“Sure.And order me a spicy Italian meat lovers.”
A moment later she said, “Done.Pick up in forty minutes.”
“Oh, they don’t deliver?”
Craning her neck around to glance at me over the couch, she hit me with a healthy dollop of teenage sass with just a look.
“Right.Tiny island.”
“I’m not driving.Is your head fine?”
“Enough to drive,” I said.
“I called Dawn after I finished sketching the flicker,” Mabel said, not looking up from her sketchpad.
“I thought you might.And did she have anything else to say that I maybe forgot to say, or didn’t say?”
“She said only those who don’t know Kyla would be fooled by the speech she gave to the parole board.But Dawn and Irv saw right through it.She said I can call her anytime, day or night—which I already knew.But that they are going to keep an eye on her as best they can.She confirmed what you said, that she’s not allowed to leave Florida.”
That’s what Dawn had told me too.
Not that violating her parole would stop Kyla if she really wanted something though.My only hope was that changing my surname to my mother’s maiden name after Kyla and my father were sent to prison, and I went to live with Dawn and Irv, would impede Kyla’s efforts in finding me.To her, I was Lennox Murchie.But to the rest of the world, to anyone that mattered, and on all my court documents, as well as in my high school yearbooks, I was Lennox Paul.Son of the late Mabel Louisa Paul.
I thought maybe I should file a restraining order against her.But then that might put me on her radar, because she’d have to be served with it.
No.The best course of action right now was to remain vigilant and aware, but hope for the best.Hope that the woman knew better than to cross state lines or come seeking a relationship with a child that wanted nothing to do with her.
Then again, she never really did listen when a child told her no.
At about the thirty-minute mark, Mabel and I climbed back into the truck and made our way to the center of town, bumping down the narrow, winding road, passing barely anybody the entire drive.
“It’s weird how few vehicles we see on the road,” my kid remarked, as if she could read my mind.“I can’t decide if I like it.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.Does it make you feel lonely?”
“I never feel lonely.I like being alone.I like being with you or being alone.I don’t know if I know what lonely feels like.”
That made me glance over at her and grin.“And I hope you never do, kiddo.It’s not a good feeling.”
She only gave me a half-second side-eye before hollering, “Stop!Look!”and pointing to the side of the road.“It’s a …” But she’d already flung open her door—now that I’d abruptly stopped—and was running ahead.
I pulled the truck over to the shoulder and tossed on my hazard lights before getting out.“Don’t touch it,” I yelled before reaching into the back seat and grabbing a towel.“Birds carry all kinds of diseases.”
I jogged to join her where she crouched down in front of the large bird of prey.
“It’s an osprey,” she said, using a stick to gently lift the bird’s wing.“Pandion haliaetus.It’s just a juvenile, and it’s wing is broken.”
The bird stared at us with wide, buggy eyes and tried to get up and fly away, but every time it did, it would collapse back to the ground.
“Dad, we need to help it.Take it to an animal rescue center.”
“I don’t know if the island has one, kiddo.”
She met my gaze with hers, disbelief in her eyes.“What do you mean?Did you actually bring me somewhere that doesn’t have a place where you can bring injured birds?Injured animals?Isn’t there a vet on the island?”
Shaking my head because I didn’t have an answer, I brought out my phone and quickly Googled vets on San Camanez.Nothing came up.But whatdidcome up was a random comment about a guy who rescued animals from kill pens.Did an injured bird count?
I needed to ask for a second opinion.
