by Karis Walsh
“Me, too. I’m trying to give her more responsibilities, and I’ve discovered it’s easier to do if I’m not around. I try to take over if I’m there.”
Ken laughed at Bailey’s confession, delivered with a shake of her head as if she were scolding herself. Self-aware and charming. Ken turned her attention to her food, a mammoth sandwich with wedges of avocado, medallions of crab, and tiny round capers. She loved the combination of shapes and the colors of pink and green embedded in the creamy white of aioli.
“I’m not sure how to eat this,” Bailey said. She turned the roll around in her hands. “I don’t think my mouth is big enough.”
“I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” Ken said, trying to look anywhere but at Bailey’s mouth. “Just squish it together.” She watched Bailey comply. “So…” Ken searched around for a topic of conversation that would distract her from Bailey’s mumbled sounds of approval as she chewed. “Does having Dani there remind you of when you were an intern?”
“Yum. Not really.” Bailey licked a dab of aioli off her lip and Ken squeezed her sandwich so hard, a wedge of avocado fell on her lap. She picked it up and ate it as if she’d meant to do so. “I didn’t get into wild bird rehab until I was out of vet school a couple of years. My first internship was with a large animal hospital in Ellensburg. I had romantic ideas of being James Herriot and delivering cows out in the field. Cow fields don’t smell very good, in case you’re wondering.”
Ken laughed. The thought of Bailey doing anything so rough-and-tumble seemed funny to her. She was born to the delicate healing of wings. “So you didn’t find your calling in the muck?”
“No. I spent the summer wrestling livestock and trying to clean manure stains out of my clothes. The next year, I decided to try small animal work, so I interned at a cat rescue place. Turned out to be a crazy woman who lived with tons of cats in her house. She had to have everything just so, and she didn’t let me do anything but clean litter boxes.”
Bailey saw Ken roll her eyes before filling her mouth with crab sandwich. “Hey,” she said, kicking Ken lightly with the toe of her tennis shoe. “Don’t make that face. My situation is completely different from hers.”
“Of course it is,” Ken said with an exaggerated nod. “After all, cats don’t have wings.”
“Ha-ha. Anyway, I am trying.” Bailey picked a chunk of fresh crab meat off her sandwich and ate it. “I guess my internships helped me clarify my goals. I learned what I didn’t want to do, and I focused instead on what I did want. I always assumed I’d get a regular job, so I could pay off my student loans and feed myself while doing rescue work on the side. Going into rehab full-time is insane, a constant struggle to get grants and donations just to stay alive. But I came out of those summers with a vision for my clinic, and I started it as soon as I could, a few years after graduating. Even though I don’t like what’s happening with Wazzu, it’s a godsend as far as funding and money problems go. What about you? How was your intern experience?”
“No actual manure, but plenty of metaphorical shit,” Ken said. She popped the last bite of sandwich in her mouth and wiped her hands on a napkin. “My first boss had a healthy ego—and believe me, plenty of architects have them, but he had them all beat. He made me carry around a notebook, and every few minutes he’d say, ‘Be sure to write this down,’ as if he was about to reveal some inspiring trade secret. It was all nonsense, though, and I have notebooks full of sentences like This guy’s an idiot and Does he really expect me to write down this crap?”
Ken grinned at the sound of Bailey’s laughter. She hadn’t heard it often, but she was getting addicted to the sound. “He designed small-scale developments. Nothing innovative, just plain and cheap houses, but I did learn a lot about the practical side of architecture.”
“And now you’re with such an exciting firm,” Bailey said. She took the napkin from Ken’s hands and wiped her own with it. “Joe is so talented, and he seems like a great boss. I’m sure when he tells you to write something down, it’s worth doing. I guess we both learned what direction not to take when we interned.”
Ken busied herself by packing up her container and their trash. Bailey wasn’t right, but Ken didn’t want to correct her. She’d interviewed for several internships and had been offered opportunities at firms more like Impetus where she’d have been expected to be creative, to give input, to learn and explore. But she’d taken the less interesting job, where her duties and requirements were predictable and where any sign of originality was considered an insult to her boss. She’d made the choice to be there, and then to continue the unsurprising trajectory in her own career.
