Page 26 of Story of My Life
“He’s grumpy,” Zoey observed.
“Yes, yes, he is,” Hazel said with a look of delight, which I found completely inappropriate and annoying for the situation. “And he’s not fine. Look at his wing.”
Goose still had one wing tucked into his beefy body while the other extended out.
“He’s faking it,” I explained.
Hazel scoffed. “Yeah. Okay, bald eagle psychologist.”
Muttering several uncomplimentary and ungentlemanly statements, I stomped back to my truck and opened the glove box. I grabbed the bag of treats and returned to Hazel, who was still holding her sweater like an eagle swaddle.
“Quit playing around, Goose,” I said, tossing one of the treats in the air.
The bird caught it smugly. He snatched up the remains of the fish in his talons and took flight.
“I just got scammed by a bald eagle.” Hazel lifted her hands to block the sun and poked herself in the mustache bandage. “Ow.”
“I’m gonna have nightmares about this for the rest of my life,” Zoey said.
“You and me both,” I announced.
We watched the bird bank to the east, soaring majestically over what was probably Main Street. A large chunk of fish came loose and plummeted back toward the earth.
Zoey gagged then clamped a hand over her mouth.
“How did you know he was faking?” Hazel asked me.
“It’s what he does. Now get in the truck.”
Zoey gestured with her sports drink at the destroyed sign. “Don’t we have to wait for the cops? Or at least a tow truck?”
“What about our stuff?” Hazel chimed in. “I have my laptop in the trunk.”
“I’ll text the tow driver and tell them where to find you. Just get in the damn truck. I’ll drive you to your appointment.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Zoey said before I could add something uncomplimentary about how the sooner I got them where they were going, the sooner they’d be out of my life.
“My hero.” Hazel sounded suspiciously triumphant for someone who’d just gotten hit in the head with a fish.
“Stop playing with your head wound,” I ordered.
7
A LITTLE FRAUD BETWEEN FRIENDS
HAZEL
Even with a head wound,I totally could have walked the quarter mile to Story Lake’s downtown. It was a “blink and you’ll miss it” two-block stretch of mostly blank storefronts and empty parking spaces. There was a tiny sunburnt park dividing the square down the middle. It appeared to be missing the requisite small-town gazebo.
But I was too preoccupied with the man behind the wheel.
Ithadto mean something. I’d met the man who was responsible for me being here before I’d even entered town limits. Now, that also meant it was possible that me nearly creaming a bald eagle with my caralsomeant something. But I was choosing to focus on the more handsome, grumpy, muscular side of things.
“So how many brothers do you have?” I asked.
“What?” Cam snapped.
I gestured at the Bishop Brothers logo on his shirt. “Your last name is Bishop. I assumed.”
