager who had so relentlessly ridden her employees that the zoo personnel were paralyzed. When the head of maintenance came all the way across the zoo grounds to request Truman’s permission to order toilet paper—toilet paper!—Truman had had enough.

  I welcome any and all ideas, he now typed with two fingers, and hope that you will all feel welcome to bring them to my attention, either in person or in writing. I believe we can bring this zoo to greatness, but it will take the brain-power of every one of us. By the same token, do not feel you need my permission to carry out your job’s day-to-day functions. I trust you and your dedication to this zoo implicitly. You were hired for your expertise. Use it.

  His phone rang as he was deliberating over whether to change I welcome in the first sentence to I’d love to hear. On the other end of the line he heard his Aunt Ivy’s strident voice say, “I have a proposition for you.”

  He moved the receiver six inches from his ear.

  “There’s a killer whale I need you to take in.”

  “What?”

  “That got your attention, didn’t it?”

  It did.

  “Here’s the thing,” Ivy continued. “There’s this poor killer whale named Viernes in an awful place in Colombia—”

  “Missouri?”

  “Central America.”

  “Ah.”

  “—who’s been living in a terrible little pool for years and now he’s dying.”

  “Okay,” said Truman. “I’m listening.”

  “You need to take him. The zoo needs to.”

  “You’re kidding,” Truman said flatly.

  “You know me better than that.”

  Truman sighed. He did. “But there must be facilities much better equipped to deal with an animal like this.”

  “Evidently not. If you could have seen the poor thing, honey it would have broken your heart.”

  “I understand that, but we’re a zoo. An inland zoo.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Truman,” Ivy snapped. “You have a brand-new pool with no one living in it.” And Ivy was in a position to know: she’d contributed nearly seventy-five thousand dollars to its construction.

  “A pool, yes,” Truman acknowledged. “Expertise and staff, no. Right at the moment, we can’t even get permits to bring in porpoises, never mind a dying adult killer whale.”

  “If that pig of yours was dying you’d be more responsive,” Ivy said bitterly.

  “Now you’re just trying to cheer me up,” Truman said. Miles, his three-year-old potbellied pig, was always a tender topic.

  “What do you mean?”

  Truman sighed. “We’re fighting over who gets the bed.”

  “Your bed?”

  “Yes. Or, as Miles would tell you, his.”

  “You let him on the furniture?” Ivy sounded appalled. “Honey, he’s a pig.”

  “I know he’s a pig. I know it and you know it, but he thinks he’s a dog, and dogs get to be on furniture. Ipso facto, he wants the bed.”

  “Your father told me he goes to some cockamamie doggie preschool,” Ivy said.

  “First of all, it’s doggie day care,” Truman said defensively. “Neva’s doggie day care.” Three years ago his girlfriend, Neva Wilson, a career zookeeper, had been fired for her role in the plot to relocate Hannah. In order to be close to Truman, she had stayed in Bladenham and taken a job managing Woof! Now Truman told Ivy, “Second of all, it keeps him socially engaged. Otherwise he roots.”

  “Roots?”

  “It’s what pigs do,” Truman said absently, mulling. “Look, I’m sorry but I don’t think the zoo’s in a position to help.”

  “Oh, that’s just a bunch of hooey,” Ivy said. “And you know it.”

  Truman sat silently for a long beat. There were certain resources he could probably tap into, charitable trusts with soft spots for marine mammal welfare projects. “If I approach the board about this—and I’m saying if—I have to be able to guarantee them that all the funding will come from donations,” he said. “One hundred percent, and up front. There’s no surplus in the budget—zero.” And that, at least, was the absolute truth.

  “I have a checkbook, don’t I?” Ivy said irritably. “And frankly, I’m surprised you’re not looking at this as a chance for the zoo to get some favorable press for a change. BIEDELMAN ZOO TAKES IN AILING ORCA. Look—I want you to talk to a fellow named Gabriel Jump. He’s an expert in this kind of thing. He was down there with me, and he can answer all your questions.”

