UNFLAPPABLE
by Suzie Gilbert
Copyright © 2020 Suzie Gilbert
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Distributed by Smashwords
ISBN 978-0-576-61199-0 (ebook)
ISBN 978-0-578-61200-3 (paperback)
suziegilbert.com
Cover design and formatting by ebooklaunch.com
To Russell Galen
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 1
Adam Matheson stood by the front door of a sprawling beach house, and watched the elegantly-dressed guests part for his wife. Ignoring the stares, smiles, and proffered hands she slipped through the crowd quickly and cleanly, a skyscape of diaphanous silk trailing from her slender frame. As she approached him, he felt a burst of desire; but when she drew closer he saw that her eyes were not on his, but on the open door. Once again, he thought she might bound past him and disappear into the night.
“Damn, Adam,” breathed Jay Sheinkopf. “You are one lucky man.”
She stopped before them, her face impassive, and Jay rested his hand on her shoulder. “Great to see you, Luna,” he said. “Seriously, when are you going to ditch this guy and move in with me?”
Luna glanced at his hand, then gave him a level gaze. Adam grinned as he encircled her with his arm and ushered her away. “You keep trying, Jay,” he whispered, and winked.
The inside of the limousine was silent. Adam poured himself a Scotch as Luna lowered her window. “You didn’t say five words all night,” he said. “I didn’t think you were going to come out of the bathroom.”
“You know I hate those things,” she replied, her eyes on the passing streetlights.
Adam stared at the slope of her cheekbone, the curve of her shoulder, and ran a hand through his greying hair. “Tell you what,” he said. She turned toward him and he felt a rush of vertigo, a surge of all the emotions he had always claimed but never actually felt until he met her. “Let’s throw a benefit for the Sierra Club. Would you like that?”
He watched her anger subside, replaced by a coiled despondency that alarmed him. He silenced his buzzing phone.
“It’s not working, Adam,” she said. “I can’t deal with all these people. The parties and the questions and the media and your friends hitting on me all the time.”
Adam felt a sense of foreboding. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, reaching for her hand and kissing it. “I promise it will get better. We’ve only been married six months.”
She took a breath. ”You can have it annulled,” she said. “You don’t have to give me anything.”
Adam was proud of his mastery of facial expression and body language, two of the arsenal of skills he had used to amass his vast fortune. But suddenly, unthinkably, his grid went down. He felt his eyes widen, his lips part, and his hand clench tightly around hers. The car stopped, the door opened, and Roland Edwards — impossibly big, dark, and wearing a perfect suit — stood waiting. Luna slid out of the car and headed not for the ornate, wrought-iron front door of Cielo Azul, but for the stucco archway that led to the ten acres behind it.
“Wait!” said Adam.
A young man in khakis and a blazer stepped forward, holding a phone. “Mr. Matheson,” he said. “Don Besko. It’s urgent.”
“I’ll be ten minutes,” Adam said, touching her hand. “Please. Can we talk about it? Can you wait for me in the sun room?”
Luna hesitated. She glanced at the driver, at Roland, and at Adam’s assistant, all waiting; and at Adam, his dark eyes boring into hers. ”All right,” she said. Adam gave her a relieved smile, and she followed him into the house. Beneath the heavy chandelier he angled toward his office, and Luna turned and walked down the long hallway to the south wing. She passed a heavy oak door, and entered the sun room.
Discreet spotlights illuminated the soaring glass panels, the rare orchids, and the murmuring marble fountain. Luna crossed the room and gazed through the delicate glass door leading to the veranda. From where she stood she could see part of the enormous Spanish-style villa, the patio overlooking the ocean, and the stairway leading to the pool. Directly across the lawn Adam stood in his office, gesturing as he talked on the phone.
Luna briefly settled on a couch, then rose and circled the room. She trailed a hand through the fountain, and inspected a new orchid in its ornate pot. Finally she glanced at the clock and then at Adam, still framed by his office window. She started into the hallway and nearly ran into of one of Adam’s longtime security men, who was standing outside the door.
“Evening, Mrs. Matheson,” said Paszkiewicz, who was tall, solid, and wore a brown linen suit.
“Hi, Paz,” she answered. “Could you excuse me, please?”
Paszkiewicz’s broad face flushed slightly as he moved forward, nearly filling the doorway. “Would you mind waiting a few more minutes? Mr. Matheson said he’s very sorry for the delay, but he’ll be right with you.”
“I’ve waited long enough. Could I get by?”
“I’m sorry.”
Luna blinked, confused. She tried to squeeze between him and the door frame, but he shifted his weight.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said quietly, then reached for the door and pulled it shut.
She flinched at the click of the latch. Turning on her heels, she crossed the room and reached for the glass door. It was locked. She turned the twist button and tried the knob once more, to no avail. Her stomach clutched as she tried to recall what Adam had said about the automatic locking system.
