by Kym Brunner
“Just like girls?” I joked, walking to the sink with my plate and cup.
Dad slid the patio door open. “Just worry about your bird right now, and forget about girls until after the Midwest Falconers’ meet.” He stopped and looked at me. “You’re not thinking about that HALT girl, are you?”
I chose my words carefully. “Her name’s Lucy, and you can stop asking me about HALT. I told her today that I quit.”
“Good.” He nodded at me and stepped outside.
As I walked down the long expanse of yard toward Buddie Waters, I caught an incredible whiff of our white pines. Talk about aromatherapy. The massive maples on the far end had begun to change into a brilliant yellow, and the sky was a giant swirl of blues, whites, and pinks. All of this beauty was reflected in the pond, making my heart fill with pride. As much as I had hated moving here, I had to admit that our property in Illinois was ten times nicer than what we had left behind.
When I got to the training area, Dad surprised me with a brand-new whistle on a maroon leather strap. I placed it around my neck, feeling as if we had performed some ancient ceremonial rite. “Thanks, Dad. It’s cool.”
He immediately switched into Joe Falconer mode. “When Flip flies toward you, blow a two-second whistle blast. That way he’ll associate that sound with coming to you. Give him a treat the first few times and then only sporadically. He needs to want to come to you with or without food, or you’ll have trouble retrieving him in the field.”
He made it sound so simple, but after several attempts, Flip was as confused about the whistle commands as I would be in the women’s lingerie department. He flew to the perch when he was supposed to fly to the fist, and came to me when he was supposed to go after the lure.
Dad rubbed his chin. “He doesn’t seem to like the whistles. Let’s forget about it for now.”
But I didn’t want to forget about it. Using whistle commands was a great way to retrieve your bird. Out in the field, your hawk flew from tree to tree, while down below, you scared up quarry with your stick. I knew it didn’t matter so much now—Flip had flown only to the perch and back, never up to the trees, but he needed to learn this. “Let me try one more thing.” I dug out a wet tidbit from my waist pouch and held it in my fist.
“What are you doing?” Dad asked. “You don’t want to scare him.”
“I won’t.” I gave the whistle one long blast, showing Dad that I knew what I was doing.
Flip took off from the perch and landed in a pine tree about fifty yards away.
“For gosh sakes, Mercer,” Dad said tersely.
“Sorry! How was I supposed to know he’d freak?” I let the whistle fall to my chest, hoping Dad had a simple solution. “What do we do now?”
“We do nothing. You sit and wait.” Dad shook his head, his hands on his hips. “You scared him big time. He could be up there for hours, and if he likes it too much, you could lose him.”
“Lose him? But he’s wearing his telemetry device on his tail.” Was Dad just trying to scare me to make his point?
“Come on, Mercer. You should know this. The telemetry device helps us locate our birds—it doesn’t force them to fly back to us. The bird has to want to do that on his own.”
I sighed. “Oh yeah.”
He pointed in the direction Flip had gone. “Well? Better go after him.”
I hurried toward the tree that Flip had flown to, hoping wildly that he’d come back. I held out my tidbit and yelled, “Hup!” which was falconer for “come here.” Flip stared at me for a full minute before deciding to groom himself, exactly like the day I had trapped him.
After forty minutes of beckoning to him, my throat was sore and my arm exhausted. I sat on a stump to take a break, pissed at myself for being so pigheaded. Moments later, I heard fluttering. Flip was on my fist.
Grabbing his jesses so he couldn’t take off again, I greeted him with enthusiasm. “Welcome back, Flip! Sorry the whistle scared you. I won’t do it again, I promise.”
Flip seemed to sense he had won our little contest of wills, but Dad’s words hadn’t been lost on me—listen first, act second. As I stood, a beam of sunlight flitted through two branches, illuminating Flip’s chest. He looked like a diamond on display in a fancy jewelry store. His beak was closed and he didn’t seem jittery in the least. As if he actually liked being with me. As if we were a team. I grinned at him. “You and me are going to win that pin, huh, boy?”
As I strolled into the mews, Lincoln was coming out with Bella on his fist.
