Broken Wings

by Weis, Alexandrea

  Daniel turned away and headed out the front door. Pamela felt a flurry of excitement stir beneath her skin. But a rush of apprehension soon replaced her excitement. Her gut screamed that this was a mistake, and no matter how hard her heart fought to quell her doubt, she knew that any romantic relationship between them would never last. She had realized a long time ago that she was never meant for love and she had gotten used to the idea of growing old alone. Life had instantly found a way to interfere with her plans, and the thought of a future with another person suddenly scared the hell out of her. But stirring amidst the doubt was an underlying twinge of desire; a feeling she had not experienced for a very long time.

  * * * *

  Later that afternoon, Pamela and Daniel were sitting on her back porch, eating sandwiches and taking a break from their work. Daniel had finished the roof and was starting to strip the old paint from the outside of the house. Small flecks of blue and white paint still covered his dark hair, face, chest, and forearms. Even his faded jeans had remnants of the paint on them.

  “Sorry I don’t have anything heartier than tuna for you,” Pamela apologized. “I don’t have any red meat in the house, and the chicken I do have, I have to keep for the animals.”

  Daniel held up his sandwich. “The tuna’s fine, Pamela.” He paused as he gazed out over the facility. “You know, with a little work this place could really be something,” Daniel said, and took another bite of his sandwich.

  “Yes, but the kind of work I need done costs money.”

  He finished chewing on his sandwich and asked, “What else do you need, besides an overhaul of your house and the barn?”

  She eyed the large cages next to the barn for a moment. “Well, I need to get a few more exterior cages built. Then I would love to add more outdoor lights so I wouldn’t have to carry a flashlight with me when I check on sick animals at night. Then there are the extra faucets needed around the cages.”

  “I might be able to help out with the outdoor lights,” he volunteered. “I can do some basic wiring and run a line out from the barn.”

  “You’re already doing too much. I feel like I’m taking advantage of you and I don’t like feeling that way. I prefer to pay people for their services.”

  “I told you I want to do this,” Daniel insisted.

  She could not help but smile at him. “I find it’s getting harder and harder to get you to accept no.”

  “Like I said, I rarely listen to women; especially the stubborn kind who don’t like to accept help from friends.”

  Pamela said nothing. She watched in silent amazement as the man gobbled down two tuna sandwiches before she had barely gotten through half of her cheese sandwich. She waited until he had finished the last bite of his second sandwich before she brought up the subject that had been bothering her all morning.

  “So how is the job hunting going?”

  “Great,” Daniel replied as he wiped the crumbs from his hands. “Got another bartending job at the Port of Call on Esplanade. It’s not far from my place in the Quarter. The pay isn’t as good as it was at Pat O’Brien’s, but the tips are probably better. Tourists aren’t the greatest tippers.”

  “Where do you live in the Quarter?”

  “I rent a cottage that was converted from a carriage house. It sits across a courtyard from a house that was split up into apartments. It’s small, but it’s enough for me.”

  “I’m glad to hear that you found a job. I was worried you wouldn’t find anything.”

  He shook his head as he grinned at her. “I always land on my feet, Pamela.”

  She gave him a cool going over with her gray eyes. “It’s not your feet I worry about.”

  He looked out over the property. “You don’t need to worry about that, either. It’s been better lately. I feel less…agitated, I guess. Every time I feel myself getting tense, I remember what holding those baby squirrels feels like. Just holding those little guys really calms me. Then I think about this place.” He paused as his eyes found hers. “And about you.”

  Pamela nervously cast an eye to her cheese sandwich, avoiding his penetrating gaze.

  “Thinking about all of this helps me,” he continued. “I’ve been to shrink after shrink and none of them have been able to do in six years what you and your animals have accomplished in a few days.”