Luna scanned the empty room. Her adrenaline rose like a wave, and a sheen of sweat appeared on her skin. When she rattled the knob the sound screamed around her, thudding against her chest and blocking the air from her lungs. Seizing an antique chair, she swung it against the door. The glass shattered into an icy cascade, and the broken chair sailed into the night. Shards and splinters fell to the stone patio as Luna slipped from the room, her ethereal dress floating behind her.
• • •
Celia Jenkins sat in the office of the Western Pennsylvania Wildlife Center, staring at the computer screen and curling a strand of pale hair around her finger. The newsletter was due. The 638 people on her donor list were waiting for her stories about orphaned fawns, rescued raccoons, birds injured, healed, and set free; for news of just-completed cages, recently-won grants, and second-hand medical equipment topped with bows and left at the clinic door; for tales of panic-stricken people who found themselves racing up the long dirt driveway with something alive in a box, unaware of how their lives might be about to change.
Do you think this is any good, Dad? she had asked him six years before. Do you think if I wrote one a couple of times a year, we might get some donations?
Lord, Celia! Elias had replied, astonished, looking up from her compu
ter. I didn’t know you could write like that!
Celia knew she should get to work, but instead she left the office and headed up the hill toward their biggest flight cage. Twelve feet high, twelve feet wide, and a hundred feet long, it had been built with donated lumber and erected by revolving groups of volunteers, Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, Audubon and Lions Club members, even minimum-security prisoners on work programs. The splendid slatted structure was for two unreleasable Bald Eagles, a bonded pair who had raised orphaned eaglets four out of the last five years.
The eaglets were delivered by wildlife rehabilitators as far away as Maine, all happy to make the drive knowing the orphans would be raised by their own kind. By summer’s end they were as large as their foster parents, and had learned to catch the live fish volunteers supplied in rubber tubs. The young eagles were skillful, strong, and healthy, and every year dozens of people met at one of the lakes to watch them fly away.
Celia peered into the flight cage, at the two regal birds resting side by side on a high perch. From her own perch on the hill Celia could see the office, the clinic, the pens, the smaller flights, and the storage sheds. She gave a contented sigh. It was rare for her to be here alone, but her daughter, father, and all eight of the Sunday volunteers were at the wildlife festival in Ellington. So far this year there had been no orphaned eaglets. She smiled up at the birds, wondering if they were enjoying their solitary tranquility, as well.
Celia heard the sound of an engine, and opened her eyes as a black Suburban rolled to a stop by the office. Two men in suits emerged from the front seat, and two men in jeans from the back. The men in suits spotted and started toward her.
Celia scrambled to her feet. “Ms. Jenkins?” asked the first, a white-haired man in sunglasses. “We’re here on behalf of Adam Matheson.”
“We’re here for the male eagle,” said the second, who was young and tanned. “Here are the papers.”
Celia watched the two men in jeans pull out a large animal crate, a heavy, long-handled net, and two pairs of elbow-length leather gloves. She felt sick with dread, and cursed herself for believing she could handle the center alone. “No!” she shouted, but when her voice emerged it was little more than a whisper.
“No,” she tried again, staring at the papers. “You can’t have him! It’s not legal!”
The younger man regarded her coldly. The two men in jeans passed by, carrying the crate between them.
“Sign here, please,” said the older man, handing her a pen. Behind her, the flight cage door opened with a soft creak.
“No! I’m calling the police!”
Celia reached a trembling hand into her pocket, but her phone was on the office desk. The high perch groaned, and there was a rush of feathers. Celia peered through the wooden slats as a huge dark bird hurtled toward one of the men in jeans, the man raising his net in defense but not in time. Swinging its legs forward, talons outstretched, the eagle slammed into the man’s shoulder and knocked him off his feet.
“Stop!” sobbed Celia and ran for the door, but the young suited man blocked her way. Tears blurred her vision as she stumbled down the hill and into her office. She seized her phone, shaking so violently she dropped it twice, misdialing as through her window she saw the flight cage door swing open. The men in jeans emerged, carrying the animal crate between them; one’s shirt stained crimson, the other with a bleeding gash on the side of his face.
“911,” came the dispatcher’s voice.
The white-haired man leaned in the door. “Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Jenkins,” he said, and Celia wept as they drove away.
• • •
“Dammit,” murmured Luna, as three-quarters of a pound of regurgitated mackerel landed on the lap of her cotton pants.
The otherwise healthy adult Brown Pelican had come in with a broken humerus, mid-shaft, perfectly fixable. He had been found dragging a wing along Schooner’s Cove by a family from Vermont, a can-do group of five who had each manned a beach towel and eventually cornered and tackled the very large bird. They had sensibly wrapped one towel around his beak, another around his wings, and sandwiched him in the back seat of their car. The mom had located Starfish Key Wildlife Center on her cellphone, and the dad had driven like a bandit.
Miss? the smaller girl had asked, her face aglow with concern. Will you take care of him and make him better?
