Page 25 of Story of My Life
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” I followed her around my truck.
“I’m going to get Zoey, figure out how to pick up a bald eagle, and then we’re going to walk into town. I’m meeting the mayor. I’m sure he knows a bird doctor.” She headed for her friend, who was leaning against the car door, chugging a sports drink and trying not to watch Goose as he mauled the dead fish.
“Zo, can you do a search for bird hospitals near us?” Hazel called, stripping off her sweater to reveal a plain black tank and the trim body worth a second look underneath.
“He keeps making a creepy amount of eye contact,” Zoey complained, glaring at the bird.
“Well, he’s probably holding a grudge since I hit him with the car…or my face,” Hazel said reasonably. She brandished the cardigan like a bullfighter’s cape.
Much as I would have enjoyed watching a New Yorker try to pick up Goose mid-meal, I was running low on first aid supplies and patience.
Muttering severalfucks, I pulled my phone out of my back pocket, opened the stupidly named Bish Bros message group, and fired off a text.
Me:Ran into trouble. Running late. Have to make another stop.
Levi:Loser.
Gage:Need help? I’m on my way back and already hit my hero quota for the day. But I don’t mind getting a head start on tomorrow’s.
Me:No. Under control.
Gage:Might as well call it a day then, Livvy. Beer?
Levi:The first not-stupid thing you’ve said all day.
Gage:See you bright and early, Cammy.
Business settled, I stashed my phone back in my jeans.
“Here nice big scary eagle,” Hazel crooned, inching closer to the bird.
Goose looked up, chewing on a bite of fish.
“Take another step and he’s gonna take a bite out of you,” I warned, marching up behind her.
Hazel froze.
Goose had never once bitten anyone. He’d whapped plenty of us in the face with his wings, and he’d been known to swoop dangerously low in flight just to show off. But he was about as vicious as a Labrador retriever.
Hazel turned and shot me a wide-eyed look. “But I need to get him to a bird doctor.”
“There’s an avian hospital three hundred and seven miles from here,” Zoey called out.
“He’s fine,” I announced.
Hazel narrowed her eyes. “You’re not just saying that to spare my feelings and then, as soon as I leave, you’re going to put him out of his misery, are you?”
“You think I’m going to secretlyshootabald eagletoprotect your feelings?”
I should have kept right on driving. I should have minded my business and left them to their own devices.
She tipped her head side to side, eyes skyward as if she were replaying the words. “Okay. Fine. That sounds pretty stupid when you say it out loud. Sometimes things rattle around in here and seem completely reasonable, and then I get them on the page—well, I used to get them on the page?—”
“There’s a regular veterinarian ten miles from here that specializes in birds, but it looks like mainly those creepy talking birds,” Zoey interrupted.
“The fucking eagle is fucking fine,” I shouted.
Both women stopped what they were doing and stared at me.
