attention. I tossed the tennis ball for him and let him run. “You look amazing, Wren.”
She laughed. “You remember my name?”
I approached her, reaching for her nametag. “Well, even if I hadn’t, it’s right here.”
She smiled, removing her nametag. Her fingers grazed mine and closed over them for a moment. I felt a jolt, like the kick of my M-9, or the way I’d felt when I saw my first Duchamp. “I wasn’t sure since you didn’t call.” She blushed a little as she shoved her nametag into her pocket.
“So you’re a tour guide or something?”
“Just for the weekend. Special event to raise money for the marsh. It’s one of the most important migratory stops in the region.” She took a breath. “I have to admit, though, I’m a little disappointed. I felt pretty special when I thought you remembered my name from the Beer & Bait fiasco.”
I wanted to say “Oh, you are special,” but I bit my tongue. Too soon. Too corny.
“Your nose looks better,” I said.
She gave me a funny look. “My nose?”
“Yeah, it was kind of swollen before.” Crap. I’d was trying to be clever, and failing. I laughed nervously, hating the sound of my own insecurities. I’d driven all this way in the hopes of running into her, and now I was going to blow it?
It turned out it didn’t matter what I’d said, because my puppy blew it for me.
“Shit, your dog!” she yelled, pointing toward the water.
My puppy was swimming as hard as he could after a crane.
“Crap, um…should I go get him?” I hated the sound of my voice. Of course I should go get him. What an idiot.
“That’s a rare bird!” Wren yelled, and I could hear the desperation in her voice.
“Oh, no.” I ran to the edge of the marsh closest to where Hap was doggie-paddling after a pair of tall white birds. “Will they fly away?”
Wren wasn’t waiting to find out. I guess she must have been crazy about these birds, because she’d jumped into the pond with all her clothes on. Although it was late spring, in north-central Indiana it’s still too cold that time of year for a dip in the lake. The water seemed to only be about waist deep, but it had to be freezing. She was pissed and on the move toward my errant dog.
“You blasted mutt,” I said, removing my shoes and pants. I dropped them in a heap and pulled off my shirt, until I was down to my boxer briefs. Maybe I should have jumped in with all my clothes on, too, but I just couldn’t see wearing wet clothes all the way back home. I wanted to help, but I wasn’t crazy. “Wait!” I said, as I waded into the marsh. The bottoms of my feet hit slippery mud and what felt like layers of dead reeds, but I didn’t have time to think about it. Wren was going to think I was a total jerk with an a-hole of a dog. If he got to those cranes she’d never forgive me.
“Hap!” I called. “Heel!” I moved as fast as I could toward the dog, but he couldn’t be bothered.
Wren climbed onto a small island in the center of the marsh. As I caught up to her, she pointed to the birds, who were whooping like all get out against the invading dog. I was about to give Hap a good “whooping,” myself. I finally reached his collar, and I think we both let out sighs of relief. The dog and me, that is. Wren was still pretty stressed.
“They’re not flying away because—Oh my God, they’re on the nest!” Wren’s tone was equal parts horror and amazement.
We stood for a few moments, and I took it in, holding the wriggling water-logged puppy against my chest. The reeds were the perfect camouflage for the nest, sticking up all around like a fence. In the middle, the birds had created a sort of floating island for their home.
After a moment, I could see Wren’s shoulder’s dropping back down to a more human position. Even soaking wet and covered in muddy water, she was beautiful. In a much quieter voice she asked, “Do you have any idea how precious these birds are?” She didn’t sound angry,
She laughed. “You remember my name?”
I approached her, reaching for her nametag. “Well, even if I hadn’t, it’s right here.”
She smiled, removing her nametag. Her fingers grazed mine and closed over them for a moment. I felt a jolt, like the kick of my M-9, or the way I’d felt when I saw my first Duchamp. “I wasn’t sure since you didn’t call.” She blushed a little as she shoved her nametag into her pocket.
“So you’re a tour guide or something?”
“Just for the weekend. Special event to raise money for the marsh. It’s one of the most important migratory stops in the region.” She took a breath. “I have to admit, though, I’m a little disappointed. I felt pretty special when I thought you remembered my name from the Beer & Bait fiasco.”
I wanted to say “Oh, you are special,” but I bit my tongue. Too soon. Too corny.
“Your nose looks better,” I said.
She gave me a funny look. “My nose?”
“Yeah, it was kind of swollen before.” Crap. I’d was trying to be clever, and failing. I laughed nervously, hating the sound of my own insecurities. I’d driven all this way in the hopes of running into her, and now I was going to blow it?
It turned out it didn’t matter what I’d said, because my puppy blew it for me.
“Shit, your dog!” she yelled, pointing toward the water.
My puppy was swimming as hard as he could after a crane.
“Crap, um…should I go get him?” I hated the sound of my voice. Of course I should go get him. What an idiot.
“That’s a rare bird!” Wren yelled, and I could hear the desperation in her voice.
“Oh, no.” I ran to the edge of the marsh closest to where Hap was doggie-paddling after a pair of tall white birds. “Will they fly away?”
Wren wasn’t waiting to find out. I guess she must have been crazy about these birds, because she’d jumped into the pond with all her clothes on. Although it was late spring, in north-central Indiana it’s still too cold that time of year for a dip in the lake. The water seemed to only be about waist deep, but it had to be freezing. She was pissed and on the move toward my errant dog.
“You blasted mutt,” I said, removing my shoes and pants. I dropped them in a heap and pulled off my shirt, until I was down to my boxer briefs. Maybe I should have jumped in with all my clothes on, too, but I just couldn’t see wearing wet clothes all the way back home. I wanted to help, but I wasn’t crazy. “Wait!” I said, as I waded into the marsh. The bottoms of my feet hit slippery mud and what felt like layers of dead reeds, but I didn’t have time to think about it. Wren was going to think I was a total jerk with an a-hole of a dog. If he got to those cranes she’d never forgive me.
“Hap!” I called. “Heel!” I moved as fast as I could toward the dog, but he couldn’t be bothered.
Wren climbed onto a small island in the center of the marsh. As I caught up to her, she pointed to the birds, who were whooping like all get out against the invading dog. I was about to give Hap a good “whooping,” myself. I finally reached his collar, and I think we both let out sighs of relief. The dog and me, that is. Wren was still pretty stressed.
“They’re not flying away because—Oh my God, they’re on the nest!” Wren’s tone was equal parts horror and amazement.
We stood for a few moments, and I took it in, holding the wriggling water-logged puppy against my chest. The reeds were the perfect camouflage for the nest, sticking up all around like a fence. In the middle, the birds had created a sort of floating island for their home.
After a moment, I could see Wren’s shoulder’s dropping back down to a more human position. Even soaking wet and covered in muddy water, she was beautiful. In a much quieter voice she asked, “Do you have any idea how precious these birds are?” She didn’t sound angry,
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