7. Declan
DECLAN
“She has ducks.”
Iris doesn’t respond immediately.
I watch a multi-colored bird emerge from the smaller replica of Astrid’s house as I wait for my assistant and best friend to come up with a reply.
“Ducks?” Iris finally repeats. “Is that a euphemism for something?”
I’m standing on the screened-in porch at the back of Astrid's house.
“Nope. Ducks. Live ones. In her backyard.”
“Oh. And…why?”
I chuckle. “Not sure. I haven’t seen her yet. I was up before she was.”
“Of course you were,” Iris mutters.
Iris is also an early riser, but even she thinks my four a.m. awakenings are ridiculous.
Since four a.m. in Portland is six a.m. in Louisiana, going out for my morning run—and checking out the town in the process—wasn’t quite as outlandish today, though.
And I was certainly not the only person out and about in Rebel this morning.
As I ran through Astrid’s neighborhood and then down Main Street and through the park, I was greeted multiple times with things like, “‘Morning, Declan!”, “Team Declan!”, “Team Miles!”, and “this isn’t a running trail!” when I dodged around a group of men gathered on the sidewalk discussing someone named Rocky spending the night on one of the park benches.
I was also waved at, offered muffins, offered coffee, and offered a ride home—all while I was running.
I’m now standing on the back porch with a bottle of water, studying the latest way my wife has surprised me.
Fuck. My wife. Even thinking those words still kicks me low in the gut.
“I’ve counted eight,” I tell Iris about the birds of varying sizes and colors, waddling around her yard.
Too bad I didn’t call her via video chat.
I could have shown her all of this. “There’s a house for them on one side.
It looks exactly like Astrid’s house.” I can’t help but smile at that.
I wonder if the interior has orange and brown wallpaper and flooring.
“There are also three ponds of various sizes. One has a waterfall. And there are lots of plants and flowers.”
I don’t know what these flowers are—I’m not really a plant and flower guy—but I do know we don’t have them in Oregon, and they scent the air with a sweetness that I find myself wanting to breathe in deeply.
It’s a damned oasis back here.
I lift my water and take a drink. I live in downtown Portland.
There’s some grass and trees. I regularly run in a very nice outdoor area.
It’s not like I’m deprived of greenery or nature.
But this is…right here. Right outside the door.
And private. And quiet. There’s no traffic, no construction noise, no other people.
I take a deep breath. The humidity and the lush plants and trees make the air softer and fuller than what I’m used to, and I feel like it soothes my lungs as it moves in and out.
“I’ll send you a few photos,” I tell Iris. “It’s…something.”
I don’t mention the absolute eyesore that’s positioned near the stone pond—the largest of the three.
The other two ponds are just large plastic tubs, possibly made specifically for ducks.
But the pond is dug into the ground, surrounded by carefully constructed stonework, and is the one with the waterfall flowing into it.
I assume there is a pumping system under the water that keeps the water cycling and clean.
Because the two plastic “ponds” are definitely muddier than that one.
But next to that very pretty pond and waterfall is something even uglier than the couch in Astrid’s living room.
It’s a free-standing swing, upholstered in a glaring green, yellow, and orange floral pattern.
It also has a huge awning with the same floral pattern and fringe…
thick, white fringe. The awning juts up from the back and protrudes over the seat of the swing to provide shade—and more atrocity.
It’s ugly as hell, but, at the same time, swinging in the shade next to the pond with the sound of the waterfall…yeah, that could be relaxing. If I closed my eyes.
On a less hideous note, there’s also an egg-shaped swing hanging from the huge tree in the corner of the yard. It looks like wicker, with pale green cushions, and the cream-colored throw blanket makes it easy to picture Astrid curling up in there with a book in the evening.
But I’m guessing she spends most of her “outdoor” time on this porch.
There are soft yellow lights strung overhead, several potted plants, and a few large lanterns that, upon closer inspection, are electric but are replicas of the old-fashioned gas lanterns.
Enormous cushions are scattered on the floor with some propped against the walls to provide padding to lean back into.
There is a very low, long wooden table holding mismatched ceramic coasters, a cluster of candles in the middle, and a dish of what appear to be dried flowers.
