Wingspan

by Karis Walsh

  *

  Bailey pressed the button to open the gate and went into the bathroom to run a comb through her tangled hair before the visitor made it up her driveway. Every time she had heard the buzzer this week, she had wondered if Ken had come back to check on the osprey. She wasn’t sure why she kept picturing Ken’s long legs emerging from her sporty little car, but she didn’t like to dwell on the fantasy too long. Because it was nothing more than a fantasy created by the rambling imagination of someone who had spent too much time alone in a bird-filled house. Bailey needed to get out of town, go to a rehab conference, and find some female companionship. A weekend of no-strings sex was all she needed to banish the thought of Ken knocking on her door and taking her up to the bedroom, or right there on the living room couch, or on the porch…

  She hurried to the door and opened it. Ken. As if conjured up by Bailey’s desires. Bailey had liked the imagined visits from imaginary Ken, but she had mixed feelings about seeing the real woman. She was busy enough today, without adding her unhelpful libido to the mix. Ken was leaning against one of the porch railings, staring at the sky. Bailey followed the line of her gaze and saw a hawk circling overhead.

  “Redtail,” Bailey said.

  Ken turned toward her with a smile. “One of yours?”

  Bailey couldn’t help but return the smile. “Maybe. I’ve released a few in the woods behind the house. I’d have to see it up close to be sure.”

  “You could tell?”

  “Of course. They each have unique markings. Individual birds are as easy to tell apart as humans are.” Easier, actually. Probably because Bailey rarely paid as close attention to people as she did to her patients, although after only one meeting she’d have been able to describe the exact blue-green shade of Ken’s eyes. And the way her dark brown hair shimmered with chestnut tones in the sun. Bailey lowered her gaze, searching for a way to distract herself from the discomfiting path her mind was taking.

  “I suppose you’re here to see the osprey?” Bailey avoided possessives when she could, not wanting people to become too attached to the wild birds they had rescued, but for her own sake she needed to keep Ken and the osprey linked in her mind. Both were visitors in her life, and they’d both eventually need more flying space than she could provide. When one left, the other would follow. But not yet. She held the door open in invitation.

  “Where is…” Ken’s voice faltered to a stop when she walked into the living room and over to the large, empty cage where the redtail had been living.

  “I moved her to one of the outdoor flight cages,” Bailey said. She saw the relief in Ken’s expression. “I was planning to put the osprey in here today, so you picked a good time to visit him.”

  “I can help?”

  Bailey usually preferred to work on her own, but she couldn’t resist Ken’s eager expression. Besides, the transfer would be easier with two people. “Sure, but first I have to feed—wait, let me get that.”

  Bailey went into the kitchen to answer the telephone. She winced and held the phone away from her ear when the loud Good afternoon, Dr. Chase! greeted her. The voice of WSU’s dean rang with the contented cheeriness of someone who had slept in before spending a leisurely morning reading a newspaper and drinking coffee, not someone who had been up since dawn nursing birds.

  “Hello, Dean Carrington,” she said, trying to sound reasonably friendly as she tucked the phone against her shoulder and picked up the food she had prepared for the owlet. She handed the bowl to Ken as she walked back through the living room and gestured for her to follow.

  Ken took the container from Bailey, stifling the urge to shriek and fling it away. She wasn’t normally squeamish, but she hadn’t been expecting to be handed a bowl of mouse parts. She kept her attention off the unappetizing mess in her hands and focused instead on the way Bailey’s expression changed from relaxed to closed and tense as she talked.

  “No, I haven’t had a chance to look through the applications yet,” Bailey said as she went into the bathroom and knelt next to a cardboard box filled with downy blankets and a fluffy, cranky owlet. The baby owl clicked his beak impatiently and shook himself so his feathers puffed out. Ken barely registered the exasperation in Bailey’s voice as she watched what looked like a wad of cotton balls strut around the small space. Bailey waved her over and picked a piece of mouse out of Ken’s bowl with a pair of tweezers.