“Heard you had a close call.” He frowned. “Dad said you made a bonehead move.”
“What else is new? He probably says stuff like that all the time.”
Dad coughed loudly in the rehab center. Lincoln and I exchanged guilty glances. I wandered past Rusty, Dad’s colorful little kestrel who had a wing that had healed crookedly in the wild, before peeking in on Liberty, our one-winged bald eagle with her own enormous mews. Because Liberty couldn’t fly, she waddled around the floor like a toddler, albeit a feathered toddler with talons long and strong enough to yank a ten-pound northern pike out of the Mississippi.
I said good night to Flip before scratching behind Monocle’s ear tufts for several minutes. When I got outside, Weasel was there in his familiar red flannel shirt and jeans. He stood next to Dad, both of them with bottles of beer in hand. Normally I’d be thrilled to see Weasel, but I hadn’t seen him since Starbucks and wondered what he thought of me.
“Hey, how’s the caveman doing?” Weasel asked, acting friendly enough.
“Okay, I guess.” I shrugged, not in the mood to act it out. “Tried the whistle. Freaked Flip out.”
“Your dad told me.” The wind blew then, making Weasel’s beard waffle in the breeze. “Hoo-wee!” He lifted his pant leg to show me a pair of thick gray socks with a red stripe across the top. “Good thing I put this warm pair of wool socks on tonight, huh, Mercer?”
What the heck was he doing!? My eyes shot toward Dad, trying to gauge his reaction.
Dad turned to Weasel, who was glancing down at his socks. “Wait. You knew about that?”
“Knew about what?” Weasel tilted his head slightly, acting innocent.
“I’m talking about Mercer going to that wool protest.” Dad shook his head, staring at his oldest buddy. “When were you going to tell me that my son was parading around the mall like a wolf in sheep’s clothing?”
“Wasn’t my place to tell.” Weasel took a swig of his beer, looking out toward the pond. “Things have a way of working themselves out without me butting my big nose in.”
Dad replied, “Sometimes a big nose is welcome.”
“Not this nose.” Weasel reached up and gave his nose a tweak. “It’s staying right where it belongs—here on this handsome face of mine.”
Lincoln stood six feet away, twirling the swing lure over his head while Bella waited on the perch. He blew two short blasts on his whistle, and Bella swooped down, instantly grabbing it in her claws. Lincoln yelled out, “Is that why you met that HALT girl at the mall? To protest people wearing wool?” He stroked Bella’s chest. “My God, get a spine.”
“You knew about it too?” Dad ran a hand through his hair. “Geez!”
Maybe now Dad could see that other people felt I was entitled to act on my own beliefs. “It’s okay, Dad,” I told him. “It’s not like I was out robbing a bank.”
“Robbing a bank I could deal with,” Dad sniped. “Joining HALT is what’s criminal.” His response was so unexpected that we all burst out laughing. Dad added, “Luckily, that’s all over with, so everything’s good on the home front.” He held up his empty beer bottle. “Except that I’m out of beer. You need another?”
Lincoln answered, “Boy, could I ever. I’m dying of thirst.”
“I wasn’t speaking to you, Lincoln,” Dad said, pride slipping into his reprimand again. “How about it, Weasel? You thirsty?”
“Always.” Weasel downed the last quarter of his beer
and handed the bottle to Dad.
Dad said, “I’ve got to check on Bullet, but then I’ll be back with two cold ones.”
After Dad was out of earshot, Weasel clapped his hand on my shoulder. “Close call. Sorry about that, Mercer. I was just having fun with you. I didn’t think he knew.”
I nodded, shrugging it off. “No problem. Thanks for not saying anything earlier.”
“You can count on that,” Weasel affirmed. “If not telling your dad something won’t kill you or hurt your bird, I keep my mouth shut.”
Lincoln called out, “I’m heading to the woods on the far side of the pond. Bella’s getting her groove back, but she needs to shed those last few ounces.”
Compared to Flip, Bella looked like a giant, almost as if she could shed a few pounds instead of ounces. Her dark gray back and snowy white chest and face made her appear regal, like a queen.
Weasel reached into his pocket and popped a toothpick into his mouth. “What’s her weight now?”
