And holy shit, if a friend of a friend didn’t throw it out into the universe that little ol‘ San Camanez on the West Coast was looking for a new principal.Thank god for Spencer Paxton, who ran the local distillery with three other single dads.
Spencer was a family friend of my foster family, and he was chatting with my foster brother, Kai, who mentioned to me that the move out West might be exactly what Mabel and I needed.
It was dark out now, and only a few unpacked boxes remained stacked on a dining room table Mabel and I would probably never eat at.We almost always sat at a kitchen bar, or on the couch, watching a nature documentary or playing some online trivia game.She almost always whooped my ass.And not a single cell of my body wasn’t proud as hell.
I stashed my dishes in the dishwasher, poured myself a dram of Hardwood Distillery Iron Bar Whiskey and opened up the French doors that led out onto the patio.I closed the screen to not let in the bugs—or bats—and climbed into the hammock.
Closing my eyes, I allowed the soundtrack of the island evening to lull me into an almost dreamlike calm.
My eyes were closed.I used my big toe to nudge me into a gentle sway, and I savored the fruity notes of the whiskey on my tongue before swallowing.
Hoot-hoot!
I nearly went ass-over-tea-kettle bolting upright at the nearby sound of the owl.
It had to be close.
Like in a tree no more than thirty yards away.
Carefully, I finished the whiskey and set the glass down on the planked deck, then climbed out of the hammock.Staring up into the trees, I let my eyes adjust to the dark and scanned the branches, looking for movement, color, or big alert eyes watching me.
And then I saw it.
High up in the trees, the distinct shape of an owl.And it was looking right at me.
“Stay right there,” I whispered, backing up to the screen door.
I slid it open and hustled to Mabel’s bedroom door.“Mabes,” I said as I knocked.
“Yeah?”
“Come outside.Now.Bring your binoculars.”
I didn’t have to tell her twice.
The door swung open with vigor, and my bird-pajama clad child nearly bowled me over with her enthusiasm.
“Slow and quiet,” I said, following her through the kitchen to the door.I’d forgotten to close the screen.
She slowed her roll and crept onto the deck, her binoculars already to her eyes.Then came the childlike gasp.
My smile nearly reached my ears.
“Oh my god,” she whispered.“Hello, my friend.”
I couldn’t see the owl as well as she could, but I wasn’t as bird-crazy as she was.The ability to bring joy and a smile to my daughter’s face was the real thrill for me.
“Dad, could you please run back to my room and grab my notebook?”
With manners like that, how could I refuse?
I darted back into the house and grabbed her notebook from her room, flipping through some of the pages and the beautiful sketches she’d done over the last few months.She sketched birds and made so many notes that I had to get her a new notebook every quarter or so.
I tapped her shoulder with the notebook, and she blindly reached for it.“It’s so pretty.Here.”She handed me the binoculars, but didn’t take the strap off her neck, so I had to duck down and get in close.
It really was a pretty bird, unlike some of the birds she gushed over which, to me, looked like something that’d been reassembled after getting tossed into the wood chipper.
“Can you tell the difference?If it’s a male or female?”I asked.