  “No, I haven’t done that, either,” Bailey said as she fed the small owl. “It’s been very busy here lately.”

  Ken cringed as the cute little creature ravenously devoured the disgusting food. She was torn between being charmed by the soft- and sweet-looking owl and being appalled by his table manners. Bailey’s sudden outburst made both her and the owlet startle in surprise.

  “What?” Bailey almost dropped her phone and she juggled it and the tweezers for a moment before she continued. “Are you serious? I don’t have time to be a tour guide for a bunch of architects and designers.”

  Ken watched Bailey struggle to keep control as she rushed through the rest of her call.

  “Yes, of course. Okay. I will. Talk to you then. Bye.” Bailey ended the call and tossed the phone onto the rug behind her. She continued to feed the owlet while muttering half-heard phrases about intruders tromping around and disturbing her birds. Her ferocity matched the owlet’s appetite, and Ken watched in detached awe as the two displayed more intensity and passion than she was accustomed to seeing in human or creature.

  “Bad news?” she asked once the atmosphere had calmed down.

  Bailey sighed and held another piece of mouse out for the owlet. He snapped it up and swallowed it in one gulp. “My clinic is about to become a field research center for Wazzu’s vet school. The dean calls me every day with more ways to expand and change everything. Now he wants to send some damned architects out to design an addition for my house. Can you imagine?”

  “Well, sort of,” Ken said. She had a feeling Bailey’s irritation wasn’t aimed at her profession, but at some other cause. Still, she wasn’t about to remind Bailey that she was one of those damned architects. “But won’t it be helpful to have more room for your birds? And some updated equipment? I saw that X-ray machine you’re using, and you’d probably appreciate a newer one. I hear they’ve made great strides in that technology since the nineteenth century.”

  Bailey laughed and took the empty bowl from Ken. The owlet had eaten his fill, and he crawled under one of the soft blankets in his box. Interns, class visits, student projects, and now architects. It was easy for Ken to encourage her to accept the changes without protest, but in a way she was right. The expansion was going to happen—it had to happen—so Bailey needed to focus on the positive side of it, or at least on the avian side. “It’s not that old,” she said. “But yes, it’ll be good to have modern equipment for a change. I’ve always wanted an ultrasound machine, but I haven’t been able to afford to buy anything new for ages.”

  She got up and covered the box with a large towel before they left the room and returned to the kitchen. She washed the owl’s bowl while trying to find a way to explain her reluctance without revealing too much about herself to Ken. “Most of the raptors I have here are very shy of people,” she said. She knew exactly how they felt. “They are sick or injured, and I can’t allow them to be disturbed.”

  “And those damned architects can’t be trusted to be quiet?”

  “They won’t understand. They’ll make the changes the dean wants and ignore the way I do things.”

  Ken shrugged, and Bailey watched her face change and settle into an unreadable expression. She had been expecting Ken to go away once the osprey was healed, but now it was as if she’d already left the room.

  Ken leaned against the kitchen counter and watched Bailey dry the bowl and add it to a stack of dishes beside the sink. She recognized the defensive notes behind Bailey’s angry tone, but she wasn’t about to give in to her curiosity—not concern, merely curiosity—and untangle the defia
nce from what was really hurting Bailey. She’d offer a scrap of reassurance, and then she’d change the subject or walk out the door. Anything to avoid falling prey to Bailey’s claws as she struggled to hide her vulnerability.

  “Architects can only design the shape of a place. You’re the one who’s filled this house with life and hope. No matter what the new expansion looks like, you’ll make it your own.”

  Ken echoed the words Joe had spoken to her a few days ago, but her tone didn’t match his at all. She had come here expecting to feel renewed and reassured, but she felt as impotent as she had all week. Bailey had created a world within these walls, but she had made herself vulnerable by doing so. Ken couldn’t create more than a simple outline of a house. She had long ago doused the ability to put herself out there like Bailey did.

