Traveling Light (20 page)

“What’s in there?” Paula laughed.

Rick smiled. “I’ll give you some to take home.” Fotis licked his chops, looked up at Rick and then began furiously drinking the fresh water. After he was done, the dogs began circling each other, sniffing.

“Let’s get to work.” Rick herded her out and latched the gate. Paula turned and looked at Fotis. He was lost in play.

“Come on,” Rick said over his shoulder. “They’ll be fine.” He started toward the raptor ICU.

Paula didn’t budge. What would Theo, God-rest-his-soul, think if he knew.

“Sam’s gentle. I use him as a foster dad,” Rick called back.

She watched as the dogs frolicked, their limbs loose, happy like two puppies she’d seen in the dog park just off Washington Square. Then she hurried to catch up with Rick.

“She can’t fly, but her weight’s good,” he explained as he and Paula walked. “Her mate’s probably been feeding her until those kids took her yesterday,” he continued. “She’s distressed.”

“Does she have babies—uh, I mean chicks?”

His eyes narrowed. Another thing she should have known. “Raptors nest in January, February,” he said. “Raptors mate for life. The males are just as attentive, in some cases even more so than mothers. Some of my best foster parents are males.”

The metal building was in sight.

“I’m sure her mate’s distressed.” Rick looked up into the trees. “Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s followed and is watching.”

She couldn’t make anything out but leaves.

“How will they find each other?” She looked at Rick.

His face relaxed with the urgency of her question. “They will,” he said. “He knows she’s here; she knows he’s around, somewhere. They navigate all over the world, migrating thousands of miles from the Arctic to South America. They return every spring to the very tree and nest where they were born.”

“God,” she muttered, shaking her head in amazement. She continued scanning the branches. “How long will it take for her to heal?”

Rick lowered his voice. “Depends on what we find.”

“Could she die?”

“Maybe. But probably not.” He wrinkled his nose and shook his head slightly. “It takes a few weeks for a bone to heal. Scotch-tape it together and in a few weeks they’re ready for the flight room.”

“Flight room?”

“The tall part of this building. You can’t see it from here,” he explained. She looked at the tin roof, bright-colored leaves already gathering in the divots and ridges. “Tall perches. We bait them to fly, build up their muscles—physical therapy for raptors.”

“Can I see it?”

He looked at her in a way she didn’t understand, as though suspicious of her enthusiasm.

“Maybe later if we have time.” He looked at his wristwatch—an older-looking 1930s golden-faced dial with a brown leather strap. It could have belonged to her father.

“Raptor bones are hollow, better blood supply than mammals, which is why they heal so fast.” He reached for the doorknob. “For now we’ll tape her femur, check her body for pellets and draw a blood sample to test for lead.”

“So how do these animals find you?”

“Police, rangers, birds in backpacks, chicks in baseball hats,” he said.

“Are you a vet?”

“I studied and spent time in wildlife biology before law,” he said as they reached the metal building. “Was out in the field most summers. Did a lot of this.” He reached for the doorknob and held it open. “No vets up here specialize in wildlife, but Darryl’s a good man. Helps me with surgeries and X-rays.” He said it like she knew Darryl. “Folks can specialize in birds or mammals,” Rick explained. “Up here that’s a luxury. If I can’t treat it, I call Darryl.”

She immediately noticed another small cardboard box next to the eagle’s. She imagined him inside, curled up like a dog, his yellow feet tucked under him in the pink blanket. She so badly wanted to peek.

Rick touched the eagle’s box. “Let’s look the owl over first; then we’ll treat and feed him,” Rick said. “Some weeks we’re twenty-four/seven around here; others it’s quiet. I fed him around two this morning.”

“Where do you get the fresh fish?”

“Fishermen drop it off. In winter, ice fisherman drop off what they don’t want. Hunters drop off deer and bear hearts, especially after the lake freezes. Fresh roadkill will do. No pork, though.”

She chuckled. “Oh, a Jewish eagle?” she joked.

He looked at her with no expression. Either he didn’t get the joke or he didn’t think it funny. “Hope you’re not squeamish.”

Was she?

“Sometimes it’s a deer, squirrel, anything. They drop ’em off if they’re close. Sometimes we have to drive. Lotsa legwork.”

