He accelerated and then turned and rode back.
“Grandpa, you fixed it!” His grandson jumped with elation before running, speeding up as the man egged his grandson to chase.
“You should get a bike, too!” the boy exclaimed.
“Nah, I’m too old to ride.”
“But you just did!” The boy squealed as he threw up his arms.
“Nah. Too old.” The man pulled over and dismounted, abruptly offering the handlebar to his grandson.
The boy’s shoulders wilted, confused as to why his grandfather was suddenly irritated. “Well, thanks for fixing it,” the boy said in defeat.
Paula’s heart sank. The boy took off and rode down the path, putting one hand pensively into his pocket. She watched the grandfather watching him. Get that bike, Papou, she’d wanted to say. Just do it for God’s sake; your grandson is asking you.
She left Bernie a message apologizing profusely for not calling earlier, telling him she was going to be a few days late. “Nothing bad,” she assured. “Just different. Interesting. Amazing, actually,” she’d said. “I’ll call you again early next week.”
Then she called Celeste and blubbered on about the entire experience.
“You what?” Heavenly asked. Paula could hear NCIS blaring from the TV in the background. It was one hour later in NYC.
“What was she holding?” she could hear Tony carping.
“A bird, an eagle,” Celeste had said.
“A what?” Paula heard Tony over the TV.
Paula was excited and knew she wasn’t making much sense. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“All right, but be careful that damn thing doesn’t poke out your eye,” Celeste said, and signed off.
Still ignited by the experience, Paula walked Fotis up and down the waterfront until late that night, hoping to calm down enough to sleep. As she stepped out onto one of the shoreline boulders, Paula remembered the Greek myth about how Aetos, the eagle of Zeus’, had fallen on hard times. The bird had once been a beloved and respected King. But all of the adulation from the King’s subjects had roused the jealousy of Zeus, who realized the people loved this King more than him. After planning to incinerate the King’s family with a thunderbolt, Apollo softened Zeus’ resolve and convinced him to turn the King into an eagle. So while the King made love to his wife, Zeus snuck in and turned the man along with his wife into golden eagles.
Slipping off her sandals, Paula dipped her feet into the water. It was surprisingly cold. She thought it would be like the lakes in Upstate New York, lakes that turned pleasantly tepid during the summer; this felt as cold as the ocean. Fotis sniffed the rocks and then touched a paw into the water.
“Don’t like nehro?” she asked. She was tempted to splash him with her foot to play but thought he might not like it.
He looked at her. She thought back to his bath in Pets du Jour; was that only days ago?
She and Fotis walked the town streets past couples, arm in arm and packs of friends, laughing and sitting on benches with take-out food. Loud music blared from a live band at the Gun Flint Tavern. Cars were parked along the beach. Several of the galleries had their front doors propped open. People paraded in and out or stood outside restaurants reading menus taped in windows. “A forty-five-minute wait…,” she heard bits and pieces of plans being made. Families walking the sidewalks, eating ice cream off of waffle cones that were dripping more quickly than the people could lick.
The sky was still illuminated as if some giant searchlight were burning. After she and Fotis had walked back to the campground, Paula again sat on the picnic table in front of the Escape. It was well after midnight, the waves had started to calm her and a feeling of exhaustion set in.
Climbing into the back of the Escape, she used her dirty clothes like a blanket. The plummeting temperature surprised her, along with the dampness. She huddled against Fotis in the cool night air. Her arm, chest and back muscles had just started to throb, but she’d fallen dead asleep before having much chance to notice.
She dreamed that Fotis was growling at a horse. Deep, low growling like the rumbling of thunder, primal and terrifying. She could hear the horse clomping about, munching on leaves, stripping vegetation from bushes and small trees. In her dream, the dog’s snarl through the window drove off the horse.
CHAPTER 8
Paula shivered awake in the damp morning air. She felt like she’d slept through to October. Her shoulders ached as she turned. The windows were fogged up, not enough light from the RV park to read her watch. Fotis licked her face. Her phone was in her purse on the floor of the front seat. Reaching up, she fumbled for the dome light, pressing until it switched on. Just tilting her wrist to check for the time hurt—Rick said to be there by seven. It was a little after five.
