Callie
I slid my hands over the sun-warmed leather with an influx of small prayers.
The old truck gurgled and shook at my attempted coaxing. I heaved out a sudden breath of relief, sliding down in the seat a few relaxed inches. I wouldn’t ruin my record. No late days, no call offs.
I was doing a good job.
The tires crackled haphazardly over the stray twigs that littered the gravel of my driveway as I pulled out of the winding trail and headed away from my beautiful cottage. Okay, maybe calling it a cottage was a stretch . . . and maybe so was calling it beautiful, but cabin made me think of some old hunting shack in the middle of nowhere. My house was much, much cuter. I’d bought it two years ago for a steal from a potbellied widower with a bald head and a penchant for pulling too many whitetails that he didn’t have tags for. Was he trying to bribe me? Possibly. It was rumored I was dating the game warden, and in a small town like this, the folks would do anything to get a leg up, especially when it came to deer tags. I almost couldn’t blame them, except that tagging was set up specifically to help control the wildlife population, and when people took it upon themselves to judge what numbers were okay to kill, the rehabilitation efforts and statistics always got skewed and caused problems. It didn’t matter because Cliff and I weren’t dating anyway . . . and also, Paul the potbelly had died a few days after I had bought the house.
My grip on the leather steering wheel tightened at the thought of Cliff, the handsome game warden, but I quickly brushed it away. In truth, we had never even been on a date, and we never would. When the state had hired me as the park’s environmental scientist, Cliff was one of the only kind faces to greet me. The small hole-in-the-wall town did not take kindly to a stuck-up fancy-pants scientist ruffling around in their business ( I actually heard this one with my own ears at the Sizzler in Maulberry), coming to their beloved town and ordering them to stop pulling out their milkweed and tightening the parks hunting regulations. Being the only woman to work the parks besides Cecelia at the wildlife rehab center, most of the men didn’t take me seriously, and the ones that did were accused of having an affair with me. I guess that’s small towns for you.
Though I can’t remember my town having the same mentality, I was practically a child when I left.
At twenty-nine years old, with no children, no husband, bright blonde hair to my waist, and a decent enough figure (you try hiking these hills all day), the women of the town seemed to think I had a secret vendetta to steal their out-of-shape, misogynistic, hillbilly husbands or take all the available wrangler-wearing, dip-chewing men. It was actually kind of flattering if I thought about it. Until two years went by and I still had to think about it. Then it grew less flattering and more . . . lonely.
I debated stopping at the local gas station for coffee but decided against it. I really didn’t want to risk the truck not starting up again. The coffee wasn’t very good anyway, even for gas station coffee, and if I had to sit and listen to the locals talk anymore about Crazy Earl, the town drunk, and his quest for Sasquatch, I was going to quit my job and move.
Thankfully I was usually with Cliff when we stopped, and he would quiet them up a bit. He hated Crazy Earl. I’d never formally met the town drunk, but I’d heard enough stories to write a book.
I mentally made a note to check the woods behind the gas station for Amanita muscaria. They were poisonous mushrooms that, if eaten in small enough quantities, might not kill you, but made you act crazy . . . like Crazy Earl. He was always in the woods out back of the old gas station. I was just about to turn around to inspect my hunch when a long-necked bundle of brown feathers shot out across the road in front of me.
The aging truck screeched to an abrupt halt, protesting with a puff of black smoke the size of an elephant and shutting off. Temperamental hunk of metal and bolts, it was worse than a man.
“Gosh dang it, Dorothy!” I slammed the truck door closed behind me as I walked across the dirt road to the turkey hen that forever stalked me.
Thankfully I was on the long driveway of the rehab center, so I would just deal with my dilapidated truck later. Dorothy was flopping around wildly in a patch of cattails like a toddler that had just escaped their parents’ clutches. She was lucky I hadn’t hit her with the truck and it was only her bum wing causing her to chaotically dance about like a poorly choreographed Zumba instructor.
I made sure no cars were coming, knowing they wouldn’t be because it was the back entrance to the wildlife rehabilitation center. I plopped down crisscross applesauce style on the dirty path and tried not to look at the smoking truck to my left. Maybe if I didn’t think about it too much, it would start up again.
No sooner had I sat on the dusty gravel road than I was accosted by the large adult turkey trying to nest in my lap. Happy squeaks and grumbles filled her long neck, and I couldn’t help but smile at the goofy bird as she nestled into me. She was one of my patients at the center. It wasn’t really in my job description to work on the animals, but with only one vet in the building, I ended up helping with the injuries more often than not. I didn’t mind; I much preferred the company of animals to people as it was.
“I was just coming to see you. You didn’t need to break free again. You’re lucky I didn’t run you down,” I chided as I nuzzled the beady-eyed turkey, tightening my hold on her body as the crunch of gravel sounded behind me.
I lifted the giant bird, being careful of her gimpy wing, and moved us out of the way. I didn’t bother to look up, assuming Cecelia had just come to look for her.
“You owe me five bucks,” crooned a male voice.
I knew before I looked at the game warden’s truck whose voice it was.
“I don’t owe you anything, Cliff Richards. If you’re stupid enough to bet with Cecelia, then you should owe me five dollars,” I said with a big smile and scooted over toward the gray Ford truck with the handsome man hanging out the window.
We couldn’t have looked more different in our khaki and green uniforms if we had tried. Mine hung over me like a too-big shirt I stole from my dad while on Cliff it clung to his athletic body like some L.L. Bean catalog model.
