Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Jackie
The Flippers and Feathers Rescue Center comes into view, perched on its rocky peninsula like something from a postcard. It’s weathered cedar siding and aviary stretch along the rocky shore, and beyond it a lighthouse stands sentinel against the endless blue of the Atlantic.
I stop my car to get it all in.
Gone are the endless days of beeping monitors and hospice nurses with their gentle voice fluttering in the back of darkened rooms. I’m free to live my life, to free myself from the oppressive weight of impending grief that hung on my shoulders for six long years.
My eyes flit to the rearview mirror where a tiny ceramic seal swings gently on its thin leather rope.
It’s one of my most cherished possessions, a gift from my father that I’ve kept with me for almost two decades.
A flashback of the day Henry Durand gave it to me shoots in my mind, a rare moment in between book tours where my father made time just for me.
“I’m here,” I tell the toy. “I’ve done it, Dad. I finally did it.”
Emotions rise up in the back of my throat and I feel tears burn my eyes, but I push them down. My father wouldn’t want me to cry. He would want me to be happy and happy I am.
This is my new beginning. My chance to be myself. To be Jackie Durand, wildlife rehabilitator, not poor little Jackie and caretaker of her legendary father, whose literary masterpieces still fill the shelves of endless libraries and bookcases across the nation.
I’m not that girl anymore. I’m just myself. And I hope it will be enough.
"You can do this," I whisper to myself, pulling into the gravel parking lot.
I park next to a battered pickup truck sporting a bumper sticker that reads Save the Whales, Hug a Selkie and check my appearance in the rearview mirror.
My blond hair is neatly braided, though a few wisps have already escaped around my temples.
The blue of my eyes looks sharp against the crisp white of my button-down shirt.
I look good. Professional. Competent. Nothing like a woman falling apart.
Because I’m no longer a woman falling apart.
I rehearse my introduction in my head a few times as I smile in the mirror, then get out. The sea wind flaps my shirt against my body and the salty, briny air makes me smile. For real this time.
This is it. My first day as a wildlife rehabilitator.
My boots crunch on the gravel as I approach the entrance, the sign above the door carved from driftwood: FLIPPERS AND FEATHERS WILDLIFE RESCUE CENTER.
I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders before pushing open the door.
Inside, controlled chaos reigns. Phones ring from unseen desks, a distant barking of seals punctuates the air, and the mingled scent of fish, antiseptic, and salt water assaults my nose.
Bright fluorescent lights illuminate the reception area, where a bulletin board covered in flyers advertises upcoming fundraisers and educational programs.
"Hello?" I call, standing awkwardly like a lost tourist.
"Be right with you!" a voice calls from somewhere down a hallway.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other, taking in every detail, from the well-worn linoleum floor to the industrial sink in the corner.
On the white walls are scientific charts of seal anatomy and size comparisons of the different coastal birds who frequent the shore around the tiny town of Saltford Bay.
It's nothing like the sterile, state-of-the-art facilities I trained in as a trainee, but it's real. It's alive.
It's everything I dreamed of.
A door swings open and a man appears, his shoulder-length brown hair damp as if he's just emerged from the water, a towel draped around his shoulders. He wears a tank top and what looks like swim trunks. His skin is covered in short, glistening fur in tones of brown and gray and his features are rounded and pleasant. He’s not the first Selkie I ever met, but I still can’t help staring.
His movements have an unhurried grace, like the tide itself, and his gray-green eyes light up when he sees me.
“Good morning, Director Finnick.” I greet him.
"Just Callum," he answers with a blazing smile, revealing slightly pointed canines. "We’re all friends here, Jackie."
As he extends his hand, I notice the slight webbing between his fingers as I shake it. It’s a new sensation, but not exactly unpleasant.
“Nice to finally meet you in person. I can’t wait to get started.”
His smile broadens.
"Come on, I'll introduce you to everyone."
I follow him through a maze of hallways, past examinations rooms and storage areas.
Callum points out features as we walk: supply closets, medication refrigerators, two small offices filled to the brim with piles of papers.
He then leads me to a break room with two small round tables, each surrounded by four chairs.
Along the back wall is a row of cupboards and an old refrigerator adorned with magnets featuring a variety of sea animals.
On the countertop sits an ancient coffee maker with a half-full pot.