“Fifty-six ounces,” Lincoln replied without missing a beat. Instantly I became aware of how well he knew his stuff. He stroked Bella’s chest and she didn’t seem to mind. He knew the proper falconer lingo and when to use it, and he always appeared confident. “Her hunting weight’s fifty-two, so we’re getting close.”
“Good news. Tessa’s within three ounces,” Weasel said, referring to his own female northern goshawk. “Go get started. Skinny and I will watch from the pier.” He turned to me as we walked toward Buddie Waters. “Sorry I missed your training session. Your dad told me you flew Flip free when he wasn’t home. That’s amazing.”
“It is?” I had expected him to tell me how foolish I was to attempt something new without my sponsor around to guide me.
“Flying free in less than a week?” He looked surprised that I asked. “Most birds need at least ten to twelve days of manning to do that. You must be spending a lot of time with him to get him to take a shine to you so quickly.”
“Pretty much, I guess.”
We tromped along the weeds, getting closer to the pier, as the setting sun reflected across the surface of the water. There was barely a ripple except for a few water bugs making lazy circles. “So what’s happening with that HALT girl you were with on Saturday?” The toothpick moved to the opposite corner of his mouth. “Did your dad make you quit her too?”
I ran my fingers up through my hair, not sure how much to tell Weasel. After what he’d said about not telling Dad things unless they hurt a bird or me, I decided I could trust him—maybe even feel him out about a few things that I couldn’t ask my father. “Dad didn’t forbid me to hang out with her, but he said I had to choose between being in HALT and being a falconer. He said it’s impossible to be both, but I’m thinking people don’t have to be all one thing and not another.” I wasn’t sure if I was making sense, but Weasel nodded anyway.
He stepped over a log in his path. “So I take it that means you’re dating her?”
I took a quick check over my shoulder to see if Dad was coming. “Nothing official yet.”
“I see.” He pulled at his beard, and I half expected a confused squirrel to dash out. “And you’re sure she’s on the up and up? Not trying to coerce you into anything you don’t want to do, right? You’re standing by your own principles?”
“Definitely.” I wasn’t sure if I had any principles, but if I did, I could stand by them all day long if it meant I could see Lucy.
Weasel chomped on his toothpick, making me think Goat might have been a better nickname for him. “Well, I hope it works out for you better than it did for me. I wasn’t exactly honest about how much time I spent with my hawks before I married my first wife, and, eventually, it’s what killed our relationship. That’s why I married me a lady hawker the second time around.” He looked across the pond, distracted, watching. After several seconds, he yelled, “Bella looks great, Lincoln. After she drops those last few ounces, she’s going to be mighty fierce at the hunt.”
“Thanks!” Lincoln called back. Bella soared out across the pond, skimming the reeds along the edge, before landing high in a pine tree off in the distance. Lincoln blew one long blast and Bella came flying right back to him, no problem.
I looked at Weasel, shaking my head in disbelief. “Bella does everything Lincoln asks. Too bad they don’t sell whistles like that for girls. Can you imagine? One long blast means ‘come here,’ and two blasts means ‘kiss me.’”
Weasel grinned, a thin line of pink lips between two hairy face nests. “If you’re lucky, you won’t need a whistle to fetch the right girl, Skinny. The good ones will want to kiss you all on their own.”
As I watched Bella effortlessly navigate between two trees, I wondered if there was any chance Lucy would kiss me on Friday. The possibility kept me smiling all night long.
TWENTY
THE REST OF THE WEEK FLEW BY. I SAT NEXT TO Lucy every day and we talked about a million things. Best of all, we made each other laugh. I rested my knee against hers and flirted like crazy, alternately complimenting her and teasing her. On Thursday, Haley brought HALT news articles about various animal cruelty acts around the world. Some were petty, like feeling bad for goats in petting zoos, but others were valid—widespread random killing of dogs by clubbing them over the head because of a rabies infestation in that country, even dogs that had been immunized. Pretty gruesome. It made what my Mom did pale in comparison.
