Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Ben
T he ranger station feels too small tonight, walls closing in as I stare at incident reports without really seeing them. My mother's voice mingles with memories of this morning. Natalie's smile in the sunrise, the softness of her lips, the way everything had felt so damn right until it all went wrong.
National Geographic. Of course she'd aim that high. Of course she'd?—
The door creaks, and I know it's her without looking up. The subtle scent of her shampoo, the quiet tap of the single crutch she still uses on hardwood.
"We need to talk." Her voice is steady, determined. When I finally look at her, she's holding herself carefully, like she's preparing for a blow.
"About your article? Or about how you're using the eagle's story to further your career?"
"About how you're so afraid of people leaving that you push them away first."
The words hit like a thunderbolt, making me stand so abruptly my chair scrapes against the floor. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" She moves further into the office, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Your mother thinks I'm going to leave, just like your father did. And instead of proving her wrong, you're making sure it happens."
"You were already planning to leave." The words taste like ash. "National Geographic, sustainable tourism. Those aren't small-town dreams, Natalie."
"No, they're big dreams about protecting small towns." She sets something on my desk—a folder full of photos. "Look at these. Actually look at them."
I don't want to. But my hands move anyway, spreading out the images. The eagle, yes, but not just dramatic rescue shots. Detailed studies of her healing wing, the careful way Maren handles her, the wild dignity in her eyes. Technical shots of the enclosure design, the rehabilitation process. Documentation, not exploitation.
"The article isn't about tourism," Natalie says softly. "It's about how smaller preserves like yours are leading the way in conservation. About how community involvement strengthens preservation efforts." Her voice catches. "About how sometimes the best way to protect something wild is to help people understand its value."
Shame burns in my throat. "Nat?—"
"But you didn't ask, did you? You assumed. Because that's safer than trusting someone might actually want to stay."
"Everyone leaves." The words escape before I can stop them. "My father, Michelle, even my mother sometimes. She takes off for months when the memories get too heavy."
"I'm not them." She moves closer, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her eyes, the hurt and hope warring there. "But you have to let me prove that."
"How?" My voice comes out rougher than intended. "How can you prove something like that?"
"The same way you prove anything worth protecting—one day at a time." She reaches for my hand, but I step back.
"I can't." The words feel like gravel in my throat. "I can't watch you realize this isn't enough. That I'm not—" I cut myself off, but it's too late.
"That you're not enough?" Her laugh holds no humor. "Ben, do you really think so little of yourself? Of what you do here?"
"I think I know what happens when someone has bigger dreams than this preserve can hold."
Natalie straightens, something shifting in her expression. "You know what? You're right. I do have big dreams. Dreams about making a difference, about helping people see the beauty and value in places like this. Dreams that could actually help protect what you love." She grabs her crutch. "But I'm done trying to convince you that caring about something differently doesn't mean caring about it less."
"Natalie—"
"I'll be out of your house by morning." She moves toward the door, then pauses. "You protect this land so fiercely, Ben. I just wish you didn't think you had to sacrifice everything else to do it."
The door closes behind her with a soft click, and I'm left alone with scattered photos and the sinking realization that I've just proved my mother right in the worst possible way.
The eagle watches me through the enclosure mesh, her gaze unflinching. The rescue center’s care has restored some of her strength. She stands taller now, her injured wing held closer to her body. Maren says she's ahead of schedule for release.
"She's got good instincts." Hazel's voice behind me doesn't startle me; somehow, I knew she'd find me here. "Knows how to adapt without losing her essential nature."
"Did Natalie send you?"
"I'm here for the morning feedings, same as always." Hazel moves to stand beside me, her presence familiar as the preserve itself. "Natalie's packing. Though I suspect you already know that."
The eagle shifts on her perch, and I remember Natalie's fierce determination that first morning, her instinct to help despite the risk. The way she'd documented everything, not for fame or credit, but because details matter when you're trying to prevent future injuries.
"You know what I see when I look at Natalie's photos?" Hazel asks quietly. "Someone who understands that wild things don't need to be tamed to be loved. They just need to be accepted as they are."
"The visitor center?—"
"Isn't really what you're afraid of, is it?"
The eagle lets out a cry, sharp and clear in the quiet shelter. Through the window, I can see the mountains where she'll return once she's healed. Where she belongs.
My phone buzzes.
Mom: Come see me. Please.
"Go." Hazel nods at my phone. "Sometimes we need to face our fears to find our way forward."
I find Mom in her garden, hands deep in soil the way they always are when she's working through something. She looks up as I approach, and the sadness in her eyes stops me cold.
"I was wrong." The words come out rushed, like she's afraid she'll lose her nerve. "About Natalie. About everything." She pulls off her gardening gloves, hands trembling slightly. "I've spent so long trying to protect you from ending up like me that I didn't see I was making it happen."
"Mom—"
"Let me finish." She stands, brushing dirt from her knees. "After you left last night, I couldn't sleep. I went to Novel Sips this morning, saw her photos. The way she sees the preserve, Ben..." Her voice catches. "It's exactly how you see it. Wild and precious and worth protecting. I was so busy seeing her as another person who might leave that I missed how much she wants to stay."
"She's leaving anyway."
"Because you're pushing her away, or because she wants to go?" Mom steps closer, laying a dirt-stained hand on my cheek. "I taught you the wrong lessons about trust, baby. I was so hurt by your father that I made you believe everyone would leave. But sometimes..." She smiles sadly. "Sometimes people leave because we don't give them a reason to stay."
The truth of it hits like a physical blow. I think of Natalie's determination to document the eagle's recovery, her passion for sharing the preserve's stories, the way she looks at this land like she's already home.
"I have to go." The words come out rushed. "I need to?—"
Mom's smile is knowing. "I know. Go."
I'm halfway to my truck when she calls after me. "Ben? Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is learn to trust again. Don't let my mistakes cost you your chance at happiness."