  Truman became aware of the vertiginous feeling he always got before he jumped off the cliff of moderation. In words he was sure he’d live to regret he said, “Have him call me.”


  “Hah!” Ivy crowed. “Now you’re talking, baby. Come up this Saturday and I’ll have Gabriel here.”

  It was at that exact moment, Truman would later recall, when he first should have known he was screwed, screwed, screwed.

  Acknowledgments

  From 1995 to 1998 I was lucky enough to work with an ailing killer whale named Keiko—the star of the movie Free Willy—and the staff that rehabilitated him. The Keiko project had all the makings of an epic story: there were heroes and villains, huge sums of money made and spent, complex issues and passionate declarations, organizational politics, and public and private struggles over control and recognition, often played out on the front pages and television sets of major media outlets around the world. At the center of the vortex was Keiko himself: a smart, wily, keen, silly, luminous soul that burned more brightly each month as his health was restored; and the handful of men and women who spent hours in an icy pool to swim with him, pet him, challenge him, play with him, teach him, and be taught by him. (They also joined him for the Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and spent countless evenings watching television with him on a donated wide-screen TV.) From Keiko’s keepers I learned the extraordinary lengths to which good people will go—often without recognition—for the sake of the animals in their care. Keiko’s was, in the end, a love story.

  When the killer whale was moved to Iceland and my part in the project ended, I thought I would write about the experience, or at least about some of the issues and conflicts it raised, but the story was simply too close. So I let the idea go and wrote Homesick Creek instead.

  Then, in 2001, I stumbled upon television footage of a man named Solomon James Jr., unshackling for the last time the Asian elephant he had taken care of for twenty-two years. Her name was Shirley, and he had just transported her from the Louisiana Purchase Gardens and Zoo to the Elephant Sanctuary in Hoehenwald, Tennessee. He was struggling to maintain his composure as millions of people watched their parting on television. It was clear that theirs had been a long and complex journey. Out of this remarkable moment, and informed by my experience with the Keiko project, Samson Brown and Hannah were born.

  Thus, my thanks go first to Phyllis Bell and Beverlee Hughes, two extraordinary women who allowed me to be part of Keiko’s story. I am also indebted to the men and women on Keiko’s staff who so graciously shared with me their knowledge, patience, and friendship, especially Mike Glenn, Mark Trimm, Ken Lytwyn, Jeff Foster, Karen McRae, Brian O’Neill, Tracy Karmuza, Steven Claussen, Jen and Greg Schorr, Nicole Nicassio, and Cynthia Alia-Mitchell. My thanks, too, to Earth Island Institute’s Dave Phillips, Eagle River’s Craig McCaw and Bob Ratliffe, Joe Gaskins, veterinarian Dr. Lanny Cornell, and troubleshooter extraordinaire John Scully.

  In the realm of elephants I would have been lost without the elephant keepers at the Point Defiance Zoo and Aquarium. Craig Wilcox, Shannon Smith, and Dr. Holly Reed gave me not only their professional insights but also a further glimpse into the depth of commitment that became the centerpiece of Sam’s character. Sally Joseph and Dr. Brian Joseph were both generous teachers and invaluable fact-checkers when this book was very new, and they saved me from untold gaffs, goofs, and errors.

  My heartfelt thanks also go to Beth Basham, Caryn Casey, Richard Liedle and Debbie Coplin for reading drafts of Hannah’s Dream and giving me their thoughts and encouragement. My gratitude, too, to Kate Nintzel and her team at Harper Perennial, and to Jennifer Rudolph Walsh, Anna DeRoy, and Erin Malone at William Morris, for being Hannah’s champions.

  To Jeannie Reynolds Page goes my continuing amazement at finding such a friend and supporter in the lunatic world of writing. I land in your e-mail with doubts and fears and you just know: what to say, how it feels, why I worry.

  To my daughter Kerry, who is beginning to discover the magic of fiction, go my thanks for sharing your insights and revelations. The world of books and writers is lucky to have you in its midst. I hope that for you, as for me, it’s a passion that will last a lifetime.

