“Shhh,” my daughter called out from the side of the house.
I didn’t climb the porch, but headed around to the left of the old white farmhouse with green trim to find my thirteen-year-old daughter sitting on a wooden footstool, her binoculars around her neck, notebook on her lap, and phone in her palm.
Of course, the Merlin app was open and recording.
“Did you hear the owl?”I asked her.
“Shhh,” she chastised, glaring at me.“Of course I did.”
I smirked.“Well, what species is it?”
With an irritated sigh, she stopped the app from recording.“It’s the barred owl.And you know I’ve never seen one.”
A few other tweets and cheeps echoed in the forest beside the yard.
Mabel’s blue eyes widened and she quickly hit record on her Merlin bird identifier app again.
“Don’t stay out here too long, please,” I said, ruffling the blonde, shoulder-length curls on her head.
“I’ve finished all my homework.You know that.I’m three weeks ahead.And two grades ahead.”
I rolled my eyes.“You’re also a thirteen-year-old child.Who is still growing in both mind and body, and you need your rest.You need to sleep.”
She sighed like a petulant teenager.“Fine.Another hour?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
Her jaw dropped.“Forty-five.”
“Thirty.”
“Fine,” she muttered.
Smirking, I pressed a kiss to the top of her head.“Did you have enough for dinner?”
“Dad!The birds.Shhh.”
“Sorry, sorry.”I held up my hands in surrender and backed away, returning to the front of the house.I climbed the three steps to the porch and went inside.
We were renting the two-bedroom farmhouse until I could find something more permanent.The real estate market on the island was extremely slim, and even rentals were difficult to come by.But I lucked out taking over someone else’s lease, which had just renewed in February.So Mabel and I, at least, wouldn’t be homeless until then.The landlord seemed to think it wouldn’t be a problem for us to stay on longer than that though.
The lasagna I’d made earlier today sat out on the stove with one piece cut out of it.I dished myself up a slice, heated it in the microwave, then sat down in the living room with the hockey game on.I was a basketball guy myself, having played in college, but since the season was over, my attention was on hockey.
I didn’t have to pay attention to the clock, or go out and remind Mabel to come in.The door opened exactly thirty minutes from when I was outside, and my teenager entered, replaying some of the bird calls she’d recorded from the app.
“That’s the common nighthawk,” my kid said, sitting down on the other arm of the sectional sofa.
“What are those faint squeaks in the background?”
“Bats.”Her eyes bugged out.“There aresomany bats here.It’s actually a little concerning.I’m afraid to look up at them in case they defecate.”
I smirked.My child was always a little more paranoid than most.But I’d learned early on not to indulge in her paranoia and rather just redirect it to something positive.Most of the time it worked.“That’s cool,” I said.“Maybe we should think about building some bat boxes to put out for them.”
She nodded absentmindedly.“Maybe …”
“Did you have enough dinner?”
Another barely-listening-to-me nod.
