Page 8 of Wildly Yours
My mind is still deep in the well worn threads of the story I tell myself, when I hear his heavy work boots slap against the floor of the hall outside my office. My skin prickles with fear and desire, and I do a quick sniff test to make sure I put on enough deodorant today. Cody is going to make me work up a sweat just trying to stay calm, but I can’t let him get to me. I don’t want him to know he has that power over me—still.
He stands in my open doorway and knocks on the old wooden frame.
I gesture to the chair in front of my desk, and will my nerves to calm down by quickly counting five things I see, four that I hear, and three that I feel.
“So this is where you do your other job, huh?”
I force my face to stay neutral as he slides his muscle-bound frame into the wooden chair. I wonder if I need to pull out something that is more his size when I think better of it. Maybe it will keep the meeting shorter.
I fold my hands in front of me on the desk. “How can I help you today?”
“Look, Serena, I know we haven’t been on the best of terms the last several years.”
“Best of terms? Are you being serious?”
So much for staying calm and in control. Damn him.
He throws his hands up in a way that men do when they are out of their depth with a woman.
“Look, this is not how— I don’t know— I need your help.”
The thing about Cody is that no matter how long it’s been since we last spoke, I know he doesn’t like to ask for help. I know because we have that in common. We have a lot in common.
I try to sweeten my voice.Fake it until you make it, right?
“What do you need my help with? You seem to manage just fine up there on the mountain alone.”
He shifts in his chair, his eyes scanning my face. I know he’s looking for a sign that I’m going to lash out, but I won’t give him the pleasure of seeing me mad. I can’t. If I can just stay calm, he won’t have any power over me. I mentally prepare the safety box in my mind in case I need to shove thoughts inside and lock them up tight.
A few years ago, I read in a book about negotiating that the first one who speaks, loses. I’m trying to channel my inner master negotiator and remain silent. I want to say something, but it’s working. I’m calming down, and he’s leaning forward.
“Well as you know, our park has been registered as a quiet designation for three years now. And we’ve seen a major uptick in visitors to the park and town as a result.”
“Yes, the town of Owl Creek owes you a big thank you for working to get that designation. Perhaps I can mention it in my speech for the opening of the summer season?”
He chuckles under his breath.
“That same designation, or the reason we achieved it, is also the reason I can do my research on a rare migrating bird and some frogs, which are indicator species.”
“Refresh my memory on what an indicator species is.”
Yes! Stay neutral. You can do this.
“An indicator species is an organism…”
Cody’s gravelly baritone voice lulls me like a bard weaving his tales.
“…whose presence, absence, or abundance demonstrates the health of an ecosystem because they are so sensitive to changes.”
I watch his mouth move as he talks about the thing he loves the most—nature. His face is softening and his body is relaxing into the chair while I feel myself being pulled in, mesmerized by his voice, his mouth, his heartbreakingly handsome face.
“You may not know this, but I’m recording the sounds of the forest and the changes in populations of the forest.”
I take a deep breath. This is his life’s work, and as angry as I still am at him, I don’t want to diminish that. The truth is I always admired him for this.
“Quite a while ago I started picking up some odd sounds in my recordings, and it took me months to figure it out. Well I finally did because it has gotten so bad it’s like a bull horn in the microphones.”
I notice my body has leaned forward, because just like old times he’s reeled me in with his passion. Seven years we have avoided each other, and now it’s like we’re back to being buddieswho lay under the maple tree by the lake while he waxes on about the mating patterns of jumping mice.
