Eagle's Destiny

by C. J. Corbin

  He didn’t answer. He simply reached down and held my hair back for me. Afterwards, he disappeared briefly and when he returned, he handed a bottle of water and a paper towel to me. I was grateful to rinse my mouth, glad that he had water in his bag. When I finished, he put his arm around me. Leading me back to the car, he helped me into the seat.

  I leaned back. “I’m sorry. This is so embarrassing. You hardly know me.”

  Michael looked at me closely, “Why are you embarrassed? You had a little too much fun tonight. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I sighed weakly, “drive slowly, okay?”

  A few minutes later he pulled up behind his house and parked the car. “You are coming in and I’m going to make you some tea. It will quiet your stomach.”

  There was no argument from me. He helped me out of the car and we went into his house through the backdoor. When I heard the piano playing, I guessed that Katy was home. Michael showed me the guest bathroom and gave me a washcloth and towel. I was impressed most men I knew did not have two towels that matched. After splashing cool water on my face, I looked at myself in the mirror. I was white in the face. Oh boy, what a beauty I was!

  I wanted to go home and crawl into bed with my dogs. Michael was trying to be kind though and I would tough it out. After about ten minutes there was a soft knock on the door, I was surprised when I heard Katy’s anxious voice on the other side of the door. “Do you need some help Elizabeth?”

  I cracked the door open slowly, “No,” I whispered, “I’m okay.”

  She took my hand, and led me into the living room. Katy had turned off most of the lights to the room and just one small lamp glowed by the couch. “Dad’s making your tea,” she patted a couch pillow, “sit down, and get comfy. He is good at making sour tummies feel better.”

  I smiled halfheartedly up at her as I sank into the massive black leather couch. Leaning my head back, the smell of leather enveloped me. I closed my eyes.

  Katy spoke again with a soft voice, “I’m going to take the dogs upstairs and go to bed. Hope you feel better.”

  I nodded and murmured a quiet, “Thanks.”

  A short time later, Michael padded into the room with silent footsteps. He had taken his shoes off and changed into jeans and a black t-shirt. As sick as I felt, watching him cross the room made me feel warm. He wore his jeans low on his hips and the bottom of his t-shirt barely reached the top of his pants so that when he walked a hint of skin showed. Sitting down next to me, he handed me a steaming mug of tea. I breathed it in deeply. I could smell peppermint, and another ingredient that I did not recognize. He lifted my legs up and put them on the couch. Any other time I would have protested, but I knew Michael was trying to help. He sat at the other end of the couch and put his legs up on the coffee table. Looking at me with concern on his face, he didn’t speak a word.

  I took a small sip of the tea, “This is delicious. Thank you.”

  “Drink it slowly,” he instructed, “but as hot as you can.”

  “Old family recipe?” I asked holding up the cup.

  “Oh yeah,” he said smiling, “Great-me-ma.”

  Michael continued to be quiet as I sipped the tea. I looked around the room. I hadn’t really noticed it before settling myself on the couch. The décor in the house was for him not his daughters. Everything was masculine, the dark leather furniture, the gleaming hardwood floors, and the small black baby grand piano in the corner of the room. In addition, the pictures, they were everywhere on the walls. All were photographs of animals, polar bears, brown bears, dolphins, sea turtles, whales, otters, and each picture carefully placed.

  “Are they all yours?”

  He smiled, “Do you like them?”

  I nodded, “Oh yes, they are magnificent!”

  Michael grinned broadly, he was obviously proud of his work. I set the mug of tea down on the coffee table and walked over to a floor lamp next to the piano. When I switched the lamp on it filled the room with warm light. Michael remained on the couch watching me. I looked at each picture, not speaking.

  I leaned over one of the polar bear photos, “I thought so, imagine that, I have this one as a framed poster in my bedroom. You’ll have to sign it for me.”

  He stood up, carried my tea over to me, and handed it to me, “Drink.” He ordered. “I’ll get you a real print. Would you like a tour?”