  She kept her eyes peeled on her sandwich. “Animals help many people overcome mental and physical problems. Horses and dolphins have been used to connect with children who are autistic. Dogs and cats visit nursing homes and hospitals to comfort the sick and elderly. A variety of animals are trained to help individuals with chronic diseases, physical handicaps, or mental disorders. There is a long list of animals that have been utilized in some sort of program to help all kinds of people. Maybe my animals have helped you.”

  “Is that why you got into this?”

  “I don’t understand,” she said, putting the rest of her sandwich back in a plastic bag.

  He turned to her and let his dark eyes travel the delicate features of her face. “Do the animals help you? Is that why you surround yourself with them?” he finally asked.

  She played with the sandwich bag in her hand. “They help give me something to live for, to get out of bed for. So, yes, I guess they have helped me. They have kept me going and not let me give in to my disease.”

  “Have you ever thought about when you can’t do this anymore? I did some research on lupus after Carol told me about your condition. It seemed pretty daunting to me,” he admitted.

  “It’s only daunting to you. For me, it’s just something to live with like a limp or bad teeth. And I have no one to hand this place over to if something were to happen. I have no family to speak of and my biggest fear is that Bob will take over the facility and turn it into an elite petting zoo.”

  “What about hiring others to run it for you?”

  She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. “I don’t have the money for that. I would need a nice sized trust fund for the sanctuary to pay a small staff. Most rehab facilities last only as long as the person who founded them. If anything were to happen to me, this place would not survive.”

  Daniel reached for his glass of iced tea. “So how do we find the money to make sure your facility keeps going?”

  “We?” She rolled her eyes at him. “Are you sure you want to get involved with all of this? It’s as nerve wracking as hell. It drives Carol absolutely insane.”

  “I can handle it. What do we do?”

  She thought about the hours of wasted phone calls, sucking up to people she could not stand because she needed the money. The worry over bills, the sleepless nights, and when all was said and done, she still had to care for the animals. At times, the demands of her rehabilitation center seemed overwhelming, and then there were the moments with the animals that made it all worthwhile.

  “Well, next Saturday there is that oil spill benefit that I mentioned to Carol. My ex-husband wants me to attend so I can hob-knob with his rich friends and see if I can drum up donations.”

  He nodded as he lifted his glass to his lips. “Yes, I remember. I’m in.” He took a sip from his drink.

  She furrowed her brow at him. “It’s black tie.”

  He leaned closer to her. “I do own a tux, Pamela. I’m a bartender, not a bum.” He leaned back from her and looked down into his tea. “I’ll pick you up at five. We can go have a nice dinner in the city. And after the benefit, I can show you where I live.”

  She shook her head. “This isn’t a date.”

  “For me it is,” he said and took a long sip of tea.

  Pamela sighed. “Now I’ll need to go shopping for something to wear.” She cringed and added, “Ugh!”

  “I thought women loved shopping for clothes,” he said, a little confused.

  “This woman does not like shopping for clothes. I live in jeans and T-shirts. The idea of wasting money on some fancy cocktail dress I’ll only wear once is infuriating. I’d rather be spendi
ng the money on my animals.”

  Daniel stood up from the porch. “Fine. I’ll take you shopping later on this afternoon and buy you a dress for the benefit. I’ve got a change of clothes in the car. I can shower here and we can grab some dinner after. How does that sound?”

  Pamela scowled at him. “I wasn’t asking you to buy me a dress, Daniel. I can afford to buy my own clothes.”

  “You’ll buy something that will cover up your body and make you appear frumpy and unattractive. I’ll buy you a dress that will turn heads and have every man at that benefit pulling out his checkbook to win you over.” He winked at her. “I know how to dress a woman to look like a woman.”

  “They teach you that little trick in bartending school?”

  “Yeah, in between how to mix daiquiris and martinis.” He reached over and pulled Pamela to her feet. “Now, go and take care of everybody so we can make an early start of it. I’ll take you to Baton Rouge where they have some decent malls.” He handed her his empty glass and headed down the porch steps.