“Shit.” She sat up too fast, bumping her head on the ceiling.
She’d had no heavier clothes; it was summer when she left New York four days ago.
Armed with the spa white hotel towel she’d pilfered from the Soho Grand and the plastic IGA grocery bag containing shower items she’d sorted the night before, she opened the door and climbed out, Fotis tagging along on his leash. Tiptoeing barefoot, she spotted the outdoor lights of the dimly lit wooden shelter marked “Private Showers.” “Ow, ow, ow,” she mouthed quietly, brushing one foot off on the other as she hurried. She should’ve looked harder for her sandals.
It took several minutes in a hot shower before she stopped shivering. She prayed the attendant wouldn’t cut off the hot water. As her body came to life, her forearms, shoulders and chest muscles hurt even worse. Fotis was tied to a pillar outside, guarding the doorway. The tip of one of his paws was visible.
“You guys hear that bull moose rooting around last night,” she heard one of the campers. Why was he yelling? Hot water cascaded through her hair as she lathered up.
“You hear that dog stand the thing off?” another said; the rest of them murmured in agreement. “That thing was a beast!”
“Yeah,” someone else piped up.
“By that black SUV on the lake,” Loudmouth lowered his voice.
She looked at Fotis’ toes, remembering the dream.
“My wife was more terrified a’ that dog than the moose,” Loudmouth continued.
A few of them chuckled.
“Probably a calf,” another man’s deep voice contended.
“Good thing it ain’t rutting season.”
“Yeah, they can get kinda testy, you know,” the other said. “Even here in town. Worse than the bears.”
Bears? Their speculation had the ring of competitive argumentation, each trying to out-folksy the other with his knowledge of wildlife habitat.
“A time or two the wife and I were up on Isle Royale,” Loudmouth began, “a packa wolves came sniffing around the campsite one night.”
“Probably raccoons,” another called over.
“You get a look at ’em?” a muted voice asked.
“Was too dang tired to care,” Loudmouth said. “The wife saw a moose calf. Horrendous, though. You see them moose with scarring all along their haunches. Like stripes. Wolf attacks, trying to bring the damn things down.”
“One time up on the Alcan Highway…,” someone else began.
Paula’d seen moose crossings indicated in the road atlas up by Thunder Bay but figured the ones in Grand Marais were more marketing ploys by some Chamber of Commerce. Far out on Long Island during summer you’d see Lobster Crossing signs, too.
Now her only task was to slip out invisibly with Fotis before one of them discovered that the shower was running ice cold.
* * *
Fotis stuck his head out the window as they drove out to Rick’s place. His lips made slapping sounds against his teeth. She turned at the partially obscured fire number and pulled in, driving along a line of birch trees. The early air smelled sweet and chilly as she entered a pocket of mist nearer the water. The lake looked like a translucent shelf, dormant as it waited for the sun. She
was unsure where to park and even less sure of where to report.
“You stay here for now, okay?” she assured Fotis. The dog watched, his eyebrows furrowed with concentration, supervising as she stepped out and unwrapped the last bone. Paula placed it alongside the one he’d been working on.
Armed with two extra-large coffees and her purse tucked under her arm, she walked toward the metal building. Her new neon watermelon–colored sweatshirt made her feel like a walking billboard. She’d picked it up from the Gunflint Grind Coffee Company that morning. The baristas had been gracious enough to find a pair of scissors so she could snip off the tags and slip it on.
There was no way of knowing if Rick was a coffee drinker, but she ordered the second coffee anyway.
The air was musty with wood smoke. The moon was still visible, half-blurred into the lightening blue-white of the sky. A line of birch trees surrounded one side of the property, their leaves like gold coins, tittering with the slightest breeze. You couldn’t help but get lost in seamless pink and golden sunrise reflections from the lake. She thought of what Maggie had said about the lake hurling boulders the size of small cars onto the shore.