  I turned to him he was standing very close. I was glad my stomach was feeling better, so I could concentrate on my breathing. “Yes, I would. Lead the way.”

  He smiled, “You saw the guest bathroom,” he led me into the kitchen and switched the light on. The kitchen had warm colors with cherry wood cabinets, and the brown Spanish tile floor was bright and cheery. There was a small cherry wood kitchen table with four matching chairs in the middle of the room. All of the major appliances matched the cabinets.

  “Do you do a lot of cooking?” The amount of appliances on the counters indicated there was a chef in the house.

  “Out of self preservation, my ex-wife was a terrible cook.”

  Oh! This was the first time Michael had mentioned his ex-wife. How long had they been divorced?

  Michael guided me into the dining area. Like my cabin, the dining room combined with the living room as a great room. The dining table was long, and it could easily seat eight people.

  Michael pointed to the staircase, “The girl’s bedrooms are upstairs. Katy is leaving for New York next month to go back to school. It will be just Tammy and I until January. She decided to go for a semester to the junior college and then transfer over to the university. She has been working at Dr. Paulson’s office, the veterinarian since we moved here.”

  “It sounds like she’s taking after you, and your love of animals.” I commented. It was obvious when he spoke about his daughters that they were a big part of his life, he just about screamed parental pride.

  Michael had a wistful look on his face, “Yeah I’m glad. Last room is my bedroom, do you want to see?”

  “My stomach is feeling much better. I think I can take it.” I let out a giggle.

  Michael smiled and showed the way.

  We walked through the living room, his bedroom, like mine faced the lake. Michael flipped the wall switch and the lamp by the bedside lit up. Stopping at the doorway, the size of the room surprised me. It was as least as big as the living room. Two large windows and a sliding glass door led out to the front porch. Large scatter rugs done in gold and black covered the floors. His bed was huge, the covers matching the gold and black of the rugs.

  “This is custom made, isn’t it?” I pointed to the bed.

  Michael nodded. “I got tired of my feet hanging over the edge.”

  Again, photos covered the walls. This time, however, the photos were of his daughters, at all different ages. Not only were there color photos, but black and white ones, and sepia tones too. Michael watched me intently as I walked around the room looking at all the photographs. A large black and white photo caught my eye. It was of the young girls on a school ground merry-go-round, hanging upside down on it, as kids will do. “I like this one.” I said as I pointed to the picture.

  The next picture included Michael and the two girls. Michael’s wore his curly hair down below his shoulders. “Oh my gosh,” I exclaimed, “When was this taken?”

  Michael shrugged his shoulders. “A couple of years ago. I alternate between short and long. Look closely I think I’m wearing my earring in that one.”

  I peered at the picture closely and could make out a small diamond in his left ear. “Yep, it’s there. Do you still wear it?”

  “I usually have it on, but definitely not when I play baseball.” He replied.

  I moved down further and there was one small photo of a woman holding a small baby and a small child leaning over peering at the baby. “Is this your wife?”

  He pursed his lips together, “Ex-wife” he corrected. No additional information was volunteered by Michael. I was not going to pry. Interesting. H
e had a picture of his ex-wife. On the wall. In his bedroom. What should I make of that?

  The tea in my mug was gone. It was time for me to go home. “I’m feeling much better, thank you for taking such good care of me. I think I better hit the road.”

  Michael took the mug from me, “Let me drive you to your house.”

  I smiled walking back into the living room. “No, I don’t think that’s necessary, thanks though.”

  Michael followed behind me. “I’d feel better if you’d let me.”

  “Then I’d just have to drive you home, we’d spend the rest of the night driving back and forth.” I giggled.

  He smiled and acquiesced. Michael walked me out to my car and handed me the keys. He stood on his back porch until I waved at my back door and went inside my cabin.

  I greeted my dogs, fed them a snack, and got ready for bed. The shower felt good. After examining my leg in the mirror, I noticed there would definitely be a bruise from the slide into home base. Lewis knew I hated sliding, but with him, you gave your all for the game.

