Broken Wings

by Weis, Alexandrea

  Pamela felt her body jump as he slammed the door shut behind him. She closed her eyes and cursed her own insecurities for not allowing her to tell him what she was thinking. Her hands curled into fists as she tried to suppress the flood of emotion that was suddenly inundating her. She did not want to feel her heartstrings tug for another, not another human anyway. She could not risk letting someone else in and she had spent enough time with the opposite sex to know that relationships only ended up being mistakes that she wished had never happened. No, it was best not to entertain any emotional feelings for Daniel Phillips. Her animals fulfilled her and she knew the silly banter between two lonely people would never amount to anything. Besides, a man like Daniel Phillips would only use her and move on, and she had endured enough heartbreak for one lifetime.

  Chapter 4

  The following afternoon Pamela was trying to stuff a few heads of cabbage into an old refrigerator when Daniel walked into the barn.

  “What’s with all the boxes of food?” He asked as he examined the boxes of old cantaloupes, radishes, apples, turnip greens, and other assorted fruits and vegetables scattered around the barn floor.

  “Hey. I didn’t think I would see you back here again,” she casually stated as she tried to rearrange some old cantaloupe in the refrigerator.

  “I told you I would be back.”

  She did not look up at him, but kept her eyes focused on the contents of the refrigerator. “Yeah, well, people may say one thing, but do another.”

  “You’ll find I’m a man of my word, Pamela.” He came up to her side and waved his hand to the boxes. “So what is all this?”

  “I just made my run,” Pamela replied, grabbing some cherry tomatoes and putting them in a second refrigerator.

  “Your run?”

  “I have a 501C non profit organization so businesses can donate goods to my facility and write it off as a charitable donation. The grocery in Folsom saves all of their old produce for me, and I go to collect it three times a week.”

  Daniel picked up a soft cantaloupe. “Is this stuff edible?”

  “It is to a fox, rabbit, squirrel, raccoon.” She waved her hand at him. “You get the idea.”

  He nodded as she continued to fill the refrigerators.

  “The feed store in nearby Covington donates broken or torn bags of seed and deer corn, a local grade school collects old clothes for bedding, and I have a building contractor who gives me scraps of wood I use to build nest boxes,” she explained as she shoved some wilted kale into the refrigerator.

  “Nest boxes? Like the ones birds use?” Daniel asked.

  Pamela nodded. “Squirrels too. I also build dens for the foxes, climbing trees for the raccoons, houses for skunks, basically anything an animal will need to help them adapt to being released back into the wild.”

  “You’ve got quite an operation going here,” he commented.

  She walked over to a box of zucchini mixed with broccoli. “Took me a while to get everything set up, but it’s finally come together in the past year or two.”

  “So how did you get into this?” he asked as he started helping her unpack some of the boxes.

  She picked up the box and stepped back to the refrigerator. “I lived in the city with my husband and a neighbor brought a baby squirrel to me.” She put the box down on the floor. “I had always been an animal nut as a kid. I raised orphaned kittens and took in stray dogs all the time. Drove my father crazy. But I had never taken care of a squirrel, so I got on the Internet and learned all I could.” She smiled and her face warmed over with memories. “Her name was Widget and she taught me how to love squirrels. Soon I began to connect with permitted wildlife rehabbers in the area and learned more about raising baby squirrels and other small mammals. Right after I got my wildlife rehabilitation permit from the Louisiana Wildlife and Fisheries, my husband asked for a divorce. Bob never liked animals much. So I moved out here and decided to pursue rehabbing full time.”

  Daniel stared at the woman as she stuffed some zucchini in the refrigerator. It was then he noticed the scratches on her forearm peaking out from under her long-sleeved shirt.

  “What happened?” he asked as he pointed to her arm.

  Pamela looked at her arm and seemed amazed by what she found there. “Oh, one of the baby squirrels was running all over me this morning. Their nails are really sharp when they are young. I’m always getting scratched up.”

  “Isn’t that a little dangerous for you considering your lupus? It’s an immune system disorder, right? So shouldn’t you try and protect yourself from diseases?”

  Pamela gave a frustrated sigh as she reached for some broccoli. “I know I should be more careful. Sometimes the scratches get infected, mostly from the raccoons. Their scratches are the worst for me. If I have problems, I notify my doctor and he calls something in to the pharmacy for me.” She rolled her eyes. “But only after he has given me a long lecture about why I should quit rehabbing.”

  “That would be enough to stop a lot of other people with lupus,” he argued.

  She shoved the broccoli into the refrigerator. “When I was first diagnosed, I spent a lot of time on the computer doing research, even joined a couple of support groups, but all that did was constantly remind me of my lupus. I didn’t want to be one of those people who spent every waking moment obsessing about their condition. I decided I needed something else to occupy my mind.”

  Daniel glanced around the barn. “And this is what you found?”

  She walked over to a box of romaine lettuce. “I love what I do, and it keeps me going,” she affirmed. “I don’t jump motorcycles over cars, get blown out of a cannon twice a day, or break horses. I think what I do is pretty tame compared to others.” She picked up the box and moved back to the refrigerator.