She nodded and walked toward the boxes.

“Gloves first,” he reminded as he slipped one on. “Always.” He pointed toward a wooden box. “They can tear you up.”

He was just about to open the owl’s box when Paula’s phone rang in her purse.
Shit.
Her gut told her it was Roger.

Rick noted her reaction. “Might as well take that.” He pulled back from the box. “Next time turn off your phone.”

Paula looked at him. “Sorry.” She took off the glove and walked toward her purse, hurrying outside before answering.

Roger started right in. “I just talked with Celeste,” he said. “She says you’re working for
some guy
.”

“Well, hello to you, too,” she said.

“Where’d you meet him, Paula?”

“Roger—”

“Online? Just tell me.”

“From an ad in a garbage can, okay?” she said, though she doubted he’d heard.

“Are you wearing your wedding ring?”

She looked at her hand. He got her.

“You aren’t, are you,” he confirmed.

There was silence.

“It’s in my purse. I’m working with birds,” she said. Roger had never worn the wedding band she’d bought him and it had always bothered her. He claimed it was too restrictive.

“I knew things had to change,” Roger started. “They’ve not been good for a long time—we both know that—” His voice kept cutting out.

Did
we
?
Roger was mired in so many protective layers that he’d always characterize marital kerfuffles (as he called them) as
her
problem,
her
time of the month,
her
starting
the change,
nothing remotely resulting from the effects of his illness on their marriage.

“—but God, Paula, are you sleeping with this guy?”

She laughed and was tempted to say something nasty like,
What do you care? You had your shot,
but didn’t.

“You’re having sex with him?”

“Oh God, knock it off,” she said, almost flattered. “I’m working here,” she said.

Roger struggled to calm his voice. “You sure?”

“Roger, for God’s sake I’m sleeping with the dog.”

“I don’t know what you’re doing out there with this dog—whose damn dog is it anyway? Did you have to take it all the way to Minnesota, for God sakes?”

“Excuse me, Roger”—she had to stop herself from laughing—“but you’re in fricking France. What difference does it make where I am?”

“This makes no sense at all. Why don’t you just fly here, Paula? We can talk.”

It was true he wasn’t one for the phone.

“I’ve looked into it. There’s a nonstop from Minneapolis to Paris. Just come for the weekend. We can talk it out—I’ve told you I’ll make changes; I told you before we left New York.”

“I must have missed that conversation, Roger.” It felt like a coldhearted thing to say. She looked at her phone; it was down to one bar. Holding it out in front of her with both hands, she began walking the property searching for a beam from some cell-phone tower. “Look, we need a break,” she said. “
I
need a break.”

“Paula, I love you,” he said. “I miss you.” His voice was shaky in a way she’d never heard. She guessed he wasn’t sleeping again.

“Well, I love you, too,” she said, laughing in a way that might have included ice cream too.

“Come to France. I miss you.”

“Well, I miss you, too.” It began as an obligatory thing to say but then she started to feel it.

“Why are you pulling a stunt like this?” he asked.

A stunt?

“Look,” he said. “I’ll do whatever it takes, whatever you want.”

Her stomach squeezed. “‘Whatever
I
want,’” she stated. “Like someone’s put a gun to your head and is forcing you to sleep with your own wife?” Her face felt hot, the top of her head like a geyser. “I can’t even talk, Roger. For ten years you haven’t missed me.” Tears came up from the painful knot in her throat. Two weeks ago she’d have been on her knees with gratefulness at such a concession. She’d have gone to church with Eleni, lit a candle, crossed herself and kissed the icon of Panayia (the Virgin Mary).

“Sweetie, of course I’ve missed you.” He tried to pull it off, but his voice was syrupy.

“I can’t talk about this now.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie; that came out all wrong,” he said, tripping over his words. “Maybe I didn’t realize how important it was to you—”

She started laughing. “Look. I can’t have this conversation now. We’ll talk when we’re back in New York.” Just the thought of it made her feel gray.