  And finally, no words can sufficiently express my love and gratitude to Nolan Harvey, my husband, teacher, supporter, guide and friend, for believing in Hannah and Sam even when I doubted them. Without you, this book would never have been.

  About the Author

  DIANE HAMMOND is the author of two previously published novels, Going to Bend and Homesick Creek, both set on the Oregon coast. A recipient of an Oregon Arts Commission literary grant, she has made Oregon her home since 1984, except for brief stints in Tacoma, Washington, and Los Angeles. She worked in public relations for twenty-five years, most recently acting as media liaison and spokesperson for Keiko, the killer whale star of the hit movie Free Willy. She currently builds Web sites for small businesses and nonprofit organizations and lives in Bend, Oregon, with her husband Nolan, daughter Kerry, six very large cats, and a Pembroke Welsh corgi named Petey.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  Praise for Diane Hammond and her previous novels, Homesick Creek and Going to Bend

  “Homesick Creek follows two troubled marriages and an enduring friendship through some exceptionally difficult midlife straits, and does so with sensitivity and intelligence. Given the material, this could be a three-hankie job, but the story never turns maudlin, thanks to Hammond’s clean prose, pitch-perfect dialogue, and keen eye for social detail…. Human fallibility runs through this novel, a presence on every page. Hammond also has created a vibrant assortment of secondary characters and meshed them deftly into the plot. Homesick Creek is an honest, finely nuanced, emotionally rich novel.”

  —Boston Globe

  “Hammond digs into the past, revealing bad decisions and their consequences, desperate acts of courage, kindness that sometimes is not enough to save or redeem. And woven throughout are insights, sprinkled with humor, on marriage and friendship. Homesick Creek is an honest, beautifully written book.”

  —Denver Post

  “As Hammond nimbly explores her character’s inner strengths—and lack thereof—we gradually begin to identify with the mix of gritty determination and tired resignation these people so fully embody…. What makes Homesick Creek so much more than merely a soaper with extra suds is Hammond’s gift for writing beautifully nuanced sentences with concepts she gracefully turns into key themes.”

  —Oregonian

  “Plucky…. [In Going to Bend] Hammond depicts a place and a community with a fine eye for the details of small-town life…. Hammond excels with snappy dialogue, and has written a humorous, moving and lively novel of friendship and healing.”

  —Seattle Times

  “[Going to Bend is] an exceptional debut…. Hammond’s depiction of the town and its people is refreshingly unsentimental: poverty and bad luck have not created endearing rascals and wise earth mothers…. A portrait of the hard-scrabble life: moving and deftly told.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Hammond is deft at balancing the subtle tensions that make for complex characters…. Hammond paints her characters with care, fondness and great dignity.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Hammond offers a nuanced look at the strains of daily life in a world of diminished possibilities…. [Going to Bend] ends with the possibility of new lives, but what lingers here is the unflinching look at dailiness.”

  —Booklist

  “[Going to Bend] reverberates with a small cast of memorable, working-class characters. Earthy dialog, precise narrative, well-placed humor, and the coverage of difficult topics (e.g., AIDS and child abuse) mark Hammond’s distinctive style…. Recommended as a testimonial to the regenerative power of female friendship, the will to survive, and the courage to seek happiness.”

  —Library Journal

  “A witty, revealing and enthralling novel that deals with important issues…. Confident…tightly constructed, written in a deceptively loose style and has characters so real you’ll swear you could walk ou
t of your home and go have a beer with them…. Going to Bend has a marvelous story, the sort that keeps you reading longer than you’d planned. In fact, you’d best set aside a large block of reading time, because once you’ve started reading this book, you won’t want to stop.”

  —Statesman Journal (Oregon)

  Books by Diane Hammond

  Friday's Harbor

  Seeing Stars

  Hannah's Dream

  Homesick Creek

  Going to Bend

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  HANNAH’S DREAM. Copyright © 2008 by Diane Hammond. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  EPub Edition © JULY 2008 ISBN: 9780061982644

  Version 07292013

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