Love Is for the Birds

11. Jack

AS FAR AS JACK COULD TELL, DANIEL WAS HIS EXACT OPPOSITE , meaning that Teddy would never be interested in him. Barb, on the other hand, hinted that Daniel and Teddy were not the perfect couple. Daniel seemed miserable at Dot’s the night of the Town Hall meeting. Jack smelled trouble in paradise. Maybe he shouldn’t get involved.

He arranged to drive Barb to the refuge for the cleanup day, and at her insistence, they drove by Teddy’s house. When they arrived, Pickles ran outside and barked. Jack called to her, “Don’t use that tone on me. I saved you.”

With this command, Pickles quieted. She knew who buttered her bread. Or, should he say, who mixed her kibble with wet food.

“I knew this would happen.” Barb pointed to Teddy.

“You knew what would happen?” He turned his eyes to Teddy who sat slumped over on a five-gallon bucket with her head resting in her hands.

“You ever feel like there’s but one stitch holding you together, and if that stitch breaks, you’ll rip apart? That’s what she’s feeling right now.” Barb climbed out of the truck.

He knew exactly what Barb meant. “Let me handle this.”

“She doesn’t like sympathy.” Barb leaned up against the pickup’s bed.

“Neither do I.” He stepped toward Teddy.

“Neither do I, what?” Teddy lifted her chin. Her wide brown eyes reminded him of a caged puppy.

“I was just talking to Barb.” Jack slapped his hands together. “You ready to show me the refuge?”

Teddy tilted her head. “Part of me knows I should go—I halfway planned on it—but the other part of me is afraid of what I’ll see.”

“I vote for the part that wants to come with us.”

She wobbled her head back and forth as if weighing the options.

“I know you’ve got work to do, but . . .” He nodded toward Barb. “Don’t say anything, but Barb could really use a friend right now.” He put a finger over her lips.

As if on cue, Pickles whimpered. Teddy’s brow furrowed. She turned to Barb and waved.

Barb shouted, “Get your butt in here. We haven’t got all day.”

Teddy unfolded from her perch on the bucket and stood. “Chillax. Just give me a minute. I think I have some fried chicken for our lunch.”

Even with a half-frown and half-scowl, and even with her shorts covered in grime and her hair falling all over her face, she looked gorgeous. But his attraction to her extended beyond her attractiveness. Maybe he liked her stubbornness, her determination, or maybe she reminded him of Angela. They were both strong women. Five years alone was long enough. He’d never met anyone he wanted to be with, until now. But what to do about Daniel?

Teddy rushed into the house, and Pickles trotted after her. Jack returned to the truck and accepted a high five from Barb.

“You sure have a way with women,” Barb said. “How’d you convince her?”

“Let’s just say, you need to act like you’re down in the dumps.”

Barb laughed. “That won’t be hard when we see the refuge.”

A half hour later, the three of them maneuvered over the wetlands on a wobbly boardwalk of cracked and loose plywood. A flock of Rio Grande Wild Turkeys flapped their ragged wings, squawked, and then scampered over swords of salt grass and bull rush flattened by the hurricane. Instead of swaying in the breeze, the blades of grass were in piles like freshly mown hay. Jack breathed in the smell of sulfur as he examined the wetlands littered with broken tree limbs and plastic.

A board snapped beneath his feet. “Am I going to fall right through this boardwalk?” He knew of carpenters in Fort Worth that might be willing to help for the price of a fishing trip.

“The boardwalk needs fixed, but first of all, we’ve got to clean this place out. Below all this grass and trash is Carolina wolfberry. The Whoopers’ diet depends on it. Wolfberry starts blooming in October. We’ve got to get this place cleared out so the plants can grow,” Barb said. “That’s what those folks are doing out there.” Barb pointed to a group of people collecting trash.

Teddy stopped in front of a sign with a list of facts about Whooping Cranes.

“It weathered the storm fairly well,” Barb said. “Tourists like to read signs. They also help raise money for the cranes.”

FACTS ABOUT WHOOPING CRANES

Status: Endangered since 1967 due to habitat loss and over-hunting

Life Span: Up to twenty-five years in the wild

Height: Five feet

Weight: Between 14-16 pounds

Behavior: Will mate for life.

“They mate for life.” He’d planned on growing old with Angie. Cancer robbed him of that. He kicked the sign post.

“Whoopers are a very romantic breed. They even have a mating dance. Not like any of the men I know. The only mating dance I ever experienced was, ‘Let’s watch CSI and eat popcorn.’” Barb shook her head.

“Not all guys are like that.”

“Yeah, well . . .” Barb said.

“C’mon. If my wife hadn’t died, I’d still be with her.” Ten years was not enough time with Angie. “Where to now?”

An awkward silence fell over the boardwalk. He rushed ahead to the marsh lands, the downed trees, and the trash where wildlife once nested. Whenever something sad happened, he thought of Angela. The two things just went together. The same held true for happiness. Whenever a happy couple walked by, he thought of Angela. He thought of Angela way too often.

“What was her name?” Teddy had caught up with him. “Your wife.”

