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I nodded. From what I understood, it hadn't been much of a fight. Mayor Tillson and everyone took their case to the St. Clouds, who'd given Serena's parents a generous severance package. For that kind of thing, you really needed a good reason. You couldn't leave the project halfway through and take your expertise to a competitor.
"So now he's mad," I said, "which means he's drinking more."
Daniel nodded.
"Well, he can't blame you for that."
Daniel tossed a stick for Kenjii.
"He doesn't blame you, does he?"
"Yeah, he does. Who knows why. Finally, tonight, I just had enough. I told him I wasn't holding him back. As far as I'm concerned, he can go. I'll take care of myself. Not like I don't do that already. He flipped out. He called me an ungrateful brat and came at me, and I--I--"
"Hit him again?"
"I--I think so. I mean--" He exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck, eyes closing as he grimaced. "I must have. I just don't--"
His gaze went distant, the way it had that morning, staring after the hiker, and when I looked into his eyes, I saw nothing.
"Daniel?"
He shook it off. "Yeah, I hit him. I just got so mad that I didn't even realize ... Well, you know."
"Your boxing instincts kicked in. He came at you and you hit him without realizing it."
"Right. Exactly." Another exhale, this one sounding like relief. "Anyway, he's fine. Just seriously pissed off, which is why I'm here."
"You could stay here," I said softly. "If he does leave."
He rubbed his arms, like he was getting cold. His gaze was down, but his jaw was set in that way I knew well, ready to refuse. Only he didn't want to refuse. He wanted to know that if it came down to that, his dad leaving, he could stay here. I could see that worry and that need wearing away at his pride until finally he grunted, "Yeah. Okay."
After another second, he got up, and said, "Let's feed the animals."
SIX
WE PUT KENJII IN her dog run. If I go in the shed while there's a predator in residence, it makes her anxious. And when she gets anxious--whining and scratching at the door--it really doesn't help the sick animals inside.
As we left the dog run, Daniel said, "Don't mention that stuff to your parents, okay? I'm sure Dad's just talking crazy again."
"No need to mention it until there's a reason to."
"Yeah."
"You need a jacket? It's getting cool."
"I'm good."
The shed is really a specially built wildlife rehabilitation building, designed by my mom. The roof is glass. It's in the shade, so we don't barbecue the critters, and there's plenty of ventilation.
The shed is temporary lodgings. I don't take any animal that has a good chance of recovering on its own, because no matter how careful I am, sometimes rerelease isn't possible, and the animal has to go to the wildlife center outside Victoria.
Right now, the shed housed one snake, two fledglings, and a marten. The sharp-tailed snake was a young one that had been stepped on by a hiker, who'd recognized it as a rare species. The fledglings were orphaned bald eagles. The marten--a cat-sized predator that looks like a long-haired weasel--ha
d been shot by a moron teenage tourist playing big-game hunter with a crossbow.
We started with the snake, dumping in a couple of live slugs. Serena used to argue that killing one creature to save another made no sense. We'd have long debates about that. Not arguing, just working it through. I agreed she had a point, but the snake was rare and the slugs weren't, so it made sense from a conservation view.
But if you pushed her argument even further, you could say that no predator should be saved, because even if I feed them roadkill and hunter leftovers, they'll kill other animals when they get out. Then there's the argument for letting nature take its course with every living thing, and so we should leave wounded animals to their fate. I don't mind it when people say stuff like that. I just don't happen to agree.
