Larger Than Life (Novella) by Jodi Picoult Read Free Book Online

thought
     that I might have cost Neo his job.
    I step forward, blocking Grant’s view of Neo. “With all due respect, Grant, I came
     to Botswana to study elephant cognition as it is affected by trauma. This calf certainly
     qualifies as a subject. In fact, given the money that’s been provided to me by the
     university for my research, it would have been negligent for me to leave this calf
     to die in the field without first examining the behavioral effects of having her mother
     and aunts killed in front of her.”
    I am blowing smoke. Obviously, if I’d truly been doing what I described, I would have
     been observing the calf in the field, not bringing her to my cottage. And the truth
     is, I would have rescued this baby even if my field of study had been migratory patterns
     and watering holes. But Grant doesn’t have to know that. “I’m the one who asked Neo
     for assistance,” I lie. “I wasn’t trying to break the rules, honestly. I was just
     doing my job.”
    Grant narrows his eyes. “The folks down in Madikwe warned me that you aren’t a team
     player. You’re not going to get three strikes here before you’re out. Just two. Consider
     this the first.”
    As he speaks, the calf wobbles toward him. Her trunk pinches at the air, as if she’s
     trying to catch a mosquito. She rifles through the front pocket of Grant’s khaki shirt
     and pulls out his reading glasses.
    Whatever vitriol Grant was about to hurl at me dissipates in a sigh. It is a fact
     universally acknowledged that it’s impossible to stay furious in close proximity to
     a newborn elephant.
    Grant points at me. “You are solely responsible for this elephant.”
    “Yes, sir,” I murmur.
    “And you will release her into the wild to join a herd at some point in the nextmonth. If the herd rejects the calf, you will not intervene.”
    I nod.
    When Grant leaves, I collapse onto the bed. The calf begins to root beneath the covers.
     “My mother was right. I should have studied primates,” I murmur.
    “I doubt Lesego would agree with you,” Neo says.
    “Lesego?”
    “Don’t you think it’s time she had a name?” He walks toward the calf and brushes his
     hand over her brow, a benediction. “In Tswana, it means ‘lucky.’ ”
    He walks toward the door. The moment he puts his hand on the knob, I feel a jolt of
     panic at the thought of handling this calf alone again.
    “I’m assigned to take one of the trucks to Gaborone today for service. While I’m there,
     I will pick up more formula and coconut oil. Cases. Because otherwise I fear there
     might be a mutiny.”
    “But you’re coming back,” I clarify—a statement, not a question.
    He smiles, and the knot inside my chest unravels. “If that’s what you want, Alice.”
    He is leaning against the door. His palm, pressed against the wood, is as pink as
     mine. Last night, Neo had rubbed some of the coconut oil into his skin. I had watched
     him flex his long fingers, lace them together, massage. I had wondered, for a fleeting
     moment, if his skin was as warm as it looked.
    Neo doesn’t wait for me to answer. Instead he opens the door, letting in a slice of
     sunlight that cuts across the wooden floor. The calf, entranced, tries to stomp on
     it.
    “Neo,” I call out.
    His grandmother was a healer, so maybe it is natural that such a talent would run
     in the family. In his presence, it is easy for me to forget that this is a world where
     horrible things can happen, when we least expect them.
    He turns, but I cannot remember what I wanted to say. “Your name,” I improvise quickly.
     “What does it mean in Tswana?”
    He glances away, suddenly shy. “How would you say it …? Something to be given,” he
     answers.
    A gift
, I think, as Neo closes the door behind him.

    We experience weeks full of firsts: the first time Lesego sleeps through the night.
     The first time she eats a cookie. The first time she gets a bath. The first time she
     sees a crested franklin