  Daniel patted the refrigerator door. “You need another one of these.”

  She placed the box of romaine lettuce on the floor next to his feet. “I need two more. It’s on my to-do list.”

  Daniel took in the six-stall horse barn. There was a large tack room next to him, where Pamela had stored several garbage tins filled with seeds and corn. The refrigerators were located outside of the tack room door. She had hay piled up in one stall and old wood planks in another. In a third stall, she had a selection of power tools spread out on a makeshift table. In another were several wire cages piled one on top of the other.

  “What do you use this place for?” he asked.

  Pamela followed his eyes around the barn. ”Storage for the time being. I would like one day to take out all of the stalls and turn this place into the nursery, medical ward, and food prep site. To do that I would have to knock out all the stalls, divide it into separate areas with walls and sheetrock, add air and heat, as well as gut the disgusting bathroom next to the tack room to make it usable.” She shrugged as she turned back to Daniel. “It’s on my to-do list.”

  Daniel shook his head. “That’s a long list.”

  “You should have seen the place when I first took it over. I try to remove one thing a year from my list, but that is completely dependent on the amount of money it takes to fix whatever meltdowns may occur around here. One broken appliance that needs to be fixed, or worse, replaced, can really set me back.”

  She finished putting the last of the romaine lettuce away and could feel Daniel’s eyes on her. Either she was becoming paranoid, or she could truly sense every time the man looked at her. The only problem was she was not sure what he was thinking when he did observe her. Normally, she could have cared less what someone like Daniel Phillips thought of her. But as she spent more time with him, she found herself becoming more obsessed with what he was thinking and why.

  She wiped her hands on the back of her jeans and started picking up the empty boxes from the floor. Daniel stepped in and started helping her.

  “What do you want to do with these?” he asked, holding an armload of boxes.

  “Let’s take them out to the burn pile,” she instructed, h
eading to the barn entrance.

  Daniel followed her out of the barn and toward a large pile of boxes, dead tree limbs, discarded nesting hay, and old newspapers set up close to the edge of the cleared property.

  As Pamela stepped in front of the burn pile, Daniel noticed two squirrels running from the nearby brush to her side. He stopped and watched as Pamela bent over to speak to the squirrels. The animals darted about her feet, and around some of the boxes gathered on the ground, before heading back to the brush.

  Daniel came up to her side and tossed the boxes in his arms on top of the mound of rubbish. “Does that usually happen?” he asked.

  Pamela nodded. “Two of my male squirrels from last season, Moe and Larry. They hang out in the trees on this side of the clearing and sometimes come to see me. When I am walking about the property I usually have a few of the animals I have rehabbed running up to me looking for treats or just to visit.”

  “I thought they were supposed to be wild. Won’t interacting with you teach them not to be afraid of people?” he asked as he picked up the boxes scattered about his feet.

  “No, they’re wild. They won’t go to strangers. I’m family,” Pamela replied as she tossed the last of the boxes on to the burn pile. “Thanks for helping me,” she stated, turning to him.

  “I’ll bet that hurt,” he said, wiping his hands together.

  She knitted her brows. “What are you talking about?”

  “You hate having people help you. Must be hard enough for you to admit that you need help, let alone thank someone for helping you.”

  “I was being polite,” she admitted, raising her voice just a bit.

  He laughed. “Now you’re getting defensive.”

  She opened her mouth to respond to his accusation but decided against it. “I have baby squirrels to feed,” she informed him and turned away, heading back toward the house.

  “Can I help?” Daniel asked as he followed her.

  Pamela stopped walking and faced him. “I thought you were going to work on the roof.” She paused and watched as his expression became somber. “I didn’t realize. I mean you want to feed the babies?”

  His dark mood instantly lifted and he gave her a warm smile that seemed to soften the coldness in his eyes. “Yes, I know you want me to get started on the roof but…”

  “No, it’s not about the roof. I’m just surprised that you want to feed the babies again. Most people, especially men, aren’t very interested in helping feed babies. They think it’s…” she tried to find the right word.

  “A woman’s job,” Daniel said, filling in the blank.

  She nodded.

  He looked sheepishly at the ground. “Well, I don’t think that. I really enjoyed handling the little flea-infested fuzz balls.”

  Pamela could not help but laugh at him. “Well, come on then. I’ll even show you how to mix their formula.”

  Back at the house, Pamela taught Daniel how to mix powdered formula with water and yogurt in a blender.

  “The yogurt aids their digestion and adds a little thickness to the formula,” she said, removing the formula from the blender and pouring some of it into two small bowls. She then took the bowls to the microwave.

  “Where do you get your formula?” he asked, watching her place small nipples on the end of some syringes.

  “Every rehabber has a different theory about formula. A lot of rehabbers go with the company I use because they don’t have as many chemicals in their formula. Some buy another brand and some make their own out of milk. If you want to start a fist fight among rehabbers, bring up which is the best formula to use for babies.” She took the warmed formula out of the microwave and carried the bowls over to the kitchen table.

  She sat in a chair next to the table as Daniel took a seat across from her. She handed him a syringe and a bowl of formula.

