by Mariah Dietz
“Hey, Deb,” Rose says. She pulls in a breath through her nose and then swallows thickly.
I stare at her, sensing the trigger, but like most interactions with Rose, I find myself completely clueless.
Bill looks at his daughter and then the other woman, curiosity clear on his beveled brow. “You know each other?”
Debra looks at him and then Rose. “Rose volunteered here for years.”
“With Mom,” Anna says, her tone filled with realization.
Rose forces another smile. “It’s nice to see you again.” She turns her attention to her dad. “How’d you find this place?”
Bill sobers. “We were looking for some good volunteering opportunities. Grayson wants to make sure the environment is on his agenda.”
“Of course.” Rose lifts her chin. “This is a great place to start.”
Behind us, a bird screeches.
I turn in time to see a mid-sized owl flap its wings and screech again from where it’s sitting perched on a mounted branch. Unlike the other birds that are in smaller enclosures inside and larger enclosures outside, he’s free.
Debra smiles. “That’s just Harry. He’s all bark and no bite. He’s been here with us for seven years now—refuses to leave.”
Rose looks at the bird, a flash of something dark and sad crossing her features. This isn’t the first time I’ve found myself wanting to ask her a dozen clarifying questions, but this is certainly the closest I’ve been to some of the shadows of her past that she often evades with humor.
“We get lots of owls brought to us in need of help during the spring months,” Debra says. “Mostly owlets, baby owls, that have fallen from their nests due to logging or people cutting dead trees. We’re a full rehab center, so if an owl is hurt or just malnourished, we get them strong enough, and then our goal is always to get them back out into the wild.”
“Harry didn’t want to go?” Mom asks Debra, giving another nervous glance at the owl, who is now resting quietly and observing the newcomers in his domain.
Debra smiles. “We’ve tried on multiple occasions, but he’s determined to stay. At least, for now.” She rubs her hands together. “Many owls stay with us for a short period. Baby owls grow into adults in just sixteen weeks, and so it’s vital for us to get them back out into their natural environment as quickly as possible, so we don’t interfere with their natural instincts.
“We also have adult birds brought in, like this little lady.” She points at a large, metal cage where a sleek owl with a round white face sits. “This is a barn owl. She was brought in last week after being caught in fishing wire and nearly drowning. She broke her wing trying to get free and lost a lot of feathers, and has a nasty scratch on her head. Adults tend to stay longer because their injuries are often more extensive. She’ll probably be with us for eight to twelve weeks.” Debra points into the distance. “We take care of other wild birds in the area, but we specialize in owls, and so they’re brought here from all over the state and surrounding areas like Montana, Idaho, and Oregon. We even had an owl come all the way from Colorado this summer. He’d been hit by a car and had to undergo a pretty substantial surgery. But you’ll see hawks, crows, ravens, ducks, seagulls, ospreys…” she shrugs. “Basically, all the wild birds in the area.”
“They all get along?” Anna asks.
Debra grins. “No. Owls are very independent creatures.” She walks a few paces and stops. “Today, I thought I’d just show you around and talk to you about volunteering opportunities that are available. People sometimes think that volunteering means they get to pet the birds and play with them, and so I’ve realized it’s crucial to be upfront and let everyone know that these birds aren’t meant to interact with. We don’t do it to be cruel or unkind, but we don’t want them going back out into the wild and seeking out humans. It wouldn’t be safe for them, and it wouldn’t be safe for you either. Owls are raptors and have incredibly sharp talons and beaks that are meant for hunting. That said, there are many volunteering opportunities that will still have you in contact with the birds if that’s something you’re interested in.
“Some of the opportunities include cleaning the animal’s cages, prepping the animal’s food, assisting with calls we receive, and if you’re interested in learning about them, we do monthly field visits where we teach schools and others in the community about the birds and what we do here. This can be a great photo op situation,” she says.
“There are also opportunities to work out in the field. We are currently looking for volunteers to help build some safe structures for the burrowing owls. We also have fundraising opportunities which involve making cold calls, stuffing envelopes, that kind of thing.” She sweeps her gaze across us, hands poised on her hips almost as though she’s waiting for us to tell her don’t call us, we’ll call you.
Hell, that’s what I want to tell her. When Dad asked me to meet him here as soon as I got off of the plane, I was ready to give him a dozen reasons why I couldn’t make it—only a small percentage of them were made up. Between needing to study, preparing for tomorrow’s practice, catching up with my laundry, and getting some decent sleep, I had no interest or patience to meet someone else from the campaign. But, Anna had asked that I be present so we could finalize details about the new website.
I’m not as concerned as my mom about the new site or the potential backlash. I have enough faith in Cooper and Rose to believe we’re at least going to present a fight. Truth be told, I wasn’t that worried about how my picture on the rumor website was being perceived. I’ve spent little time in my life giving a fuck about what others think about me. But, I’ve found myself trying to find an excuse to explain it to Rose since it was published.
“When you said to dress casually, I didn’t realize you meant prepare to climb a pine tree casual,” Anna says, looking at her dad.
Mom laughs kindly, likely feeling the same way.