  “I’m doing the same thing on my new property,” Ken continued. The visceral need to protect the obviously upset Bailey was stronger than she’d anticipated. The urge to hold, to stroke, to comfort. And to be comforted at the same time. She had to use words, not touch, and change the subject away from Bailey’s troubles—and reassure herself at the same time. “The house I build might look exactly like someone else’s, but the way I use it and live in it will be unique to me.”

  “But you won’t have an entire vet school looking over your shoulder and telling you what to do.” Bailey pushed away from the counter. “You’ll be able to make your own decisions. Let’s move the osprey now.”

  Ken trailed behind her. Bailey, unknowingly, had rooted out Ken’s deepest insecurity. Even complete freedom didn’t guarantee originality. Still, she decided to keep the conversation focused on her land so it didn’t revert to Bailey’s worries about WSU. Dealing with her own inadequacy was preferable to watching Bailey’s distress without being able to physically touch her. “I’ll probably use some existing blueprint and make modifications, instead of designing something new from scratch.”

  Bailey went into the surgery and got two pairs of heavy gloves out of a drawer. “You should wear these just in case,” she said. “We won’t be handling him directly, but you never know when a talon or claw might catch you. Maybe I should have you sign a release or something…”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll survive a scratch or two,” Ken said. She watched Bailey put on her own gloves, hiding delicate hands under a thick layer of leather, before following her example. She felt a little safer with Bailey’s enticing hands out of sight. Ken couldn’t see them without imaging them on her. In her.

  “I’m sure whatever you decide will be wonderful,” Bailey said as she led Ken into the recovery room. “Has this always been a dream of yours?”

  Ken, distracted by the blanket-covered cage in the middle of the room, took a moment to realize Bailey had returned to their previous topic. Her land.

  “Um, no, not really,” Ken said. At least, the dream had been so long buried that she’d forgotten it was there until she stood on her wild acre. Those rare moments when her desires burst out of hiding—with her car, her land, with Bailey—shocked her system every time, leaving her nearly powerless to resist. Nearly. She ignored the adorable way Bailey was trying to blow a lock of hair out of her eyes while both hands were occupied, and groped under the blanket for the cage handles, careful not to put her fingers through the wire grate. She’d seen the osprey’s beak close-up, and she figured he could do serious damage even through the thick glove.

  “Lift on three,” Bailey said, her face only inches from Ken’s as they bent over the cage. “One, two, three.” Bailey shuffled backward through the bedroom door. “What made you buy out here, then? The Peninsula can feel very isolated, and not everyone likes the solitude.”

  Ken searched for some tone of condemnation or condescension in Bailey’s words—something to extinguish her desire to kiss Bailey—but none was there. She was stating a simple fact, with no judgment. Everyone had different tastes. “I was planning to buy a condo in Seattle. Then I decided to look for a house just outside the city.” Ken concentrated on keeping the plastic and metal cage steady, focused more on protecting the osprey from bumps and jostling than on her own words. She had moved inch-by-inch away from her plan to live in Seattle, peeling back the layers of urbanity she had labored to put in place. “I guess I kept looking farther away from the city until I found myself in the new housing development just outside of Port Orchard.”

  “Ugh, what an eyesore.” Bailey delivered another well-placed blow to Ken’s ego. Unintentional, of course, since she had no idea what path Ken’s career had taken, but painful nonetheless. Bailey used her foot to kick open the living room cage’s door. “We’ll put him down right here. Those houses all look the same. No imagination or individuality. I’m surprised people don’t have trouble telling which one is theirs when they come home at night. Hang on while I get some cardboard to cover this gap.”

  Bailey went into the kitchen, sparing Ken the necessity of commenting on her assessment of the development. Ken hadn’t designed any of those houses in particular, but her own would be indistinguishable from them. She wanted to defend the box houses, to describe the small details she added to each design, but her arguments felt weak in her own mind. They’d be even worse spoken out loud. Bailey was right—about the houses and about Ken’s abilities.

