Free Falling into Place by Stephanie Greene Page A

obedient puppy. Margaret could hear his high voice asking questions as they disappeared.
    By the time she caught up with them, they were in a sunny, humid room filled with plants. There was a wicker birdcage in one corner, and a tall perch next to a raised pond in the middle of the room. The pond had a fountain at one end, and lily pads. Roy was leaning on the edge, peering eagerly into its depths.
    â€œLook at that one—it’s huge,” he said, pointing. “And that one.” He looked at Mr. Whiting. “Is the Siamese fighting fish in there, too?”
    â€œJust a moment.” Mr. Whiting bent down so that his shoulder was on a level with the perch and said, “Rolly?”
    Rolly gave another shocking squawk, stepped nimbly onto the perch, and immediately started preening his feathers with his beak.
    â€œEthel is over here,” said Mr. Whiting. From the edge of the pond he picked up a small bowl that had an iridescent blue fish floating inside. The fish had a huge, feathery tail like a fan, and fins that extended from one side of the bowl to the other.
    â€œIs that where it lives?” said Margaret. “That bowl is much too small.”
    â€œEthel is a ‘she,’ not an ‘it,’” said Mr. Whiting.
    â€œThere’s no room for her to swim,” said Margaret stubbornly. “What does she do all day?”
    â€œI don’t know,” said Mr. Whiting. He looked thoughtful. “What does any fish do all day, except dart around?”
    â€œEthel couldn’t dart if she wanted to,” said Margaret. “That looks like a horrible life.”
    â€œShe’s perfectly happy, I assure you,” said Mr. Whiting, but he peered into the bowl with anxious eyes. “You are happy in there, aren’t you, Ethel? That’s my girl.”
    It was funny to see a grown man talking to a fish in a voice like the one people use to talk to babies. In spite of herself, Margaret smiled.
    â€œThey come in other colors, don’t they?” said Roy. “I saw one once that was red and green.”
    â€œEach one is different,” said Mr. Whiting. He put the bowl back down on the edge of the pond. “Wait just a moment. I want to show you something.”
    Roy turned to Margaret with a shining face when he left. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
    â€œHow could you?” she said.
    â€œWhat did I do?”
    â€œWe weren’t even going to come in here, remember?” She turned her hot gaze to Ethel. “Look at her. How would you like to live like that?”
    â€œBut I think Mr. Whiting’s right, Margaret,” said Roy. “I’ve seen lots of Siamese fighting fish in pet stores. They’re always in small bowls like that.”
    Margaret grabbed his arm. “When he comes back, we’re leaving, do you hear me?”
    â€œBossy lady! Bossy lady!
Awwwwwwk!”
Rolly flapped his wings furiously and lifted awkwardly off his perch. Margaret and Roy jumped back as he hurtled through the air and landed on the edge of Ethel’s bowl, tipping it over. Ethel shot out onto the edge of the pond and Rolly flew back up onto his perch, then sat there calmly craning his neck around to fuss with the feathers on his back as if nothing had happened.
    Margaret and Roy were left with their mouths hanging open and water all over their feet, watching Ethel plastered to the edge of the pond, trying to breathe. The only part of her that was moving was her mouth.
    It was opening and closing, opening and closing. “She’s going to die like that,” Roy said frantically. “What should we do?”
    â€œGet her back into the water, quick,” said Margaret. She darted a look over her shoulder. “Hurry! He’s coming.”
    â€œYou do it. I’m afraid.”
    Margaret bent down. With both hands cradled together, she flipped Ethel’s body up off its deathbed into the life-preserving waters below.