The bohemian vibe on the porch complements the house's seventies theme but is more subdued and calming, and I hope she spends time out here with girlfriends and wine.
And I wonder if she’d let me spend time with her in this space.
“Well, at least it’s not alligators,” Iris says, reminding me I’m on the phone.
“What?” I ask with a frown.
“At least she doesn’t have a backyard full of alligators or something.”
Jesus. I scrub a hand over my face. And as my hand moves past my eyes, I look at the duck with the gorgeous emerald head.
Do alligators eat ducks? Surely, they do. Or would. Do these ducks attract alligators? If they do, does Astrid know what to do? Does Oscar ever come out here? Would an alligator go after a cat? I’m ninety-five percent sure it would.
Fuck.
“I need you to do some research,” I tell Iris, out of habit. This is what she does. She finds things out for me.
But I regret the words almost immediately.
“Okay,” she says. “What’s up?”
I rack my brain for something in my business that I can have her look into instead of admitting that I’m suddenly concerned about a flock of ducks I just met and a cat who hates me.
But dammit, we were very careful to tie up any loose ends before I got on the plane yesterday.
Iris can run my business for me completely on her own for weeks.
“Um…”
There’s a pause on her end of the phone.
Probably because I never say ‘um’.
Her tone is amused when she asks, “Something about alligators and ducks?”
I blow out a breath. “I was thinking along the lines of how to enclose this entire backyard. Make it one big screened-in porch.”
She laughs. “Send me the measurements.”
I don’t reply. I’m already eyeing the yard and making estimates. I’ve gotten good with estimating distances and dimensions after all these years of investing in properties and building and renovating.
“But maybe you should ask Astrid how she keeps her ducks safe and if she has any concerns. You know, since she’s been doing it for months without you, already.”
I grimace. Then sigh. “Yeah. That’s true.”
“Miles never mentioned ducks,” Iris says, almost absently. “You don’t think they’re new, do you?”
“There’s no way all of this all just got built.” But I pause. With enough money, anything can get done quickly. “She didn’t know I was coming.”
“Well, no, I don’t think she built it and got ducks for you,” Iris says.
I can practically hear her rolling her eyes over the phone.
I hear movement in the kitchen and realize Astrid has come downstairs and probably doesn’t know I’m out here.
I glance over my shoulder through the window between the porch and kitchen.
She’s dressed for the day in a sundress and…fuck me.
The shorts were bad enough with all that smooth, bare skin exposed.
The dress is really so much worse. It hits high on her thighs, so all that skin is on display again.
It’s bright blue, with what looks to be tiny white polkadots, and ties behind her neck and at the waist. Astrid is not a curvy woman.
Her slender frame is still that of a petite gymnast. But the dress hugs her breasts and the dip of her waist, and leaves her shoulders and arms bare too.
I watch as she dons the baby sling, talking softly to Oscar as he jumps onto the table so she can scoop him up and tuck him into it. I shake my head. I don’t think she adopted a grouchy, hissy, stray tomcat to be a barrier between us, but he is clearly going to function exactly as that.
Unless I can win him over.
I have zero experience with cats, so that should go well.
The soft chattering of the ducks in the yard reminds me that the list of things I have zero experience with is actually longer than I’d realized.
“She wants the annulment,” I say into the phone without thinking.
“Are you surprised?” Iris asks. “She’s in an arranged marriage set up by your grandfather with a guy she never sees.”
I turn away from the window and the enticing view of my wife and her cat.
I study the ducks. Wow, they’re messy as fuck.
After every bite of food they take from the feeder, they dip their bills in the water, making the water dirty.
Then they shake, spraying water everywhere.
The ground around their feeders and water buckets is muddy and sloppy.
But I can’t stop watching them.
“I told her why I’m here,” I say to Iris, my eyes on one duck over in the grassy area, clearly picking through the blades for food. Insects, I would guess. “That I want my family back in my life. And that I want a family with her.”
“And how did she respond to that?” Iris asks with clear surprise in her tone.
“With shock.” I pause, then say, “She also kissed me.”
Iris makes a coughing-choking sound.
I feel my mouth curve up.