  “Grab a container and get to it,” she ordered as she waved her hand at the pile of containers between them.

  Daniel eagerly lifted the first baby out of the small clear plastic container. His eyes softened as he handled the tiny creature. And when he put the nipple into the animal’s mouth and watched it eagerly begin sucking down the formula from the syringe, he smiled.

  “You really enjoy this, don’t you?” she asked, observing him.

  “Yes, I really do,” he said, briefly glancing up at her. “Makes me feel like I’m doing something worthwhile. I’m not standing behind a bar mixing drinks with names like ‘Demolition Brew’ to serve some moron who defines having fun as getting stupid drunk in a bar every night. It’s very simple with these guys. Life is about staying full, finding someone to rub your belly, and having a warm place to sleep. Having the right kind of car or wearing an expensive designer label is not important to them. They already know what matters. And that makes you remember what is important in life.”

  “And you got all that from feeding baby squirrels?”

  “And being here, in your place.”

  Pamela reached into the closest container and picked up the baby squirrel inside. “I’m happy your time here has helped you gain a better perspective. Shame it doesn’t do that for everyone.”

  He nodded in agreement. “Most people are too afraid to look at who they are on the inside because they won’t like what they find. Instead they concentrate on their reflection in the mirror, and believe that by making themselves prettier, thinner, or younger, they will be more admired by others, and become a better person in the process. The world would be a better place without mirrors, in my opinion. It would force everyone to see who they are through the eyes of others, like animals do. The world would then prize actions and not looks. And change would be a process everyone would embrace, not run away from. Imagine how much we could grow if we learned to do away with our vanity.”

  “When did you learn that?” Pamela asked.

  He flipped the baby in his hands gently over and started rubbing its pink belly with his fingers. “After I came back from Iraq, I saw people as they really are. Always living on alert in Iraq taught me to scrutinize faces for the slightest hint of a possible threat. And I started seeing other things in peoples’ faces, like their hopes, fears, and frustrations. Before I left I was exactly the same as all the other kids at Harvard. I never looked at the person standing before me. I only judged people based on their clothes, or the type of car they drove. When I came back, I didn’t see the material things anymore, only the faces of the people. I couldn’t tell you half the names of the people I went to high school with, but I could describe to you every person I’ve encountered since I came home from the war.”

  “I can’t imagine what it was like for you. I saw so much on the news, but that was the watered down version of the war. I did get a taste of what it must have been like for you after Katrina. Destruction and death were everywhere in the city, but I’m sure nothing like what you encountered.”

  Daniel stared at the squirrel in his hands. “I lost a lot of good friends over there. Most were guys I would never have associated with prior to Iraq. But fighting side by side with anyone makes you like family.” He paused and his eyes seemed to darken slightly. “What haunts me to this day is the smell. I wake up sometimes in the middle of the night, smelling the odor of charred flesh and burning buildings.”

  “How did you adjust to being back in the states after going through all of that?”

  He shook his head and gave a discouraging sigh. “People who have never been there think you get off of the plane and because you’re home, everything is fine. But it’s not that simple. You walk around in open public places and you’re terrified because you feel you’re an easy target for a sniper. Every noise makes you jump. Every loud bang makes you want to dive for cover. Hell, I couldn’t drive under bridges without having a panic attack for damn near a year after I came back.”

  “Bridges?”

  “Snipers liked firing grenade launchers at us from bridges. You always had to stop and check out a bridge before you went under it. I used
to get out of my car and search around every bridge when I first came back to the states.”

  Pamela took the syringe out of the baby squirrel’s mouth and started rubbing its round tummy. “How long before you felt comfortable being home again?”

  He placed the baby in his hands back in its container. “I’m still waiting for that day.” He snapped the lid closed on the container and then reached for another one. “I sometimes wonder if I will ever feel comfortable again. I don’t take anything for granted anymore.” He pulled another baby out, placed the nipple into its small mouth, and laughed as the squirrel’s impatient little paws wrapped around the syringe like a human baby placing its hands around a bottle.

  “Any time you want to feed babies, you are more than welcome, Daniel.”

  “Thanks, Pamela.” His bright smile dimmed a little. “I’ve got to work for the next few days but after that I’ll be able to return. I’ll be looking forward to getting back to these guys by then.”

  Pamela laughed. “You’re beginning to sound like me.”

  Daniel gazed into her gray eyes and grinned. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing after all.”

  Chapter 5

  A few days later, a brooding Daniel Phillips returned to Pamela’s sanctuary. His Jeep slammed into the gravel driveway, spewing rocks all around when he came to a skidding stop just before the entrance to the cottage. Pamela and Carol watched from the front porch as the tall man climbed out of his Jeep, ignoring her pack of barking dogs.

  “Mornin’,” he mumbled as he removed his sunglasses and walked directly to the side of the house.

  Carol turned to Pamela and raised her mug of coffee to her lips. “Obviously not a morning person.”

  Pamela put her mug of coffee down on the railing. “I’ll be back,” she said to Carol and then quickly made her way down the steps and around the side of the house.