  Pamela could not help but smile as Daniel walked away from her. For the first time in a long time, she was actually excited about the prospect of shopping.

  Chapter 7

  “Daniel I can’t wear this!” Pamela exclaimed as she looked at her reflection in the department store mirror.

  She had on a black silk cocktail dress that was cut high above the knee and draped over one shoulder. The waist and skirt were fitted, accentuating every curve of Pamela’s slim figure. There were tiny silver beads sewn intermittently throughout the fabric, making the dress shimmer in the dull fluorescent light of the store.

  “Now that will make any man’s mouth water,” Daniel remarked, standing behind her at the mirror, grinning. “But we have to do something about the scratches on your arms. You look like you have been attacked by wild animals.” He waved his hand over the long red scratch marks on her arms and upper chest.

  “One of the drawbacks of rehabbing wild animals, I’m afraid,” Pamela admitted as she looked at him through the department store mirror. Her eyes traveled once more over her reflection and then she turned around to face him. “I can’t wear this. I look like a hooker,” she whispered so as not to be heard by the saleswoman standing close by.

  Daniel leaned in closer to her. “You don’t look like a hooker. You look like a hot wildlife rehabber.”

  “But I’m supposed to look like a respectable wildlife rehabber. I run a not-for-profit charity, not a brothel.”

  “Pamela, when are you going to realize that certain types of men don’t want to respect you, they want to sleep with you. And wearing a dress like that is how you’re going to trick them into giving you money.” He spun her around and started to unzip the top portion of the dress for her. “We’ll take it,” he said, nodding to the older saleswoman with silver hair.

  Pamela looked down at the price tag hanging from the dress. “It’s a fifteen-hundred-dollar dress!” she whispered in horror. “You can’t buy this. It’s too much money,” she firmly said under her breath.

  “I can afford it,” he assured her.

  “How can you afford a fifteen-hundred-dollar dress?”

  “I have a trust fund,” Daniel casually answered.

  Pamela frowned at him in the mirror. “Very funny.”

  Daniel turned back to the saleswoman. “Now where can we find her some shoes?”

  * * * *

  A little over an hour later, Daniel and Pamela were sitting in his Jeep outside of a drive-through burger place in downtown Folsom, a small town in St. Tammany Parish. Daniel was munching on a fried fish sandwich and Pamela was eating french fries. The new dress and a pair of high-heeled black pumps were neatly wrapped in fancy shopping bags in the back seat.

  “You shouldn’t have spent so much money, Daniel,” Pamela scolded in between mouthfuls of french fries.

  “You need to look stunning at that party, and to make money you have to spend it,” he insisted after he finished the last bite of his sandwich.

  “But I feel very guilty that you spent so much.” She waved at the bags in the back seat. “That must have cost you two months of tips. I don’t know when I will be able to repay you.”

  He grinned at her. “I don’t want you to repay me. It’s a gift. And I already told you, I have a trust fund.”

  Pamela almost choked on a french fry. “I thought you were joking. You’re serious?”

  “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning, but you seem so concerned about my finances.”

  “Are you…” She stopped herself. “I mean, how does a bartender get a trust fund?”

  “The trust fund is actually from my mother’s estate. My brother, Josh, and I received it after her death many years ago, but my father retains control. He sends Josh and me monthly allowances, but that’s about all we get.”

  “Your mother left you the money in a trust fund?”

  “Yes, she wanted us to have money so we could live comfortably, but didn’t want her family fortune squandered on fast cars and loose women. Her family owned sugar cane farms. They were from New Orleans, and that’s one of the reasons I came to the city. She died when I was sixteen, and I thought maybe I could get to know more about her by coming to live in the city where she grew up.”

  “So you’re rich?”

  “My mother’s family was, but not anymore. All that is left of her family’s fortune is what is in the trust fund, which is quite sizable. My father is the wealthy one now. He owns an import company in Bridgeport, Connecticut, where I grew up. He imports exotic food items, luxury goods, and clothing, and then sells them to retailers across the country. That’s the business he was grooming me to take over when I signed up to go to Iraq.”