Ken stood up when Bailey did. “I’m sorry to trespass on your property, but I enjoyed dinner and our talk,” Bailey said. She raised her arm and lowered it again, and Ken wasn’t sure if she’d been about to shake hands or to move in for a hug. Any contact would have been welcome but dangerous, and Ken was relieved when Bailey kept her distance.
“It was nice,” she said casually, wrapping her suede jacket closer to ward off the chill she felt. Even a hint of contact with Bailey brought her a sense of warmth. Having it taken away—no matter how prudent and wise it seemed to avoid it—made Ken feel cold in its absence.
Bailey stepped back again. The urge to touch Ken, to repeat their kiss here, in this place where they were relaxed and friendly and isolated, was overwhelming. She needed to get back to her birds, to her privacy.
“Maybe remembering my own internships will help me with Dani,” she said. She realized she’d actually made it through ten minutes without fretting about the potential disasters taking place in the clinic. “She seems to care about this work, and I don’t want to discourage her from it, like I was by those other jobs.”
“You’re making a good start,” Ken said. “Good night, Bailey.”
“’Night.” Bailey walked back to her car, leaving Ken alone in the falling dusk. She wanted to stay, but she had no more excuses, no more energy to resist the need to go back home and check on her patients. At least she had proved she could be close to Ken, chat casually with her, without needing to kiss her again. Well, at least without giving in to the need. She’d keep her turmoil over their physical connection buried inside until they finally said good-bye.
Ken could barely make out the reddish color of Bailey’s hair in the deepening twilight. She waited until Bailey’s car disappeared down the road before she turned and walked carefully to the bluff. She had come here needing to be alone, but she had been resigned to entertaining Bailey for a few minutes as if she were a guest at Ken’s home. Time to herself would have helped to ease the tension she felt after being prepared to fight in the alley, at least enough for her to be able to sleep tonight. But talking to Bailey, sitting beside her, had managed to relax Ken more than her acre of privacy would have done.
Dangerous. They were different people, glaringly so, even based only on the stories they had told tonight. Bailey decided what she wanted and threw everything into it. Ken held everything back. Bailey had made her feel better tonight, had given her a peace and calm she hadn’t expected to find. But the gift was a temporary one, and Ken couldn’t let herself forget it.
Chapter Fifteen
“The osprey is a picky eater, so make certain the fish is fresh. If you have to buy more at the market, smell it first,” Bailey said. She added the fish warning to her growing list of instructions. “And when you change the dressing on the vulture’s foot—”
“Be sure to wear a raincoat,” Ken suggested. She pulled the pen out of Bailey’s hand and tossed it on the table. “Come on. If you write any more, Dani will have to spend the whole day reading and won’t have time to take care of the birds.”
“We’ll be fine,” Dani said as she dropped her backpack on the kitchen table. “I’ve handled every patient this week, and I have your cell number and Ken’s and the contact numbers for every rehab center from here to Portland.”
“Portland, Maine?” Ken asked. She had bee
n surprised when Bailey had suggested the day-long hiking trip. She’d be shocked if she actually got Bailey out the front door and into the car.
“Just about.”
“Very funny,” Bailey said. She flipped through several pages of notes. “I don’t think I missed anything…Okay, I’m ready to go.”
“Really?” Ken and Dani said in unison. Ken was still waiting for the last-minute emergency that would keep them from going. She was ambivalent about the trip—and the extended time spent in Bailey’s company after their shared kiss—and she was certain Bailey had the same misgivings. Part of her wanted to get out and see more of the Peninsula’s recreational areas. Bailey was an ideal hiking companion because she saw nuances and details Ken missed when she took in her surroundings with a wider view. Her tendency to see generalities made her uncomfortable at times with Bailey, but they should be safe enough on a day hike in a secluded and sheltered part of the Olympic National Park. She’d be the guest in Bailey’s world, and there’d be no need to play the part of protector or guard. Ken put her conflicted emotions aside. She’d walk some trails, learn some more bird names and facts. She’d have a nice day away from Impetus and her tiny Sequim apartment.
