When the old keeper forgot one latch, the 400-pound silverback reached through the steel

by the end of that month. Eleven in August. Then, in the first two weeks of September, the marks rose so sharply they no longer looked like affection increasing.

They looked like an alarm.

“Only with Tom?” I asked.

Miguel nodded. He was thirty-two, careful, and too young to have learned how to hide worry gracefully. “He’ll sit near me. He’ll take food continue reading …