Debra flashes a knowing smirk.
“Since we’re here, maybe we can help out with some things here, and then we can make a decision about how to proceed,” Dad says, ever the diplomat.
“Great idea. Maybe we can even bounce some ideas around on how to release the new the article,” Mom says. I know she’s not trying to be rude or even offensive. There are few things she wouldn’t do to help Cassie or me, and this website fiasco has irked her to a personal degree that has her feeling straight up like a mama bear.
“Mom, it’s fine. I’ve met with Dad’s PR team, and they’ve given us a library of suggestions and advice,” I tell her.
Hesitation hangs on her furrowed brow. “Bill is right. I don’t want you to live with this rumor for the rest of your life. I mean, that picture is two years old.”
This has Rose turning to look at me, life finally present back in those penetrating green eyes, but before I can study her expression, Anna turns to Rose and quietly asks her a question.
“Our neighbor in Italy hated birds. She said they’re bad luck,” Mom says quietly from beside me. She cranes her neck to look at Harry, who’s still perched nearby, but his eyes are closed now.
I glance at the owl that drew my attention the moment we stepped back here. Large with a headful of pristine white feathers that travel down its body, peppered artfully with gray feathers. It’s majestic, reminding me of every fantasy novel I was too embarrassed to read in public as a kid when all my friends preferred comic books and horror movies. “I think they’re pretty awesome,” I tell her.
“Do you remember that time you and Dustin found that injured owl out by the fishing hole?” Dad asks. “This was the sanctuary I’d contacted and who came and got it.” The memory sparks to life. Dustin and I had taken a break from playing football to go fishing and were cutting through the woods to avoid our old eccentric neighbor when we found the owl on the ground.
“Cassie wanted to keep that owl,” Mom says.
“Owls are amazing and essential birds, but they make lousy pets unless you work at a bird sanctuary,” Deb
ra says as she returns with a box of disposable gloves. “You guys are going to want these. Owls are solitary creatures, so they need to be kept alone. But since our vet is here today, she’ll be doing some checkups, which will allow you guys to clean out their enclosures while I prepare their food.”
Debra leads us outside to the larger enclosures where she tells us the steps for cleaning them and then gives us a handout with all of the same instructions. After a few clarifying questions, she takes the first owl out to be seen by the vet, leaving us to get to work.
“Dad, these jeans are four-hundred dollars,” Anna says. “I had no idea this was what you had in mind when you talked about a nice community outreach program.”
“Four-hundred dollars?” Bill asks. “For pants? Do they wash and fold themselves?”
“No, but they also weren’t made in a factory where a child made five cents for making them.”
“Touché,” Bill replies. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t you take some pictures for us. Maybe we can get a couple of good ones to use for his social media campaign.”
I stretch my back. Everything aches today. Sundays are the one day a week that we don’t practice because after hitting it hard on the field where we don’t leave an ounce of our strength and effort back, we’re all fatigued and aching. I typically spend my Sundays wrapped in ice packs, drinking a dozen sports drinks, and trying to catch up on my homework.
“I think those are the things we’re supposed to be preserving,” Mom says, pointing at something that can only be described as looking like something you’d find in a litter box. Mom’s cheeks balloon as she works to hold back her disgust, remaining by the door. The enclosure is larger than I’d expected, big enough for several of us to fit inside.
Rose pulls on her gloves. “It’s easier to stomach if you remind yourself it’s not droppings, more like a giant hairball.”
Anna covers her mouth as Rose reaches around the space and collects the owl pellets that they save for schools to dissect. “I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.”
Rose grins. “Pull up your sleeves, Anna. Things have only just begun!” It’s her playful side, her lighter side that I have only seen in short glimpses since last spring. It feels like I’m hitting a physical withdrawal, not realizing how much I’ve missed seeing this side of her. This is the part of Rose that blinds me to the world and reasoning and makes me feel overwhelmed and certain about life and this path that I’m on. And even the smallest dose of it remains in my thoughts with a sense of permanence that I’m grateful for. So often, it’s the hurt and pain that we hold onto and think about at night, and since meeting Rose, it’s these sparks that linger in my thoughts—like embers that keep me warm at night.
“I have so many questions to ask you girls,” Mom says as she seals the container with the owl pellets and moves them out of sight. “Anna, I know you’ve worked on presidential campaigns so this probably isn’t nearly as big of a deal for you anymore, but since your dad worked in the White House for eight years, did you get to meet the President? And were you able to go into the White House?”
My curiosity is piqued. When Rose told me that her dad worked in politics, I had no idea she’d meant he’d worked as the White House’s Deputy Chief of Staff, and while it seems noteworthy, I can understand why she kept the details to herself. I know what it’s like with my mother having come from what is now a tech giant. The first questions people always ask are about what and who she knew and if they could get some inside advice or trading help.
Anna’s shoulders and smile relaxes as she turns to my mom, an obvious sense of comfort with the change of subject. Rose, however, maintains her focus on gathering the food and water dishes. “We met the President on multiple occasions,” Anna says. “And we were allowed to see quite a lot of the White House. The highlight during those years was always the parties thrown at the White House.”