Little by little, Charlie made his move on Jeanette as well, telling her dirty jokes and buying one of those giant chocolate chip cookies at lunch for them to share. Reed pretty much went with the flow, nodding to girls who floated past our table to flirt with him and joining in the conversation when it suited him, which wasn’t all that often.
On Friday morning, Lincoln, Maddie, and I stood in the driveway, saying goodbye to our parents. Mom and Dad had decided that Gram’s services weren’t needed, seeing as how Weasel said he’d come by and check on us. Dad told him to drive by and make sure that we—meaning Lincoln—weren’t throwing any parties.
Mom leaned forward from the passenger seat to make eye contact with us. “Call us if there are any problems. And Lincoln, don’t forget you agreed to take Maddie to her party on your lunch break tomorrow.”
“For ten bucks,” he reminded her.
“Yes, I left it on your dresser,” Mom told him. “And Mercer, you’re in charge when Lincoln’s not home.”
Maddie argued, “Mercer? In charge?”
I kneed her behind her knees, making her legs collapse. “You got a problem with that?”
Maddie straightened up, bending sideways to rub her leg. “Stop it. That hurt.”
“It did not,” I told her.
Mom dug in her purse and handed me twenty bucks. “And how about you get a haircut? I’m starting to think I have two daughters.”
“Ha-ha,” I said, pocketing the money. If I had time, I’d go to one of those cheap haircut places and use the rest to pay for the movies tonight. Sometimes I amazed myself with my brilliance.
Dad slid the car into drive, but kept his foot on the brake. “Mercer, it’s imperative that you give Bullet his medicine at the scheduled times, like I showed you. Ask Lincoln if you need help.” He turned to Lincoln. “I’m counting on you to take care of your brother and sister.”
“That’s right.” I poked Lincoln’s chest. “And don’t forget that I prefer to have my diaper changed hourly.”
Lincoln pushed my shoulder, laughing. “I’m not getting paid enough for that. Sorry.”
Dad shook his head, smiling. “Keep out of trouble. We’ll be back late Monday afternoon.”
“I got it under control, Dad.” Lincoln thumped the roof of the car a couple of times. “Have fun.”
I put my head down so I could see my mom. “Just make sure you two don’t come home with a kid named Milwaukee, okay?”
Dad chuckled. “Very funny. But that reminds me: no friends in the house this weekend—girl, boy, or otherwise�
��for any of you.”
“Girl, boy, or otherwise?” I repeated. “Dang. Looks like I’ll have to cancel my date with that hot Vulcan chick.”
“Guess you won’t be able to ‘live long and propagate,’” Lincoln joked.
Our parents finally took off down the driveway. We waved goodbye until we heard a distant toot-toot, and Mom’s Camaro turned the corner toward the highway.
“Paaar-tay, little brother.” Lincoln high-fived me.
“You got that right,” I said, ecstatic to have the weekend to ourselves.
Maddie frowned. “Are you guys really having a party?”
“What if we do?” I asked her, raising my eyebrows. “You going to run and call Mom?”
“Nope.” Maddie shook her head violently. “I’m not saying a word.”
“Glad to hear it, little sis.” Lincoln patted her on the head. “Hope Mercer over here can do the same. Likes to blab my business.” He smacked my arm hard with the back of his hand.
“Drop it already, will you?” I rubbed the spot he’d hit. “I trusted Tattleson when I shouldn’t have. End of story.”
“Don’t say that!” Maddie ran to keep up, tagging along behind us. “I learned my lesson. You can trust me now, guys.”
“Okay, Maddie. Whatever you say.” Lincoln and I exchanged eye rolls before going into the house to grab our backpacks. “But don’t worry. We’re not having any parties.”
Twenty minutes later, Lincoln dropped Maddie off at her school before heading to ours. On the way, I told him I had plans to go to the movies with Lucy that night. “Said she’d hold my hand if she got too scared.”
Lincoln smiled, bopping his head to the music. “Sounds like you got this girl in the bag. But definitely keep it on the down low around Dad.”
“Yeah, like in the dungeon low.” I laughed, glad we were on the same page.
“Lauren’s coming over tonight, but we’ll just watch a movie with Maddie, so relax.”