Page 84 of Air Force One
“You got a name, girl?” He should have read the card when he had the chance.
“Wang Dai—,” then she stopped and really laughed. It wasn’t the bright giggle he’d expect from a girl with such a face, but instead a woman’s throaty laugh that just might have a seriously bad moment or two…or three…behind it. “Jade.” She managed a steadying breath, nodded to herself, and held out a hand. “Jade Wang.”
She didn’t have some gentle handclasp, and her calluses weren’t faked either.
“Tim Andrews. Why do I think this is gonna be an interesting season?”
Jade raised her glass in a toast. He clinked his to hers and they both drank.
82
The furor had been slow to abate and Miranda had done everything she could to hide. Living in an unmarked missile silo in rural Washington State had made that easier. She left only for the crash investigation call-outs that she couldn’t refuse.
The warm May had brought blossoms to the small grove of cherry, apple, and pear trees that she’d planted along the driveway. It also brought the spring birds to the feeders and fawns to romp through the meadows.
She’d watched each of her friends go through grieving after the crash and resolution of Air Force One…but still didn’t know how she felt about it. Yes, now and then she wished Drake would call with some impossible crisis. Not because she wanted the crisis, but she did miss the sound of his voice and his patience with her.
This morning she sat with her back against a big-leaf maple, Meg asleep in her lap, and a book resting on Meg that she couldn’t seem to focus on. Instead, her attention followed the breeze playing with the bright green new growth of the conifer woods that started along one edge of their property and continued far up the slopes of Tiger Mountain.
Mike and Holly were in Seattle investigating the downing of a Twin Otter float plane that had run into a houseboat to avoid a sailboat.
Andi was busy in her own vegetable garden, attempting to prove that she didn’t kill plants with her mere presence. She still wasn’t allowed into Miranda’s garden past the bench she’d installed close by the gate. Andi had yet to disprove Miranda’s hypothesis about Andi’s black thumb, though she remained determined to try.
As Miranda sat quietly, Meg’s ears twitched toward the nearby tall grass. Sure enough, the stalks began to weave about. Miranda had set out a handful of dried corn when she’d arrived and her rabbit friend soon emerged to nibble at it.
Except he’d changed. His coat was all matted down one side with dried blood. And he was definitely favoring his right front paw. One of his eyes had a big gash over it as well.
“Oh, you poor thing,” she whispered to it. It twitched one ear in her direction, but the other was badly tattered and must hurt to move.
The fawn-colored Eastern Cottontail had grown accustomed to her and ate the corn within easy reach. When Miranda brushed a hand over its fur, she could feel the shiver of muscles beneath.
“You need help.”
In answer, the rabbit finished its corn and began trying to clean its injured paw.
Miranda took off the floopy sun hat that Andi made her wear whenever they were outside and scooped the rabbit gently into the bowl of the inverted crown. It watched her intently, but made no effort to escape as she cradled it in her arms. As she hurried back to the house, Miranda could feel it twitch whenever a wound was bumped. She hoped that her apologies helped. Meg trotted along eager with curiosity at her heels.
“What do you have there?” Andi looked up from inside her fenced garden where the surviving plants were a quarter the size of the ones in Miranda’s.
“My rabbit friend is hurt. It looks like he got in a fight with another rabbit. A fox would have done more damage and a coyote would have killed it. Maybe he fought off a hawk.” She didn’t stop until she was inside.
She had assembled an animal medical kit to replace the one that had been burned up along with her island home but never had occasion to use it since their move here. She rolled it out on the counter and set the bunny beside it on a clean towel. Then, step by step, Miranda went through every needed procedure she’d learned on an isolated island filled with wildlife: trimming fur, applying Blood Stop Powder to deeper wounds, and antiseptic to shallower ones. Binding his injured paw had required some negotiation, but they’d managed it together.
When Andi came to watch, she lifted Meg onto one of the bar stools. Miranda had been so concerned for the rabbit that she’d forgotten that Meg would want to watch too. As she moved from paw to rump to ear, Andi wandered away and Meg curled up on the stool to nap. When she was done, she shifted the rabbit into Meg’s carrying kennel with several leaves of chard and a small dish of water. He ate a little, nibbled at a bandage but without any real effort, and then went to sleep.
She followed the sounds of a screw gun out to the workshop. Andi was covered in sawdust but she was mounting a hinged door on a brand-new rabbit hutch.
“It looked as if that rabbit needs to stay safe for a while. I hope this is okay.”
Miranda hugged her despite the sawdust. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
“Only on Thursdays.”
She’d learned this was one of Andi’s jokes and, after a bit of explanation, had decided it was funny, so she laughed whenever Andi used it. She hurried back inside to fetch the injured rabbit as Andi set the hutch under a blooming cherry tree. She gave it fresh spinach from her garden.
“Oh, she’ll like that. It’s so pretty here.”
Once the rabbit was situated, she and Andi stood with their arms around each other’s waists and watched it eat.