Up a slight incline a log home perched above the shore. Paula remembered it from yesterday; though rustic, it looked posh for someone living on what must be a shoestring budget. Working with wildlife couldn’t be a moneymaker, but then again maybe property here was cheap. The soil smelled wet, like peat, from a recent rain or heavy installment of morning dew. Pinecones crunched under her feet as she approached the house. Though leaves were turning red and yellow, there was still enough brush to obscure any view of a neighbor.
Warmth from the coffee gave her courage. The coffee was bitter, even with cream and sugar. Her lipstick now marked one as hers.
Movement from inside a chain-link enclosure near the house made her turn.
A man looked up. Maybe somebody else worked here, too? Paula stopped. The same rip on the left shoulder seam, but he looked older than she remembered. His hair seemed more sun bleached yesterday; now it looked like matted beach grass. She walked toward the enclosure. He did seem more attractive yesterday. She caught him looking at her, too, and wondered if he was thinking the same thing.
He was pouring liquid onto an animal shaped like a flattened basketball with spiky fur.
“What is that?” she called as a greeting, approaching the fence with the coffee.
He took her in. “You coming to work or meeting a friend for lunch?”
She felt foolish and looked down at her black patent-leather strap sandals. In the shower she’d noticed the red nail polish on her toes beginning to chip off. She felt clownish.
“How ’bout coming with real shoes tomorrow,” Rick said.
She was about to say, These are real shoes, when she realized that it might come out wrong. His words smarted; it surprised her that she had to blink several times to clear her eyes.
“Might wanna check downtown at the Ben Franklin,” Rick said, backing away from the bite of his earlier words. “Otters and fox pups’ll chew your toes,” he said in a teasing voice. “The birds’ll peck at your earrings and necklace,” he said in a way she took as an apology. “Might wanna take them off if you care about ’em.”
She thought back to the eagle’s yellow beak. The bird could probably shear right through a platinum chain.
“How is the eagle?” It was hard to tell if Rick lived alone.
“No worse,” he said. “Was up with him all night. His levels dropped a few points.”
She wondered if Rick had administered the anti-toxin yet. Maybe he wasn’t aware he was wearing the same shirt as yesterday.
“Was waiting for you to give him the meds.” Maybe his wife didn’t do laundry. Or if he lived alone, maybe he was waiting until he ran out of clean underwear.
“We’ll check his levels again,” Rick said. “Dose him and then tube-feed him—”
“After thirty minutes again?” she asked.
His brow relaxed, eyes smoothed. “Yes.” He looked up at her as if deciding something. “After thirty minutes.” He looked down at the animal. “Later I’ll have you prepare his food like I showed you,” Rick said. “You remember?”
“Yes.” Of course she did.
“Weigh each feeding first; enter it on the spreadsheet on the laptop.”
She nodded. She’d memorized every detail about the eagle, running it through her mind last night as she walked Fotis downtown, wanting to tell her story to everyone she saw.
“I’m flushing out a wound with a saline solution,” Rick finally offered. “When I’m done with this little girl, we’ll go to the medical room.”
Paula set the coffee on the ground and took off her earrings, unclasped the necklace and tucked them both into a zipper compartment in her purse.
“I’ll get better shoes today,” she promised, feeling renewed as she lifted the coffee cups. She held one out for him, but he was busy treating the wound.
She withdrew the cup and waited. Neither said a word for several minutes and she began to feel uncomfortable. Maybe he thought she talked too much. Maybe she did. He made her feel foolish and shallow, full of herself, a bullshitter.
“When you get a place, leave your dog home. Barking scares birds,” Rick said.
She turned to the Escape. Fotis hadn’t made a sound. “I’ll show you where he can stay after I’m finished.”
Rick wrestled with the animal. She grunted as he turned her over, her quills clicking as they brushed together. Paula moved closer to the fence.
“Porcupine,” he said.
“Oh.”