  “And what about your brother? Does he work with your father?”

  “Josh is a plastic surgeon in Boston. He’s married to a great woman and they have twin girls, May and Emily. He was always the brain in the family, and wanted to be a doctor for as long as I can remember. I was the football star. Dad didn’t want him to go into the business because he felt Josh should pursue his dream of becoming a doctor. My father always expected me to take over his company.”

  “Are you close with your family?”

  “Josh and I talk every now and then, but we were never that close growing up. He’s a few years older than me and once he left for college, I never saw that much of him. And I haven’t spoken to my old man since coming back from Iraq.” He paused and his eyes appeared dark and distant for a moment. “He thought once I was back, everything would be as it was before I left. But I wasn’t the same; none of us were after that war. He tried to understand but never did, so I left Connecticut soon after I returned home and…well, you know the rest.”

  Pamela watched the darkness in his eyes fade out like the light from a dying flame. She knew she had not even begun to scratch the surface of all the pain and trauma he had experienced during his time in Iraq, but she wanted to help him; not so much to forget his past, but to rise above it.

  She wiped her hands on her napkin. “You could have told me earlier about your trust fund. Then I wouldn’t have felt so guilty about your buying all those supplies for my home and my dress.” She shook her head. “Begging for money all of the time can be so degrading. I have had people threaten me, call me a leech, and escort me out of their homes or businesses when I was trying to solicit funds for my facility.” She sighed. “It’s refreshing to finally meet someone who just gives what he has without asking for something in return. True kindness is such a rare quality these days. I guess I’m just not used to it.”

  “Well, I can’t picture any one running you out of this benefit next Saturday.” He leaned in closer to her and leered playfully. “Especially not in that dress.” He pointed to the dress in the back seat. “And I’m not as kind as you think, Pamela. Perhaps there is something I want in return for my investment.”

  Pamela eased back from him and felt the blush rise on her cheeks. She looked d
own at the half-eaten container of french fries still sitting in her lap. Her appetite had suddenly vanished.

  He leaned back in his seat, never taking his eyes off her. “I must admit I find it hard to believe a woman like you isn’t knee deep in men asking for dates.”

  Pamela shrugged. “Being out at the facility all day kind of limits my ability to meet people, especially men.”

  “If you wanted to meet a man, you could have found a way.”

  She glared at him. “And what is that supposed to mean? If I were desperate enough I could have picked up some farmhand at the local bar?”

  “No, it means you like being alone. Most people, men and women, can’t stand being alone, and they would have gone down to the local bar and picked up some farmhand, as you put it. I don’t know, but I get a sense that you’re afraid of becoming romantically involved with any man.”

  Pamela wrapped up the uneaten french fries in a paper napkin, making sure to avoid Daniel’s inquisitive stare. “I’m not afraid of men, if that is what you’re implying.”

  Daniel reached over and placed his hand beneath her chin. He slowly turned her face to his. “I didn’t say you were afraid of men. It’s more like you are afraid of what a man might make you feel.” He leaned in closer to her. “Like the way I make you feel when I kiss you.”

  Pamela’s heart was thudding away inside her chest. A tingle of excitement shot up from her toes, and made her stomach leap upwards. It had been so long since she had felt her body respond to a man.

  Daniel traced the outline of her jaw with his finger. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

  She pushed his hand away from her face. “Perhaps you’re the one who needs to be afraid, Daniel. You haven’t seen me ill and when you do…” Pamela let the words slip from her lips, instantly regretting them.

  Daniel eased away from her, took in a long breath, and let his eyes settle on hers. “I don’t see illness when I look at you. Your lupus is no different from my PTSD. They’re just names in a medical book; they don’t define us. I see the real you, Pamela. I will always only see the real you, remember that.”