“Let’s go before I change my mind,” Bailey said.
Ken knew she wasn’t kidding. “Bye, Dani,” she called over her shoulder as she herded Bailey out the door.
“Have fun. And can I drive your car while you’re gone? In case I need to make a trip to the fish market?”
“Not a chance,” Ken said. She opened the screen door for Bailey and followed her to the car. “I’m taking my keys with me.”
Dani waved from the porch as they got in Bailey’s Civic and drove away. Ken watched Bailey tapping nervously on the steering wheel. She’d give her ten miles before Bailey made some excuse and turned around. Ken twisted in her seat and looked at the pile of gear Bailey had brought. Ken only had a small rucksack with some granola bars and a change of clothes sitting at her feet.
“How much did you pack?” she asked.
“You need to be prepared for emergencies,” Bailey said. Ken saw Bailey’s cheeks flush slightly.
She laughed. “Don’t tell me. You have all the supplies you’d need to treat some injured bird we might find in the woods, but if I get a cut or a broken leg, I’m out of luck.”
Bailey looked a little sheepish, but she joined in Ken’s laughter. “I have splints in case you break a leg, but they’re only a couple inches long.”
“Great. I’m going to be trekking through the woods carrying a mobile raptor hospital on my aching back.”
Bailey sighed and relaxed her hands on the wheel. She had raided the shelves of her surgery this morning when she packed. She never knew when she’d come across a wounded bird. She thought she’d packed a small human first-aid kit, too, but she didn’t want to make any promises to Ken. It might still be sitting on her bed.
“How’s work?” she asked. Most conversations she had were about her birds or her clinic, but she felt a loosening in her shoulders with every mile she drove. She had given Dani more responsibilities this week, and she had performed every task with an unruffled calm—even when the redtail grabbed hold of her thumb in her sharp beak and refused to let go. As long as Bailey was on vacation, she might as well make the most of it. Talking about Ken’s job ought to distract her from the disasters she imagined befalling Dani and the birds.
“Not bad,” Ken said. “We do these crazy team-building activities at every staff meeting. Waste of time, but they’re amusing, at least.”
“What’d you do this week? The one where you close your eyes and fall backward, expecting the person behind you to catch you?”
“Dougie—my project manager—knows better,” Ken said with a wicked grin. “I’d definitely let him fall.”
Bailey shook her head at Ken’s joke. She guessed it was more likely Ken would be running around trying to catch every person in the room.
“So what was this week’s exercise?” she asked. She took the ramp leading to Highway 101 and accelerated onto the road.
“Some brainstorming thing,” Ken said, looking out the side window. “We started with a problem we’ve been having with the layout of the house, and then we had to toss a ball around the room. Whoever caught it had to give a solution, no matter how impractical or funny, before they could throw the ball to someone else. Some of the ideas we came up with were hilarious.”
Bailey glanced at Ken and noticed her quick frown. One of her spontaneous and brief—but honest—expressions. “Did you eventually come up with an answer?”
Ken thought back to the game. She had been in her usual annoyed but indulgent mood during the first part of the game. Sitting back and staying aloof during the touchy-feely portion of the meeting, embarrassed because the focal problem was hers. She had turned in her initial design the day before, and it hadn’t been up to the standards expected by Dougie, Impetus, or the client. She had come up with something more inspired than a square, but not by much. When the ball came her way, she had grabbed it and said the first stupid thing that came to her mind. She had thrown the ball to Dougie, who took her off-the-wall suggestion and pulled a thread of a brainstorm out of it. Angela developed it one step further. Then the ball-tossing game got more serious as the entire team built a fucking brilliant solution out of thin air.
“We did. Sort of a roundabout way to get there, but I guess it worked.”