He peered over the top of his gold aviator sunglasses as he reached out to smooth down Dorothy’s neck feathers. She flustered and bobbed her head away but eventually let him pet her.
“Never seen anything like it,” he said matter-of-factly, a hundred-watt smile plastered to his unshaven face.
Sometimes he reminded me so much of my best friend from back home. Something about the friendly way he—I stopped myself.
I wouldn’t dredge up his memory now.
“Seen anything like what?” I asked and looked around us.
The amber glow of the sun had begun to heat, and little beads of sweat had started to collect at my hairline. I was ready to get Dorothy back inside the air conditioning or in the shade of the woods. It was going to be a hot one today, and the crevice between my boobs was already pooling uncomfortably with sweat.
“Like you, Callie. Everything wants to be with you, even the wild animals. You’re like a goddamn Disney princess.” He smiled, and the look he was giving insinuated that more than just the turkeys wanted to be with me.
I shifted uncomfortably and tried to think of how to politely tell him I’d rather date Dorothy than him. It wasn’t anything against him, he was a great friend. I just had no interest in being trapped in this town forever, and I was not in the habit of having relationships with coworkers.
“She’s hardly wild,” I said as I nuzzled the large bird.
She had been raised from a poult at the center, born with only one good wing. I was making great progress with her, though, and had a few more things I wanted to experiment with to fix her wing.
“I gotta get Dorothy inside, I’ll see you later?”
I began the walk toward the new building when I was cut off by the back of Cliff’s tailgate as he reversed the truck in stride with us.
“How you gonna get home, scientist? You gonna build a set of wings and fly home? That truck of yours is done for. I told you last month it was too dangerous to be driving.” He raised his eyebrows cockily as he continued to slowly back up, maintaining eye contact with me.
“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t listen to everything you tell me to do,” I grumbled.
“Get in, I’ll give you two a ride back,” he said as he stopped the truck, blocking my path.
Dorothy flustered again once inside the truck, but it was a short drive up the road to the center, so I knew she’d be fine.
We pulled up to the back of the building two minutes later. The painted white brick beamed against the sunlight. Only two other cars were in the front parking lot, one being Cecelia’s. I got out of the truck to find I had turkey droppings all over my pants.
Perfect.
I set her on the ground and scowled at the fluttering bird as I wiped myself off, making certain she knew I wasn’t happy about it.
“Where you headed? To the lake?” I asked Cliff before I realized he was on his cell phone.
“Don, she did it. It finally broke down.” He turned to grin at me. “I know, tell her that. She won’t listen to me for shit. How’s about you send Wally out to get it? C’mon, man, do it for me. Git that old thing runnin’ again, and I’ll take you both fishin’ next week. To my special spot.” He rolled his eyes in mock humor before hanging up the phone. “There, now you definitely owe me dinner.” He grinned, making his tan face look extra charming with just a dash of arrogance.
“Forget about dinner, I want to go see this honey hole of yours. You know the bass are projected to be at a thirteen percent underpopulation next spring?” I accused.
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not taking you to my honey hole. Especially if you’re not gonna let me fish!” he shouted with mock exasperation.
For being the head game warden, he was actually incredibly lax about the conservation of wildlife. It was no wonder they had to hire me.
“You dummy, I’m not going to stop you from fishing, I want to study that spot. If it has a lot of activity, we may be able to recreate it and encourage reproduction.” As I said the words, my face began to heat and blush. “Thank you for calling Don. Last time, he told me he’d light it on fire before he towed it again.” I smiled at the memory from last year.
“Ya know, the state isn’t so bad, I know they’d happily give fancy-pants scientist a vehicle to drive if they thought she might stay for longer.” His voice was gruff, with just a hint of hillbilly clinging to the ends of his syllables.
“Ahh, but the migratory flight patterns of the monarchs wait for no one.” I brushed a stray feather from my sleeve. “As soon as I get the call, I’m off to Mexico, baby!”
Even as I said it, I could feel the energy shift within our conversation. I remembered why I didn’t make friends when I moved around.
They never understood when you left.
I had made it up the concrete steps of the back entrance and was about to breach the large aluminum doors when Cliff continued.
“I’ll pick you up at six, Callie Peterson. I’ll have Tom drop off the Jeep here if you need to get out and about.”
“If Tom’s bringing the Jeep then what do I need you for?” I smiled at him as I pulled the big metal handle to shoo Dorothy inside.
She patiently waited as her human servant widened the door to make room for her large feathered body and waltzed in as though she owned the place.
“’Cause I’m taking you to my honey hole tonight. Get all your nerdy notebooks ready, I’ll throw in a fishin’ pole for you too. You want pepperoni on your sub?” he shouted as he backed up to leave, obviously not taking my no as a valid answer.
I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. “Extra pepperoni if you’re buying!”
I didn’t want to lead him on or give him the wrong impression, but my friends were few and far between, and though I did try to keep everyone at arm’s length, sometimes it got lonely.
“Callie Peterson, quit flirting and get in here!” Cecelia’s old voice echoed through the back building with a hint of distress.
“I’m coming, what’s going on?”
I scooted Dorothy into her open playpen, taking into account the loose feathers on the ground. She must have flown out of it to escape! That means the tincture I developed last week might actually be working!
I almost skipped on the way up to the front in my excitement as I shoved through the double doors—just before letting out a scream.