Mom’s eyes grow round with interest. “Oh my gosh. Did you get to meet many celebrities? What was the food like? I bet the gowns were gorgeous.”
The two fall into conversation, each detail and fact pulling them further from our current task.
“Deputy Chief of Staff,” I say, grabbing the hose.
Rose looks at me with a silencing stare.
“I wasn’t going to ask if you’ve met Oprah.”
A smile slips across her lips. She tries to fight it but slowly shakes her head and lets it burst across her face. “Most people have no idea what that even means.”
“When you said he traveled a lot for work, I didn’t realize he lived on the opposite side of the country.”
“We moved over there for a year,” she says. “But he was working like fourteen-hour days, sometimes longer, so we barely saw him anyways, and Anna had been accepted into private school, and our mom wanted to be close to her.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Did you like living in DC?”
Her green eyes flash to me and then away. “I was eight.”
“And knowing you, I’m betting you had an opinion, even at eight.”
Her eyes brighten with that same glow of humor. “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be interviewing you, Mr. Forrest.”
“This isn’t an interview. It’s a conversation.”
Rose rubs her lips together as though deciding her next move. “More than I thought I would. I liked the adventure, and meeting new neighbors, and new kids at school. I liked the bustle of the city and seeing the Lincoln Memorial every day on my way to school. But my mom missed Seattle and our house and the quiet, and the more she talked about it, the more I was convinced I missed those things, too.” She tilts her head to the side with the slightest of shrugs, and I can’t determine if it’s meant for herself or me as she shares this detail with me.
“Was it hard to have him gone all the time?”
“At first it was,” she says. “And then it became normal, and having him home was sometimes hard because he didn’t fit into the routines we created. Sometimes stupid stuff, like we found a new favorite pizza place, and he’d come home for a week and order pizza at the old place we used to like but had stopped going to. And sometimes bigger things like we got a dog and the dog didn’t know him and growled and barked at him all the time. He didn’t know when I went to school or that Mom and I liked to drink our coffee outside every morning together in silence as our reflection time.” She grins again. “My mom was the ultimate hippy.” Rose glances in the direction of my mom and her sister and then returns those brazen green eyes to me. “You’re probably experiencing what I did with my dad first hand since your parents just moved back. Is it kind of weird?”
“It probably will be come spring when I’m actually home.”
“By then, they’ll probably be busy with campaign stuff. Granted, I don’t know much about local elections.” She scrunches her face. “My dad was gone for a full year before the inauguration, but I’m sure your dad will have to do quite a bit of stuff still even for the state level.”
“Likely.”
A gentle laugh slips through her lips.
“What?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Sometimes, you’re a man of few words.”
I laugh in turn. “I have no idea. You probably know more about this than I do. All I know is what I’ve been told, which is to not comment unless I feel comfortable or want to.”
“Solid advice,” she says.
We continue to work through cleaning multiple enclosures, creating a system. Rose and I clear out the owl pellets and dishes, then I spray them down, our dad’s scrub them, and then I go back and rinse them.
“We’re almost done,” Rose says as she comes out of one of the enclosures, this one smaller only allowing one of us in at a time and even then, we have to bend over.
Questions about her mom and her apparent comfort here have been building over the past couple of hours, but our conversations have revolved around the articles she plans to write,
stories about her cat, and how she recently made an offer on some studio space that she thinks she’ll lose.
“That’s good,” I say, looking around. “I’m pretty sure we lost the other two-thirds of our volunteers.”
She laughs, and blows at a few strands of her dark hair that have settled across her face. “I’m pretty sure they were slowing us down, anyway.”
I peel off my glove and reach forward, grazing my fingers across her cheek to brush the strands behind her ear.
Rose freezes, her green eyes focusing on mine as her lips gently part.
I begin to lean forward, ready to recreate our kiss from the park, experience a kiss that isn’t based upon anger but pure desire.
“Rose!” Anna calls.
We have time. Anna’s voice is distant, from around the corner or wherever she and my mom had gone, but Rose takes a step back, her gaze filled with questions and the hint of anger.
Anna appears a moment later with her phone out. “I’m emailing you some ideas that Michelle and I discussed—topics and questions that will generate some intrigue without being too personal.”
Rose nods. “Works for me. I’m going to see if Deb needs any help with the food.” She doesn’t look at me before disappearing inside.
I can’t help but wonder if this is a consequence of our kiss.
My annoyance fuels me to finish cleaning the rest of the enclosure alone, until Rose wanders back outside.
“Sorry to leave you to get this one done alone,” she says, still avoiding my gaze.
“Are things going to be weird between us from now on?”
“Define weird.” She looks at me, but I can see the sarcasm curling her lips.
“You know what I’m talking about. We’ve barely spoken except for when I asked for your help with the articles.”
Her gaze drops to my jeans. “Speaking of that, I haven’t heard your phone blowing up. Did you turn it off? Bury it? Drop it into the Pacific?”
She’s the queen of deflection, but my dad is heading this way, and I know this isn’t the time or place to push her. “Actually, I need to give you my new number.”
