Page 8 of Wild Claim

“Am I really that hard to love?”

From my perch in the carrier, I could see her reflection in the rearview mirror. This was the real Mina, the one she kept hidden behind a constant façade of cheerfulness.

“I just don’t get it,” Mina said. “Every time I think things are going well, something like this happens. Maybe Gladys is right. Maybe it’s easier to care for animals because I can’t seem to hold on to anyone.”

I wanted to set her straight. But all I could do was let out a gobble.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair, now loose from its ponytail. “I mean, it’s not like I’m sending you away. You’re a turkey, and I care about you more than I care about most people. What does that say about me?”

It said plenty. That Mina had a heart big enough to take in a lost cause like me, even while she was drowning in her own troubles. That she was kinder and more generous than she realized. Someone who would feed stray animals, even if she had nothing left for herself.

Mina wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. “This day is just getting worse. First, I lost my grandparents’ locket and then the whole thing with Gladys. Maybe I do need to talk to someone.” She fished her keys out of her purse and started the truck. The engine rumbled to life, and she backed out of the parking space with more care than usual.

I knew where she’d misplaced the locket, but revealing its location would have raised suspicion.

The drive back to Mina’s farm was brisk, but not unpleasant. The air had taken on that crisp quality in early November. I watched the small-town blur through streaked glass. Everything looked quaint. From the old-fashioned bakery with its hand-painted sign, the tiny post office with a statue of a postman on a horse out front.

Her farm was picturesque too, with flower boxes on the windowsills and a white picket fence that had seen better days. She killed the engine and sat for a moment longer before getting out.

Mina opened the back door and retrieved her tote, then unlatched my carrier. “You’re probably freezing,” she said. “I can knit you a little sweater and scarf.”

I stepped out of the carrier and stretched my wings. The warmth of the farm was a welcome change from the chill outside, and I eyed the wood-burning stove with something akin to longing. It would be ridiculous to knit a sweater, but it was kind of Mina to even think about it.

She hung up her coat and inspected her haul from the market. Cranberries, a small pumpkin, various greens, a loaf of artisan bread. She cooked enormous meals despite living alone. It was one of the many things I found curious about her.

“I really am grateful, you know,” she said, not looking at me but at a bunch of kale she was un-bagging. “For your company.”

I fluffed my feathers and made my way toward the small mat near the stove. Her words held an honesty that disarmed me. It was easier when I thought she was just using me as a temporary distraction. This... this sounded like genuine affection.

“People aren’t as straightforward as animals. I never know what they’re thinking, or what they want.” She paused, then laughed softly. “Not that I know what you’re thinking about either. But it’s different. Simpler.”

No arguing there. Life was simple as a turkey. Eat, sleep, avoid being eaten.

Mina rinsed the kale in the sink and then glanced over at me. “You were very brave today. And silly,” she added with a wry grin, “but brave.”

I grumbled to myself. Bravery had nothing to do with it. That shrieking harpy needed to be put in her place, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Mina took the rinsed greens and started chopping them on a wooden cutting board. “You know,” she said, “Thanksgiving is coming up. It’s always been one of my favorite holidays.”

Of course it was. My gaze fixed on the pumpkin she’d set on the counter. With my current situation, the upcoming holiday felt more ominous.

“I used to have big dinners,” she said, pausing her chopping. “Friends, family, even the neighbors. We’d all cram into the dining room and make a gigantic mess.” Her voice trailed off, lost in the steam of memories.

Used to. That was telling. I hadn’t known Mina for long, but in that short time I’d seen her interact with half the town. She was sociable, so I couldn’t imagine her alone for any length of time.

She scraped the chopped greens into a bowl and turned her attention to the pumpkin, retrieving a small saw from a drawer. “This year it’ll just be me. You’re welcome to join, of course.”

Thehellwoman. Are you going to butcher and eat me?

Mina worked the saw with delicate precision, cutting around the stem of the pumpkin. “I promise not to make you feel too uncomfortable,” she said with a sly smile. “We’ll have lots of vegetables and maybe some tofu.”

I let out a low gobble, unsure if it was in relief or in terror of the tofu.

She lifted the pumpkin top off and peeked inside. Mina scooped out pumpkin guts with an old metal ladle, tossing the stringy mess into a compost bucket beside the sink. “I still wonder what you were doing up on the mountain all alone.”

Because I’d been hiding from civilization, and from every damned complication that came with being human. In the wilderness, I could be free, living life on my own terms. Being a turkey? Yeah, I was still figuring that shit out.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” she said. “Everyone has their reasons for wanting to be alone.”

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