“Angela,” he said.

Teddy sucked in a breath and put a hand to her mouth. “So that’s why your restaurants are named Angie’s Place?”

Had Teddy thought he was still married? Now was not the time to explain how he and Angela opened the restaurants together, working side-by-side.

Barb spun around, facing the Gulf. “And if that wasn’t enough, there’s this.” She pointed to the marsh.

“How do you even clean up a place like this?” He pictured the farm equipment in his dad’s barn. They didn’t have a thing that would help clean up a swamp.

“Manual labor.” Barb gestured toward the boardwalk ahead of them.

Sharp splinters of snapped lumber blocked their path, and dozens of boards cluttered the marsh, half-buried in the grasslands. “I’m not above going out there in a pair of waders, if that’s what I need to do.” He slapped a mosquito just before a half-dozen of them buzzed him all at once.

The warm air and water stank, heavy with the odor of dead fish, rotting seaweed, and the sickening stench of decomposing animals. He put a handkerchief to his nose and then offered the covering to Teddy.

Teddy hesitated and then covered her mouth and nose.

“The marsh is filthy and dangerous,” Barb said. “But this ecosystem saved the cranes from extinction.”

He cringed. Barb knew what the marsh could be, but now the place looked like hell with everyone out to lunch.

“I’m just glad the cranes are still in Canada,” Barb said.

“It’s going to be all right.” Teddy reached out to hug Barb.

“What about you?” Barb brushed the hair from Teddy’s face. “You’ve got your hands full fixing up your place. What’s Daniel have to say about it?”

“He wants me to walk away.”

Jack moved closer. Why did Daniel want to sell Teddy’s property? What right did he have?

“Daniel would say something like that. How many times has he been here?” Barb snapped.

“About as many times as I’ve been to Houston.” Teddy smirked at Barb. “I’ll be all right as soon as I win the Publisher’s Clearing House.”

“You and me both. I’m so broke I can’t even pay attention.” Barb laughed.

“I’m so poor Sunday supper is fried water,” Jack added.

“You ain’t broke,” Barb said. “You could sell that truck and feed Bird Isle for a year.”

“Just trying to add to the levity. Seriously, I can get some donors and do some fundraising. That’s right up my alley. Pretty soon you’ll be in tall cotton.”

Teddy eyed him like she didn’t trust a word he’d said.

“Let me see what I can do.” Jack needed a way to help Teddy without hurting her pride.

“There you go again, Mr. Eagle Scout.”

She obviously questioned his motives. He wanted to fix all the damage of the hurricane for Teddy, even for Barb. With Angela, MD Anderson, all the best doctors, they couldn’t put her back together. Maybe this swamp was something he could put back together.

With that, he shook his fist in the air. Jack and Angela used to mock Scarlet O’Hara’s fist-shaking. “As God is my witness . . .” Jack shouted. “Remember that?”

Barb and Teddy shook their fists at the marshland and yelled, “‘I’ll never be hungry again.’”

They followed a beaten path toward the sound of laughter. He spotted a small group of people stabbing trash with spiked-poles. Walt separated from the group and waded through the ankle-deep water toward Jack, Barb, and Teddy.

“Get out of there,” Barb shouted. “I mean it.” Then, to Teddy and Jack, she said, “He doesn’t have the sense of jellyfish.”

Walt lifted his trash sack as if displaying a trophy-sized fish.

Barb yelled again. “ Get out of there! ”

With his earbuds on, Walt was oblivious. He tromped through the marshland in their direction—boots splashing in the gooey marshland—singing to a tune on his playlist. Walt had recently instructed Jack in making a shaka sign, so Jack threw him one.

Splat! A spray of water splashed over the ragged bark of a mesquite trunk. Jack squinted. Ridges, like knuckles of a fisted hand, bobbed in the water. A glint of sun sparked off the glossy finish of two olive-green slits. A sick feeling rose in Jack’s throat.

“It’s a gator!” He yelled and pointed.

“Now he’s done it,” Barb said. “I told Walt to stay away from alligator nests.”

Algae-green swamp water drained out of the reptile’s mouth, spilling over and through his spiky teeth. He lifted his prehistoric head and let out a throaty Jurassic Park growl. Along with the sound came the oozy stench of the marsh—the smell of decomposed carcasses, stagnant water, and mud.

Walt hauled off as fast as he could manage in his waders. Some people dismissed the athletic ability of surfers. Jack knew better. But would Walt be fast enough to avoid being lunch? The alligator slapped his tail and headed toward Walt as he plowed through the marsh. He struggled to lift his waders through the spears of salt grass and bull rush.

Jack jumped off the boardwalk into the water. Maybe he could distract the gator. The average human could outrun a gator on land. But could a surfer in waders outrun the creature in his home field.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Barb tugged at him. “Get back up here.”

“Wait!” Teddy ripped her backpack from her shoulders and pulled out a plastic container of fried chicken. She pulled out a thigh and tossed the fowl to the gator. Her throw landed the IGA fried chicken within inches of the gator, who snatched the food with a quick jerk of his head. Jack grabbed a drumstick and pitched the bait. The gator caught the lunch in its descent.