  After dressing for bed, I opened the blinds and the windows in the bedroom. There was a good view of Michael’s house from my bedroom. I could see a light on in his bedroom. I shook my head and admonished myself, now I was becoming a peeping Tom!

  The tea had relaxed my stomach and me. I lay in bed thinking about the last few hours. The sick scene kept playing in my mind. I could not believe that I vomited in Michael’s presence. The blush on my face probably glowed in the dark. Nevertheless, he had been very cool about the whole episode. What could he do? Run away? Drive away? I giggled at the thought. He was driving my car. Still, oh yuck!

  I turned over and cuddled with the dogs glad that sleep had finally won.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Monday started my first full week at the cabin. Before breakfast, I took the dogs for a run down the lakeshore. It was just after dawn, and there would be no one out this early except a few people fishing. I put on my headset and selected Muse from the playlist on my IPod. Dressed in a pair of old baggy sweats and my hair pulled up in a ponytail, I started out in a slow jog. As I passed Debi and Don’s house, I could see someone running toward me. Yes, it was Michael. I could not believe it. No one ran this early, well except me.

  He slowed as he neared me. Michael looked me up and down, his face grinning with a smile. “Nice outfit” was his only comment. He waved as he passed me and continued with his jog.

  His sweats looked older and baggier. “People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.” I retorted running past him.

  I ran another mile and turned around to make it back to the cabin. The dogs and I could have gone farther but my curiosity got the best of me, I would have expected more conversation from Michael. Admittedly, my performance on the way home last night certainly was not appealing. My cheeks colored red just thinking about the episode. He had seemed understanding last night, perhaps now he had a chance to think twice about my poor manners. He had an effect on me, but I had just met him, how was that possible? I never drank after baseball, and I never lost my confidence during a game. What was it about him that rattled me so much?

  As I approached my cabin, I noticed Michael sitting on our common dock with his back toward the shore. His shoes and socks were off while he dangled his feet in the water. I could hear the click of the camera; he was taking pictures of the ducks near the dock.

  The rich aroma of the brewed coffee hit me when I entered the cabin. I grabbed two mugs from the cupboard and poured coffee into both, then took a couple of pieces of bread from the refrigerator. “Mommy is going to be very bold.” I said to the dogs.

  I walked slowly down to the dock trying not to spill the coffee from the full mugs. The dock gently rocked when I stepped up and Michael turned around.

  I lifted up one of the coffee mugs in his direction, “Coffee?” Michael smiled and made a move to get up, I shushed him back down, handing him the mug. “Hope it’s okay that it’s black, I didn’t know if you take cream and sugar.”

  “No, this is perfect. How did you know?”

  “Well,” I laughed, “you didn’t look like one of the health nuts who drink water after a run.”

  “Actually I am one of those health nuts.” He chuckled, “but, I have to admit coffee sounds good right now.”

  The ducks saw me and started swimming closer to the dock.

  Michael looked surprised, “Now why are they coming closer?”

  I sat down next to him and showed him the bread in my hand. “I’m usually a regular out here in the mornings. You had better pull your feet out of the water. The ducks will dive and nip your toes especially if they know bread is coming.”

  Just as I made the comment Michael pulled his feet out, “Ow!” he exclaimed. “They really do!”

  I handed him a piece of bread, “Here, you help. They’ll remember you and then when you sit out here the ducks will pose for your pictures.”

  We were quiet for a few minutes while we fed the ducks. The sun was making a nice dawn and Michael started shooting pictures again.

  I finally broke the silence, “I’m sorry for getting sick like that last night.”

  “Don’t worry about it, that sort of thing can happen.” He turned toward me, focusing quickly, and snapped a picture.

  “Oh! Don’t take my picture! I look horrible!” I buried my face in my hands.

  “Why is it women are so paranoid about having their picture taken?” He chuckled and leaned over to knock my shoulder with his.