Ken changed the subject by asking about Bailey’s early experience as a rehabber. She knew it was a gamble to get Bailey talking about some of her first mistakes because they might give her fuel for her worries about Dani, but Ken hoped for the opposite effect. Maybe Bailey would remember how she had managed to improvise and handle problems. What started as a way to give Bailey confidence in Dani while getting them off the sticky subject of Impetus turned into a damned entertaining conversation. She had to prod Bailey into telling her stories, but once she got going, Ken laughed until she was out of breath. Bailey’s self-deprecation and dry delivery made the stories of clawed arms and undignified chases hilarious. She had expected the two-hour drive to seem more like five, but the ride was more companionable and entertaining than she had expected.
Bailey turned off Highway 101 and wound through the Olympic National Park. The forest soon gave way to temperate rain forest, and Bailey parked her car in a small, nearly empty lot near a trailhead, just beyond the more crowded Hoh Rain Forest Visitor Center.
Bailey got out of the car and stretched her lower back before shouldering her heavy pack and adjusting its straps. They had a four-hour hike ahead of them, but the terrain wasn’t challenging. She looked over at Ken, who was shoving her small rucksack into the larger one Bailey had brought for her. Ken looked to be in great shape, so she shouldn’t have trouble with the trek. Ken leaned over to adjust the laces on her hiking boots. Yes, great shape. Bailey admired the shape of Ken’s legs, the shape of her ass, the shape of her breasts in the snug navy T-shirt.
Bailey turned away and fidgeted with the zipper of her lightweight jacket. She hadn’t realized how badly she had been in need of a vacation. A few hours away from the clinic, and she was almost giddy with freedom. And almost tempted to make a move on Ken and try for a repeat of their kiss. It had been too long since she’d been at a conference or seminar where she felt free to have one of her tidy out-of-town flings. All she had to do was get through the rest of the day without making a fool of herself. She’d remain focused on the part of the future under her control—the beautiful new flight cages Ken would design after seeing Bailey’s meadow. They were the goal for today’s hike, not relaxation or the enjoyment of Ken’s company.
“Ready to go?” Ken asked.
“Sure am,” Bailey said. She started off at a brisk walk while the trail was nearly flat and even. She needed to burn off some of her excess energy. The path wasn’t wide enough to walk abreast, so she led the way, turning now and again to point out a plant or a bird she’d spotted.
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Ken easily matched Bailey’s quick pace. She was accustomed to doing most of her exercising indoors, in the spare room of her Sequim apartment now that she no longer had access to the fancy gym in Seattle, but she had spent enough hours on the beach, jogging over rock-strewn sand, so the walk through the rain forest wasn’t taxing. And instead of staring at a computer screen or television, she had plenty of nature to see. Big leaf maples and hemlocks with moss-covered trunks, spiky ferns, and more types of mushrooms than she had realized existed. The air was heavy with moisture and the smell of decaying logs. The occasional song of a wren or the hoarse, descending cry of a redtail filled the silences as they walked.
Ken didn’t mind the view Bailey provided, either. The enormous pack covered most of her torso, but long, jean-clad legs were visible for Ken’s admiration. Bailey walked with a definite spring in her step, clearly in her element deep in the forest with no other people around.
The moss seemed to dampen every sound, from the footfalls of their heavy hiking boots to their voices when they spoke. The hushed world and the feeling of being two tiny beings surrounded by huge, ancient trees made Ken realize how much her life had changed in just a few weeks. From downtown Seattle to Sequim to the site for her new home to the depths of the rain forest, Ken had been moving toward a quieter life. A different life. Bailey seemed more comfortable out here, where it was harder to fit in with the crowds because there were no crowds. Everyone stood out, everyone was an individual. Would she ever belong to this world as Bailey did?
Bailey skipped across the forest path whenever she saw a salmonberry bush, while Ken looked at her watch and tried to keep them on schedule. For some reason, the more dimensional and unrestrained Bailey got, the more Ken could feel herself closing in. Shrinking away from the brightness of Bailey, because anyone so unique and magnetic and fascinating was bound to draw attention. Even as Ken admired Bailey for being so free, even as she found herself more attracted and enthralled by this new Bailey, Ken realized how different they were. She cringed at the thought of being noticed. Bailey simply didn’t care who noticed.