Yes, Luna had replied, then x-rayed, set, and wrapped the broken wing. Two days later the patient was better, but unable to keep his food down. “Hey, Kelly?” called Luna. “This guy needs a shot of Reglan. You have any? He’s 3.7 kilos.”
“Hang on,” came a voice.
Kelly appeared, wiry and sunburned, her sandy hair just turning grey. She gave the bird the injection while Luna held him gently but firmly. “Listen,” said Kelly. “I know you said a week, but you can stay with me as long as you want.” She grinned. “And not just because you rock at pelicans.”
At two o’clock Luna collapsed onto one of the Adirondack chairs behind the wildlife center. She tossed her baseball cap onto a nearby table, put her feet up, and closed her eyes. Immediately her thoughts turned to Adam, and to where she would go from here.
“Luna.”
She opened her eyes to find Kelly standing next to a man. He was brown-haired, ponytailed, and wore horn-rimmed glasses, shorts and a t-shirt. He stood with his hands in his pockets, slouching and looking noncommittal. “This is Ned,” said Kelly. “Potential volunteer. Can you quiz him? I got a beached dolphin on Vero.”
She disappeared, and Luna gestured to the chair beside her. Ned sat down on the edge, glanced at her briefly, then stared at the palm tree in the yard. Luna waited, but the man stayed silent. “Have you worked with wildlife before?” she asked finally.
“No.”
“Why now?”
“Because.” The man frowned at her. “You look familiar,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“Is that your roadster out there in the parking lot? I thought animal people didn’t have any money.”
Luna gave an exasperated sigh. “Why do you want to work here?”
The man grimaced, as if he were about to do something he truly didn’t want to do. “Because wildlife are valuable…and free…and filled with free…things…and they have wild lives…and…”
Luna held up a restraining hand. Ned removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
“Is this a condition of your parole?” she asked.
“No.”
“Too many speeding tickets? Part of your community service?”
“No.”
“You work for one of those high-tech computer companies that are all touchy-feely and have gyms and day-care centers and don’t want their staff to be a bunch of nerds with no social skills, so they require everyone to do volunteer work.”
Ned pointed an affirmative index finger at her. “Listen,” he said. “I’m not exactly an animal person. I mean, I have nothing against them. Except for birds. I don’t like birds.”
“Then why volunteer here?”
“Because I drew the short straw!”
He gave her a pained look. “I’m not criticizing you or anything,” he added, “but there’s this really nasty smell coming from your pants.”
She grinned. “You seriously have no social skills, do you?”
“None,” said Ned, shaking his head. “Sorry. I have none.”
“Welcome to the world of wildlife,” said Luna. “We’re the poster group for people with no social skills.”
The new volunteer spent the afternoon industriously cleaning empty aquariums, having preferred it to unpacking the just-delivered boxes of live mealworms. “Live worms?” he’d asked, in a tone that made her respond, “Never mind,” and lead him to the outdoor shower with the hose attachment.
Later that afternoon she pulled a ringing phone from her pocket. “Harper?” she said, after glancing at the screen.
“New arrival,” came a woman’s voice, clearly angry. “It�
��s Mars.”
“What?” said Luna.
“He’s here at the zoo. Just came in. Adam sent a crew to Celia’s, and they took him.”
“What do you mean, ‘they took him?’ They can’t just…”
“Two lawyers, two handlers. They timed it so Celia was the only one there. You know Celia, she practically had a breakdown.”
“Is he all right?”
“Mars?” asked Harper, and snorted. “He ripped them up. Nearly took the eye out of one of them.”
Luna hurried out of the building. “But why did Adam take him?” she asked, her fingers digging into her palms. “What’s he going to do with him?”
“Evidently he’s your welcome home present. I gotta go. Do something!”
Luna disconnected, and a bead of sweat trickled down her back. She tapped her phone again. After three rings, there was a faint click.
“Luna.”
“Adam!”
“I’m in a meeting, can you give me a second? I’ll be right with you.”
His voice was low and modulated, unlike the staccato bark he used when things weren’t going his way. This was the voice he used to soothe, to reassure, to convey the illusion that even though he held all the cards, he was still, somehow, on your side.
“Luna?”
“What have you done?”
“I brought Mars down to see you. I thought it would make you happy.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Babe — you’ve been gone almost a week. I gave you your space, just like you asked. I haven’t called you, I sent you your things. How else can I show you I’m sorry? It was a miscommunication. A system fail. You know I’d never lock a door on you.” He paused. “And I’m still completely in the dark, I have no idea why you would…”
“You took Mars,” she interrupted, gripping her phone.
“I took him for you. He’s right here. Just come home, and you can see him.”
Luna stood immobile, her eyes on the sliver of ocean just visible beyond the sandy yard.
“Luna?”
“I’ll be there tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, that’s great,” said Adam warmly. “I’m so glad. I can’t wait to see you.”
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