Broken Wings (9 page)

“I can’t imagine what it was like for you. I saw so much on the news, but that was the watered down version of the war. I did get a taste of what it must have been like for you after Katrina. Destruction and death were everywhere in the city, but I’m sure nothing like what you encountered.”

Daniel stared at the squirrel in his hands. “I lost a lot of good friends over there. Most were guys I would never have associated with prior to Iraq. But fighting side by side with anyone makes you like family.” He paused and his eyes seemed to darken slightly. “What haunts me to this day is the smell. I wake up sometimes in the middle of the night, smelling the odor of charred flesh and burning buildings.”

“How did you adjust to being back in the states after going through all of that?”

He shook his head and gave a discouraging sigh. “People who have never been there think you get off of the plane and because you’re home, everything is fine. But it’s not that simple. You walk around in open public places and you’re terrified because you feel you’re an easy target for a sniper. Every noise makes you jump. Every loud bang makes you want to dive for cover. Hell, I couldn’t drive under bridges without having a panic attack for damn near a year after I came back.”

“Bridges?”

“Snipers liked firing grenade launchers at us from bridges. You always had to stop and check out a bridge before you went under it. I used to get out of my car and search around every bridge when I first came back to the states.”

Pamela took the syringe out of the baby squirrel’s mouth and started rubbing its round tummy. “How long before you felt comfortable being home again?”

He placed the baby in his hands back in its container. “I’m still waiting for that day.” He snapped the lid closed on the container and then reached for another one. “I sometimes wonder if I will ever feel comfortable again. I don’t take anything for granted anymore.” He pulled another baby out, placed the nipple into its small mouth, and laughed as the squirrel’s impatient little paws wrapped around the syringe like a human baby placing its hands around a bottle.

“Any time you want to feed babies, you are more than welcome, Daniel.”

“Thanks, Pamela.” His bright smile dimmed a little. “I’ve got to work for the next few days but after that I’ll be able to return. I’ll be looking forward to getting back to these guys by then.”

Pamela laughed. “You’re beginning to sound like me.”

Daniel gazed into her gray eyes and grinned. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing after all.”

A few days later, a brooding Daniel Phillips returned to Pamela’s sanctuary. His Jeep slammed into the gravel driveway, spewing rocks all around when he came to a skidding stop just before the entrance to the cottage. Pamela and Carol watched from the front porch as the tall man climbed out of his Jeep, ignoring her pack of barking dogs.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled as he removed his sunglasses and walked directly to the side of the house.

Carol turned to Pamela and raised her mug of coffee to her lips. “Obviously not a morning person.”

Pamela put her mug of coffee down on the railing. “I’ll be back,” she said to Carol and then quickly made her way down the steps and around the side of the house.

“God, I just love a hot mini-drama in the morning,” Carol whispered, smiling.

Pamela came up to Daniel, who was banging the ladder around trying to get it positioned right up next to the house. His face looked drawn and there were dark circles under his eyes. His hair was disheveled and he had a thick five o’clock shadow across his square jaw. He looked as if he had just climbed out of bed and headed right over to the sanctuary.

“Coffee?” Pamela offered, figuring he was probably in desperate need of a caffeine boost.

“Yeah,” he replied without looking at her. “That would be great, thanks.”

“Everything all right?” Pamela inquired.

“Just peachy,” Daniel answered, keeping his eyes riveted on the house in front of him.

“Peachy, huh?” Pamela folded her arms across her chest. “You look like shit, Daniel.”

He turned to her and his dark eyes ripped her to shreds. “Shit? Thanks. That’s just what I needed to hear.”

She stood there for several minutes watching him as he gathered up his tools. Finally, he stopped and glowered at her. “Didn’t you say something about coffee?” he asked as he raised his dark eyebrows at her.

“After you tell me what your problem is this morning.”

Daniel sighed and threw the hammer in his hand to the ground. Lester, in the tree behind him, gave out a sudden hoot of surprise.