So many years of disappointment, then hope, then more jewelry to soothe the disappointment. A week ago felt like someone else’s life. Asleep for a decade to awaken with nothing except a perpetually sore back, wrinkles, more gray hair and a trove of old jewelry. And while Roger was never one for grand overtures before, she didn’t want to decide anything. The next weeks were hers. All she knew was that she couldn’t continue living as they had. Roger was so good at eroding her resolve. What scared her most was the possibility that once back in New York she’d collapse, unable to save herself. Even if her marriage was lost, the last few days suggested that she was still alive.

She glanced around to make sure Rick hadn’t snuck out to hide in the trees, like the male owl, listening, watching.

“I miss you,” Roger said. “Please reconsider. Come to France.”

“Look.” She gained some composure. “I have to go.”

“Go where?”

“I’ll call you tonight,” she conceded.

“There’s an awards ceremony in Paris tonight.”

“So miss it.”

“I can’t. I’m presenting.”

“So call me after.”

“There’s a banquet.”

She shook her head. He got her again; she felt kicked downstairs, relegated to the couch.

“Good-bye, Roger, I have an owl to save.” She turned off her phone, disgusted with herself. She dashed to the Escape and threw her purse through the open window onto the driver’s seat, then ran around the side of Rick’s house to check on Fotis. The two animals were lying side by side in the morning sun, panting. She then raced back to the metal building and the birds.

“I’m back.” She closed the door with too much force. Rick’s eyebrows rose. He was peacefully sitting in front of the laptop entering vitals. She felt foolish but grabbed the glove and put it on.

He looked up before standing up. “Ready?”

Rick began walking over to the smaller box. Opening the lid, he lifted the owl out of the box, and she was the most beautiful thing Paula had ever seen. The bird’s feathers were the colors of fall leaves and tree bark, yet when Paula touched the owl she was softer than Paula had imagined. The owl’s eyes were amber, an eye color Paula had never seen at close range.

“Do you ever get used to the beauty of these birds?”

One look from him told her,
Never.

“Great horns don’t have horns,” he said with the same gentleness she’d heard the previous day. “They’re tufts.”

He laid the bird down on the table. She looked up at Paula.

“Hi, sweetie,” Paula said.

“Here,” he said, holding the owl’s feet with one hand. “See how this wing moves? Now watch the other one.”

She could see the difference.

“Broken femur. But see this blood clot?” He pointed.

Paula saw what looked like three black knobs among the feathers. “Shotgun pellets. I need for you to hold her, while I feel the rest of her body.”

Paula grasped the owl’s feet with her gloved hand. The bird offered no resistance. After examining the torso, he shifted his hands back. “Now you feel. Feel for things that don’t belong with feathers.”

She touched the bird with her bare hand; the feathers were so soft she could barely feel them. The owl’s body was surprisingly tender as Paula could feel rough bumps that were irregular in distribution. The bird didn’t even seem to mind being touched.

“There’s something here.” Paula looked up at Rick.

He nodded.

“And another here.”

“Keep searching.”

Paula’s hands felt around the owl’s entire body.

“All right. Hold tight,” he said, reaching into the drawer for a syringe with his bare hand. “Hope it’s not lead buckshot.”

“Hope not, too.”

“Even if it is, depends where they’ve been shot. In some parts of the body it becomes toxic; in others a pellet remains inert.”

Paula wanted him to explain more, but he didn’t.

“She’s stressed,” Rick said, pulling blood into the syringe. He held it up, seeming satisfied it was enough. “But that’s because she’s separated from her mate. Wanna make sure it’s nothing else.”

Paula thought about it.

“You’re sure they’ll find each other?”

“If she makes a full recovery, we’ll release her.”

She pictured her mate waiting, searching, distressed.

“You got her?”

“Yeah.” Paula nodded.

He moved over to one of the machines on the counter. “Just got this thing, used to have to send samples off to the Twin Cities and wait.” She watched him program the tester and set up the sample. “This gives lead levels in minutes.

“When we come back, in that fridge over there is a blue plastic bag containing two deer hearts. I need you to slice ’em up into tiny cubes to feed the outside eagles. Think you can do that? Later we’ll put ’em in the flight cage for some exercise.”

She froze, thinking of deer on the highways. She looked at Rick and nodded.

“Aren’t a lot of happy endings in wildlife rehab, so gotta revel when they happen.”