"That beast only responds to Sylvie," he warns with a chuckle, pointing to the coffee maker. "Best not to attempt coffee-making without supervision your first week."
I laugh along with him, the knot in my stomach loosening with every passing minute. This is a good place, a lived-in place, practical and full of people. A place where I can reinvent myself.
A place far away from Delia and her schemes.
Don't think about that now, I scold myself. All that's behind you.
We reach a large room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a saltwater pool. Inside, a woman with brown hair streaked with teal is feeding a small harbor seal, throwing chunks of fish at it as the seal swims through various obstacles.
"That's Mira," Callum explains. "Our senior rehab specialist and tank design expert."
As if hearing her name, Mira looks up and waves, then gracefully pulls herself from the pool. Even dripping wet, there's something striking about her—high cheekbones, amber eyes that are just a tad too large and slanted to be human, and movements so fluid they hardly disturb the water.
It doesn’t take long for me to realize she’s a mermaid.
"The new girl!" She approaches, waving a webbed hand. Her voice is high and musical, ringing slightly in my ears like a pleasant tune. "Thank God. I was beginning to think we'd never fill this position."
"Mira's a bit direct," Callum stage-whispers.
"I'm just honest," she counters, wringing water from her hair. "We've been understaffed for months. You’re Jackie, right? From Boston?"
Mira extends her hand to me with a blindingly beautiful smile.
"That's right." I shake her hand. Her skin feels cool and slightly slick, and I feel myself warming to her immediately. There’s just something about mermaids that is, well, mesmerizing.
"I've been studying your work with the porpoise satellite tagging program.
The migration patterns you've documented are fascinating. "
Mira looks genuinely surprised. "You've read my research?"
"I had a lot of time to read during… my previous job." I catch myself before mentioning my father and the years spent at his bedside. "Your underwater physical therapy protocols for post-surgical seals are brilliant."
"Finally, someone who speaks seal." Mira grins, revealing a row of blindingly white teeth that are just a tad too sharp to be human. "I know Callum is technically the best one to think up seal rehabilitation protocol, but his idea of physical therapy is tossing them fish through hoops."
"It worked for Penelope," Callum protests good-naturedly, unfazed by the teasing.
"Penelope would have healed herself out of spite," Mira retorts. "That seal had more attitude than all the teenagers in Saltford combined, and I’m including the vampires in that lot."
I find myself laughing, genuinely laughing, for the first time in what feels like years.
The moment is interrupted by a pink blur bursting through the door.
"Is she here? The new girl? Where is she? I need to add her to the newsletter before noon!"
The whirlwind materializes into the smallest woman I've ever seen, barely four and a half feet tall with neon-pink hair cut in a sharp bob and dark-brown skin that seems so soft it almost shimmers.
Light-pink wings flit behind her as she speaks and her large, iridescent lavender eyes dart around the room until they land on me.
A pixie. It seems I’ll be the only human working in this small-town wildlife rescue center, which is alright with me.
"You!" She points a finger topped with a glittery nail. "You're Jackie! I'm Sylvie, Education and Outreach. Welcome to the madhouse!"
Before I can respond, she's shaking my hand enthusiastically, her grip surprisingly strong for someone so tiny.
"I need a bio, a headshot, and your favorite marine mammal fact for the newsletter. Also, how do you feel about public speaking? We have three school groups next week, and I'm drowning in paperwork for the summer gala."
"Breathe, Sylvie," Callum advises with a gentle smile.
"I haven't had time to breathe since 2019," she replies, not slowing down in the slightest. She turns back to me. "I'm so glad you're here. Fresh blood! Thank goodness!"
I find myself both overwhelmed and charmed by her energy, and I immediately decide that I like her just as much as I like Mira and Callum.
"I'm happy to help with the school groups. I did a lot of educational outreach as a trainee. I love kids."
"She's perfect!" Sylvie claps her hands. "I'll email you all the details. Welcome aboard!"
With that, she zips away, leaving me slightly stunned.
"She’s the definition of small but mighty," Mira explains unnecessarily. "Former PR maven from New York. Burned out, moved here, and now channels all that manic energy into saving wildlife. She's exhausting but indispensable."
"I heard that!" Sylvie's voice echoes from down the hall.