“A tourist found her three days ago, hit by a car. They don’t often cross, but when they do they’re slowpokes,” he explained. “Someone brought her to town in a Styrofoam beer cooler. Maggie gave them directions. There’s another one in here that’s ready for release. We’ll do that tomorrow.”
“Oh—I met Maggie yesterday and I’d forgotten to tell you she said ‘hi.’”
He glanced at Paula with an expression she couldn’t read.
“I brought you a coffee.”
“Heard you’re staying in the campground,” he said, examining the animal’s other side.
“I guess news travels fast.”
He shot her a look. “Need a place?”
She nodded and slurped her coffee.
“I’ve got a summer rental that’s vacant. It’s a ways down the shore. People just left. Haven’t had the place cleaned out, but you’re welcome to it unless you find something else.”
She thought it unusually generous.
“Thanks. Maybe so.”
He set the animal down. She waddled off into a wooden shelter, favoring her right side. Rick peeled off a latex glove and tossed it into a trash can before walking out of the enclosure and removing a long leather glove from the other. He reached for the coffee.
“You’re welcome,” Paula chided.
He smirked. His eyes were pale, like the moon against the sky. “Nice dog,” he said, raising his cup toward the Escape. “Quiet, doesn’t seem to bark. You have him long?”
She didn’t answer as she followed Rick toward the Escape.
Fotis looked through the window and then stood. With the exception of last night’s campground incident and one short bark at the door of the hotel room when a maid had come in, the dog had been silent. “I guess he doesn’t really bark.”
“Where’d you get him?”
“Animal Control on Northern Boulevard.”
“Can I see him?” Rick seemed curious about something.
“Uhh … I guess. Sure.” She opened the door and grabbed Fotis’ leash. The dog jumped down.
Rick set the coffee cup on the roof of the Escape before squatting to pet Fotis. He checked the dog’s teeth, ran his hands down both of Fotis’ front legs and then checked his skull.
Fotis jumped up on him, placing his paws on Rick’s shoulders. It surprised Paula; she’d not seen him do that.
&
nbsp; “Off,” Rick said. He stood back up before calmly kneeling down, lowering Fotis as he squatted eye level, allowing the dog to sniff his ears and hair.
“You’ve got a hybrid. Your dog is part wolf.”
“You’re kidding.” She thought back to comments at the shelter, the groomer. “Is that bad?”
“It just is. Which is why his teeth are so big, his skull’s so broad and he doesn’t bark. Looks part husky, but you’re seeing wolf,” He patted Fotis’ head. “Probably crossed with some herding type, Aussie shepherd, Border collie maybe. Seems stable enough, though.” He stood up and took his cup from the roof. “Good-natured, too.”
She wondered how Rick spent his days. He had the relaxed air of a man who owes no one a thing.
“His name is Fotis.”
Rick picked up the cup. “Coffee’s not bad either.” His brows arched into a furrow as he studied her sweatshirt.
“You don’t have to say it, you need sunglasses to look at me, but hey—the yellow one was even worse,” she offered. She was tempted to ask if the color would scare the birds.
His expression was a couple of standard deviations from a grimace. His features gave him a look of perpetual consternation.
“At least their coffee’s better than that other place,” he said. “Bring your dog.” He turned toward the house.
“Before we treat the eagle, I’ll need your help. Someone dropped an owl off by the mailbox. I found her this morning,” he explained, leading her and Fotis to a fenced yard.
“Some kids found her on the ground,” Rick began. “Thought they’d keep her as a pet until their mom found out. The woman got my name from the Sheriff and left the box and a note,” he said while opening the gate and leading Fotis into a large fenced area on the other side of the log home.
Fotis began sniffing the enclosure.
“You feed him yet?” Rick looked at her.
“Uhhh, kind of.”
“How ’bout I get him something quick,” Rick said, and began heading toward the log house. “Looked the owl over quickly,” he said. “Broken femur; been shot, too. We’ll take her to Darryl’s for X-rays.”
Traveling Light Page 15