  He had changed the subject about my late night illness. Either it disgusted him so much or he was trying to spare my feelings. To stop torturing myself I decide to go with the latter. “So, how did you get into photography?”

  “Do you really want to know or are you just being polite?” he turned to me sitting cross-legged.

  “Michael, I would never ask unless I wanted to know, remember, I’m a writer. I have this ridiculously inquisitive mind.”

  Turning toward him, I mimicked his posture. We were sitting close. Our knees were not quite touching. I had a mad thought to launch myself into his lap, but managed to control myself. Was it the rising sun making me hot, or Michael? I giggled to myself and was glad that he could not read my mind.

  As he launched into his story, I pulled my sweatshirt off and tugged my tank underneath down. His story paused, and he looked at me for just a moment. I thought I saw him swallow hard, but if he did, he managed to recompose himself and continue his story.

  Michael’s love of photography happened early in his life. He joined a camera club during high school. His father had given him his first camera, an old used 35-millimeter Kodak, with an automatic light meter. Although it was not until he attended UC Santa Cruz that his talent truly developed. His parents had insisted that he major in courses where he could get a real job that paid real money. Compromising, he majored in marine biology, but he also managed to squeeze in photography classes as well. As he finished college, a lucky break of an internship and then a paying position at the newly built Monterey Bay Aquarium presented itself.

  At the aquarium, he became a fixture with his camera around his neck. Pictures of marine life started to adorn the office walls. The aquarium used his candid shots of the visitors interacting with the aquatic animals in their advertisements. Soon his photographs of the otters became the top seller in the gift shop. Slowly he became less of a marine biologist and took over the role of the official aquarium photographer.

  Michael explained that his time at the aquarium had been fortunate, not only was he paid but he could develop his skills as a photographer in his chosen environment. It was not long before National Geographic and other magazines focused on him and extended opportunities to him.

  His sky blue eyes sparkled, and they became animated as he spoke about his past. “I started traveling, spending more time away from the aquarium. They were very understanding when I finally broke from them and I’m still invited to cover their important ev
ents.”

  “So do you go back?” I asked.

  Michael nodded, “Yeah, if my schedule permits, I always try to be there.”

  “Are they still selling your otters?”

  Michael laughed and nodded. “Yeah, those pictures are twenty-three years old and are still their best sellers, especially on the t-shirts and sweatshirts. He leaned back on his arms. “It’s great because they make a lot of money from the merchandise they sell, and I’m glad I can support the aquarium in that way. I signed the photographs over to them very early on.”

  “The aquarium owns the photos?” I asked.

  “Working there had been great experience for me. So, yeah I’m happy that they received something in return. Now, how about you, did you always write?”

  It was my turn to gasp, but I’m thankful I did it silently. Michael pulled his sweatshirt off over his head. His broad chiseled chest had a smattering of curly blond hair. His tan was even and it was evident that he often went without a shirt. He caught me looking, and the blush started creeping on my cheeks. I hated being so obvious. Leaning back again on his arms, his flat stomach and narrow waist showed to his advantage. I tried to look everywhere but at him. It was difficult. Taking a deep breath, I blew it out slowly hoping the color on my cheeks could be mistaken for the warm weather. Most likely not.

  Launching into my story was easy. I started writing short stories in high school. Although I had taken journalism classes in both high school and college, I enjoyed the creative writing classes the most. My college magazine regularly published my short stories. After college, full of hope, I convinced myself that I was just one-step away from the great American novel. Reality set in quickly. I found a job at a magazine in Los Angeles, not writing though, but working in their production department. The job was not glamorous, but at least it paid my bills.

  I continued to write even if it was only for friends and family. The editor at the magazine took me under her wing and started to read my stories. She agreed that I had no talent in journalism but she recognized my flair in creating a story. She helped me with my composition and editing. She also invited me to her parties. These invitations allowed me to connect with other writers, agents, and publishers.