Daniel glanced up at the owl. “Great. That‘s all I need today.”

“Tell me what’s wrong?” she pleaded.

As he turned to her, a veil of cool indifference descended over his countenance. Pamela felt an uneasy shudder jar her body as her eyes met his.

He drew a deep breath through his lips and then let it out slowly. He surveyed the land around him. “Do you really want to hear this, Pamela, or are you just pretending to give a shit like the rest of the world?” He turned his face back to hers.

“I’m not pretending, Daniel.”

His eyes probed hers for what felt like an eternity to Pamela. “All right,” he said as he angrily nodded his head. “I got fired last night.”

She let her mouth fall open slightly. “Fired? Why?”

“The guy that I slugged a few months back for roughing up his girlfriend; you know, the one who filed charges against me? Well, he showed up at the bar last night and started ranting about why I was still working there. Cursed out the manager and was a general pain in the ass. Security had to come and escort him out of the place. After that, the manager told me to leave and not come back.”

“What are you going to do?”

He shrugged, appearing unconcerned about his situation. “Get another job. Won’t be as lucrative as Pat O’Brien’s, but I’ll manage. There are a lot of bars in the Quarter.”

“I’m sorry,” was all she could think to say.

Daniel gave her a weak attempt at a smile, but his eyes were still cold and menacing. “Now, what about that coffee?”

She nodded. “Coming right up. How do you want it?”

“Black.”

Pamela turned to go when his voice stopped her.

“Thank you for not pretending,” he whispered.

She looked back at him. “Let’s just say I think of you as a very large squirrel.”

Daniel laughed, a heartfelt laugh that seemed to break the tension in his face. “I think that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Pamela walked away and as she turned the corner to the front of the house, she saw Carol leaning over the porch railing, obviously straining to eavesdrop on her conversation with Daniel.

“Should I send you a transcript?” Pamela quipped as she glared at Carol.

Carol waved a dismissive hand at her. “Nah. Heard plenty enough from my spot here.” Carol smiled coyly at her. “So you and the criminal are friends, eh?”

“And you told him I had lupus.”

“I also tell everyone that you are mentally unstable and ritually sacrifice small children out in the woods, but no one ever believes me.”

“I should sacrifice you out in the woods,” Pamela replied under her breath as she climbed the steps to the porch.

“So what’s up with you and that fine looking man on your roof?”

“Keep your voice down,” Pamela chided. “Stop it, Carol. There is nothing between Daniel and me.”

“Yet,” Carol slyly added.

“Why do I put up with you and all
—
?”

But the sound of a car heading down the gravel drive silenced Pamela’s remonstrations. She and Carol watched as a bright red Mercedes-Benz SLK 350 roadster pulled up next to Daniel’s blue Jeep. The dogs quickly rose from their respective spots on the porch and went clamoring after the car.

“Shit!” Pamela cursed. “This is all I need!”

“Oh, how exciting,” Carol squealed as she examined the car. “Imelda has decided to grace us with her presence.”

The door of the Mercedes opened and a woman’s long, slender leg slid out from the car.

“Pamie!” A high-pitched voice cried out from inside the sleek roadster. “Can you get the dogs away from my car?”

Pamela cursed under her breath one more time as she ran down the steps to the drive. She tried to corral a few of the dogs away from the shiny red car, but for some reason they seemed hesitant to listen to her. Pamela could hear Carol giggling from the porch behind her.

“Go!” she yelled at the dogs and then clapped her hands to try and scare them away. Every dog ran back to the porch except for Tequila, the brown chiweenie. She just sat there staring at the car, wagging her tail, and not paying one bit of attention to Pamela. Finally, Pamela reached down and picked up the dog.

“It’s all right, Clarissa,” Pamela called out as she carried the small brown dog back to the porch.