All the time, Barb cussed and yelled at Walt. Thanks to Teddy’s chicken, the alligator paddled toward them instead of Walt. Holy crap. The alligator easily scrambled over the reeds and mangrove and was not far from the flimsy boardwalk.

Barb yelled, “Throw your chicken and run as fast as you can.”

Teddy tossed a breast into the marsh and sprinted off. Jack stayed long enough to see the alligator flap his tail and head toward the bait, then, Jack bolted. Ahead of them, Walt pulled up onto the boardwalk, let out a happy shout, and raced on down the walkway leaving a trail of swamp water and marsh grasses behind him.

Barb reached Walt first and assaulted him with a stream of insults and curse words crude enough to make a bull rider blush. The rest of Walt’s cleanup party, now in the parking lot, heard every word as well. When Barb started in on them, Mayor Hank said, “Now just hold on, Barb. We told him to stay with the group and specifically said not to go into that inlet where the nests might be.”

Walt gave them an excuse—he noticed a big wad of netting and plastic—and, if he held any remorse, he didn’t show it. Just another day at the beach for Walt. Jack suppressed a laugh.

“Hope that alligator liked that chicken, because I could sure eat some right now.” He patted Teddy on the back. “Good thinking, Teddy.”

She smiled, and for a moment, they shared a moment. At least Jack thought so.

“You owe me lunch, Walt.” Teddy gave Walt a look that could raise blisters. “What were you thinking? You’re lucky you still have both legs.”

Walt shrugged. “He couldn’t get me through these waders.”

“Walt!” The three of them yelled.

“Okay, okay. Tacos are on me.”

Before they loaded into their vehicles, Walt pulled him aside and said, “I hate to ask, bro, but could you front me some cash for the tacos?”

He chuckled and said, “Sure, buddy. I’m just glad you’re okay”

After lunch, Barb took Jack and Teddy to the Bird Isle Animal Recovery Center. Behind the center were badly damaged metal barns, bird yards with their nettings in shreds, and toppled water tanks that once held giant sea turtles. Barb led them into the one barn still standing which housed three large tanks of sea turtles.

“Most of the volunteers are busy with their own recovery projects. We need help feeding the animals.” Barb brought out a bucket and tossed the bits of fish, shrimp, and crabs into the tanks.

He watched the barnacle-encrusted turtles circle the tank as if searching for a way out. He imagined they longed for the freedom of the sea.

Barb donned a pair of rubber gloves and pulled a large chunk of fish from the refrigerator. “Let me show you how to cut fish up so we can feed them.”

With a butcher knife, Barb chopped off two-inch squares of fish with the finesse of a Japanese chef. “Teddy, I know you’ve got more than enough work of your own.”

Teddy sighed, “No more than anyone else.”

“Okay, let’s have it. You’ve been off in your own world all day.” Barb frowned and tossed a square of fish in the tank.

Teddy wasn’t her usually spunky self. He’d promised Wainsworth to help her. But how?

Teddy glanced at Jack, then back to Barb. “Worrying about the store, I guess.”

“You’re a businessman. What do you think I should do with Sweet Somethings?”

“Whoa, now. I thought you wanted to rebuild.” He narrowed his eyes.

“Some people might take the insurance money and start over someplace else.” Teddy turned to him and then to Barb.

Teddy tossed out the idea of taking the insurance and starting over as if he and Barb didn’t know Daniel had suggested the idea. Barb muttered something inaudible. Clearly, she thought Teddy talked nonsense. He wanted Teddy to call her grandfather, but she didn’t know he knew Pops. This was going to come back and bite him someday.

“Daniel got to you, didn’t he?” Barb snapped. “The Teddy I know makes her own decisions.”

“Maybe Daniel was right,” Teddy said. “Maybe this hurricane was an omen, and I need to go back to Houston.”

“You think that God or the universe or Jupiter . . . isn’t he the god of weather . . .? Anyway, you think they sent this hurricane just to you to tell you what to do with your candy store?” He hoped he wasn’t coming on too strong.

“That’s right,” Barb said. “And that Jupiter sent that same omen to everyone in Bird Isle and every other place that took a hit.”

Teddy nodded. “You’ve made your point.”

“Everything’s not about you.” Barb put a rubber-gloved arm around Teddy.

“Fine, it’s not an omen. It’s an opportunity to start over.”

Jack didn’t have a good comeback for that logic. “You got something else you want to do?”

“Flip houses in Houston, I guess.” She shrugged.

“Go on then.” Barb scowled. “You like smog, and business suits, and traffic so thick the drive across town takes two hours. Just go on, see how you like it.”

“Houston’s not that bad. You forget, I lived there. I left Bird Isle for college and vowed never to come back here.” Teddy pinched a piece of fish between two fingers and tossed the food into the tank.

Was Teddy seriously thinking of leaving Bird Isle and going back to Daniel? Somehow, in the last few days, Daniel managed an interception. Jack needed a good play to turn this game around.