“She’s got her fruit and her litter box. Besides, your parents said they’d keep an eye on her.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Pinky muttered as she signaled left and turned onto the main highway.
* * *
Pinky knocked on the door of the small yellow cottage. The gravel driveway beside it was barely large enough to hold the decrepit pickup truck in it, let alone Pinky’s parents’ rental, but she’d managed it somehow. When they heard the doorknob turning, she took a deep breath and readied her version of a friendly smile.
“Hello!” she said brightly to the seventy-something-year-old white man who answered his front door but left the screen door closed. He had a puff of hair around either ear but was otherwise bald as a cue ball. “Have you heard about the luxury condos that are going in where the butterfly habitat currently is?”
“Eh?” the man said, a ferocious frown on his grizzled face. “What’s that?”
Pinky darted Samir a nervous glance. Leaning in slightly, she said, louder, “Have you heard about the dev—”
“I don’t need a house cleaner,” the man said, about to shut his door.
Pinky glared at him. “We’re not house cleaners.”
The man harrumphed as if he belonged in a cartoon. Samir was starting to get kind of annoyed. “Then what are you doing on my property?” He looked from her to Samir and then back again. “You’re not from around these parts, are you?”
Samir raised an eyebrow. “And why would you say that?”
The man squinted at him. “You just don’t look like you belong here.”
“Let me guess,” Pinky said, and Samir could see her making a monumental effort not to crumple the flyer. “You’re going to ask us where we’re from next. And when we say California, you’ll say, ‘No, where are you from from?’ We’re done here.” She thumped the screen door with the heel of her hand and turned to walk back to the car.
Samir nodded at the man. “Good day.”
“All right, then.” The man stood watching them as they walked off his property.
“Jerk,” Pinky whispered as they got back in the car.
“You know, this might not be the safest thing to be doing right now,” Samir said, looking around. A few of the cars in the neighborhood had stickers like, KEEP HONKING I’M RELOADING or I PLEAD THE 2ND. He could feel his good sense warring with his need to support Pinky in her mission.
“He was just a run-of-the-mill racist,” Pinky said, pulling out of the driveway and heading back down the street. “Not like we haven’t seen a million of them.”
Samir held tightly to the dashboard as Pinky sped away. “Okay, but are racists even going to listen to us, then? Plus, I don’t know… this whole area looks like it’s populated by those survivalist people who have, like, twenty-two guns per family member. Maybe we should just abandon ship.”
Pinky looked at him seriously. “I don’t want to walk away right now. Not when we’re doing something so important. But if you feel unsafe, I can take you home.”
Samir shook his head immediately. “I’m not leaving you.”
Pinky squeezed his arm and then put her hand back on the wheel as she drove. “Okay. But I promise, if it gets even slightly more scary than that, we’ll leave. Deal?”
“Deal.” Samir shook his head. “You’re a pretty cool person. You know that, Pinky Kumar?”
She glanced at him, smiling, before returning her gaze to the road. “A time or two, Samir Jha.” Her small smile morphed into a beaming grin. “Aha! Now, here’s a person who’ll probably appreciate our efforts.”
Samir glanced out the window to see a house painted a bright turquoise with neat white shutters. The windows all had window boxes full of bright flowers, and an old brown van in the driveway was plastered with bumper stickers that passionately espoused a number of pro-environment slogans (Samir’s favorite was MAY THE FOREST BE WITH YOU).
Pinky pulled into the driveway behind the van, and Samir handed her a flyer as they walked up to the house. Before they could knock, a white woman in her fifties with salt-and-pepper cropped hair opened the door and smiled. “Hello!”
“Hi.” Pinky thrust the flyer at her. “Can I tell you about our butterfly habitat?”
“You mean the one down the road?” the woman asked, glancing down at the flyer. “It’s such a shame they’re building those condos down there. Of all the places they could’ve chosen.”
“Exactly!” Pinky looked like someone had told her they were about to populate the earth with bees and plants and do away with humans completely. “It’s a total tragedy, right?”
“Angie, who are you talking to?” The white woman, Angie, was joined by a white man in his early sixties. He leaned against the doorjamb and regarded Pinky and Samir closely with clear blue eyes. His thin arms were folded against his chest, and his silver wedding band caught the light. “Hello,” he said, his greeting much more guarded than Angie’s.
“Good morning.” Samir held out a hand. He had the feeling this man would respond better to a more polite, professional demeanor. “I’m Samir, and this is Pinky. We’re spreading the word about the butterfly habitat and how it’s about to be razed. A local resident named Gloria Washington is organizing a town hall meeting a week from Saturday so residents can brainstorm options to save it.”
Pinky shot him a look that was half-amused, half-impressed. Turning back to Angie, she said, “Um, yeah, that’s right. So if you two would consider coming…”
“We try not to get too involved with stuff that isn’t directly our problem,” the guy said, his lips thinning.
“Oh, come now, Charles.” Angie’s smile was gentle. “It’s just a town hall meeting. These kids put in so much effort getting these printed and driving all the way out here.” She turned to Pinky. “I haven’t seen you around, so I’m guessing you live out by the lake?”
Pinky nodded. “My parents have a house there.” Charles’s eyes narrowed, and Samir could see the thought bubble above his head: I’m not putting my neck out for some entitled rich kid who’s just gonna fly out and forget about this in another month. Pinky rushed on. “But I’m not the one spearheading this; like I said, it’s all Gloria Washington, and she and her wife are year-round residents. We’re just supporting her and the other residents who don’t want this to happen. You say this isn’t directly your problem, but I think it is. I mean, how’s it going to be when that habitat’s gone? What else are they going to bulldoze and raze? Do you want this to become the new Nantucket, ridiculously clogged with traffic each summer?” She paused, then said softly, “That butterfly habitat is one of my most favorite places in the entire world, and I know other people here on Ellingsworth feel the same way. It would mean so much to me—and to your neighbors—if you and your wife would come.”
Angie and Charles glanced at each other. Then turning back to Pinky, Angie said, “I’ll be there, honey.”
Pinky smiled. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”