Slowly, another leg appeared from inside the car. Then a tall woman, dressed in a form fitting red, silk shirtdress and black Manolo Blahnik pumps, emerged into the morning sunlight. She was slender with long, dark brown hair and bright green eyes. Her face was oval, pale, and looked slightly Asian. Her petite nose, small chin, and almond-shaped eyes only seemed to add to the exotic quality of her face. Clarissa didn’t look a day over thirty, but Pamela knew for a fact that she was pushing forty, and attributed her youthful glow to her plastic surgeon’s skill rather than a healthy lifestyle.

“Pamie!” Clarissa’s slender arms went up to her as if begging for a hug.

“Clarissa,” Pamela stated as she walked up to the woman and gave her a friendly embrace. She quickly stepped away, trying to breath with restraint after the first whiff of the woman’s heavy perfume. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

Clarissa held up her iPhone in her perfectly manicured little hands. “I came to take some pictures of all of your animals,” she replied in her high-pitched voice that reminded Pamela of something akin to mice squealing. “I’ve got a friend over at the
Times-Picayune
who wants some pictures of your place to put in the Sunday paper. You know, a human interest thing. And since the BP oil spill, everyone has been so worried about all of the animals affected. You never know, it might just help to drum up some donations for you.”

“I worked the oil spill, Clarissa, and it involved mostly birds,” Pamela clarified in a patronizing tone. “I try to limit myself to small mammals at this facility.”

Clarissa laughed, and the dogs on the porch all stood up and looked at her like she was a large squeaky toy. “Honey, no one is gonna’ know one way or the other. Mammals, birds, what’s the difference? As long as it is cute and fuzzy, everyone will just melt over your little critters. And you can make some money in the process.” She slammed the car door shut and walked over to the porch.

“Hello, Mrs. Patrick,” Carol said, sounding welcoming.

“Oh, hello.” Clarissa stopped halfway up the steps and stared at Carol. “You’re Beverly, right?”

“No, I’m Carol.” Carol gave her a fake smile. “I handle the books and we see each other at the fundraiser every year.”

Clarissa waved her hand in the air. “Oh, yes, silly me. I remember you, dear.” She pointed at the coffee mug in Carol’s hand. “Ya’ll got any more of that inside?”

“I’ll get you a mug,” Carol offered. “Cream, no sugar, right?”

Clarissa appeared a little shocked. “How clever of you to remember!”

“How could I forget, Mrs. Patrick?” Carol remarked as she headed inside.

Clarissa turned back to Pamela, who was coming up the porch steps behind her. “So, why don’t you show me what’s new around here and
—
”

Just then Rodney the raccoon emerged from around the corner of the house. He laid eyes on Clarissa and immediately began to snort and growl at her.

“I see you still haven’t gotten rid of that vile creature,” Clarissa muttered as her green eyes glared at Rodney. “Shouldn’t you put him to sleep or somethin’, Pamie? I mean havin’ such vermin hangin’ around can only bring diseases to your other animals. Don’t they carry rabies?”

“Clarissa, you know I don’t put animals to sleep unless it’s absolutely necessary. Rodney is very friendly with most people, and does not have rabies. He’s had his shots. I just don’t understand what his problem is with you.”

Clarissa shot Pamela a dirty look.

“I simply meant maybe it is your perfume or something you wear that sets him off,” Pamela explained. “They have a very acute sense of smell.”

“Well, I think he’s just
—
” A sudden round of banging from the roof stifled Clarissa’s campaign against the roaming raccoon. “What’s that?” she asked.

“I have someone repairing the broken shingles on my roof,” Pamela told her.

Clarissa raised her dark brows, questioningly. “Since when can you afford to have any work done on this place?” She narrowed her small eyes on Pamela. “Bob hasn’t given you any more money, has he?” she asked in a husky voice.

Pamela could not help but grin as she saw the blush of anger spread across Clarissa’s pale face. “No,” she said, calmly. “You and Bob have been more than generous over the years.”