  “Here, hold this over the cage so he doesn’t jump out.” Bailey handed Ken a large square of cardboard. Ken fitted it in the space left in the flight cage’s doorway above the osprey’s shorter one while she watched Bailey ease her arm under the cardboard. Her face twisted in concentration as she fumbled for the osprey’s latch.

  “There,” she said with a smile of triumph, her eyes opening and meeting Ken’s. Ken looked away, in case her second skirmish with the desire to kiss Bailey’s pursed lips was somehow visible on her face. “I’m going to tip the cage a little. Once he’s out, we’ll move everything out of the way so I can shut the door.”

  Ken heard the osprey’s claws scrabbling for purchase on the plastic floor of his crate before she saw him hop out. He crossed to the back of his new home with a slow, strange galloping gait and jumped onto a thick tree limb. As if performing a rehearsed movement, she and Bailey removed the cardboard and small crate from the opening and shut the door with a click. The osprey stood still, seemingly carved from the limb, and stared at them.

  “Let’s give him some time alone. He’ll be more likely to explore if we’re not watching him.”

  Bailey opened the front door, and Ken followed her onto the porch. She thought Bailey might be unceremoniously sending her away, but Bailey went over to the railing and perched on it, leaning back against the beam. Her expression had softened since the dean’s call, and her relaxed hint of a smile and casual clothes made the chipped paint of the railing look homey and comforting. Ken’s change in subject had started the transformation, but most of it had been accomplished by the osprey. She guessed Bailey must feel the satisfaction of seeing improvement in her patient. The move from crate to cage was one step on his path to recovery. Ken sat in a cheap plastic chair across from Bailey and tried not to seem too out of place in the peaceful scene.

  “How did you get from that god-awful development to your property?” Bailey asked. “They seem like two extremes.”

  Ken rested her hand on her right ankle, propped on her other knee. She felt a slight twitch, an urge to fidget with the hem of her slacks, but she kept her hand still. She hadn’t even told Ginny about the day she saw her piece of property for the first time. Why was she about to tell Bailey? She’d introduced the subject of her land to keep from probing into Bailey’s personal life, and now she was sharing her own. Maybe she sensed that Bailey would understand, when she had been certain Ginny wouldn’t. Whatever her reason, she felt her story heading toward its inevitable—and too intimate—conclusion.

  “I was convinced buying a condo was the right move. I’d done the financial calculations, researched market trends, and mapped out the ideal location. But when I was walking through t
he rooms, I felt confined.” Ken shook her head at the memory, shaking off the remembered feeling of claustrophobia. “The feeling eased a little with every place I checked out afterward, as I slowly worked away from the city and out here to the Peninsula. I was driving around this area, trying to decide whether to make an offer on the Port Orchard house—which had nothing I’d originally wanted in a home—when I followed some signs advertising lots for sale. I walked out to the bluff and all of a sudden everything loosened inside me. I could—”

  “Breathe,” Bailey finished Ken’s sentence. She looked up at the empty sky, seeing in her mind all the birds she’d released over the years. “I felt the same way when I found this place. I’d been working at a small animal hospital in Bremerton, but I’d always dreamed of having my own space, where I could concentrate on wild birds. Somehow, the air on this property filled my lungs better than any other air seemed able to do.”

  Bailey turned back to Ken and watched another unreadable expression shift over her features. She felt, rather than saw or heard, Ken inhale and exhale with a deep breath. Somehow, sharing their stories of connecting to the land seemed too intimate. Bailey was being forced to share her center with strangers—otherwise she risked losing the property and her chance to help so many more birds—but she couldn’t let Ken too deep inside. She had been worried enough about her physical attraction to Ken. Adding personal confessions to a brief, casual relationship—if it turned into any relationship at all—was too risky. She could withstand the onslaught of WSU, but Ken’s quiet understanding was too great a force to battle.