Page 48 of When We Are Falling

“They’re otters, not a recipe or a science experiment,” Blake teases. “You don’t have to be so exact.”

“Hey, it’s important to get it right.” I watch them carefully as they eat, ensuring each one gets the correct amount and doesn’t try to take any from the others.

“If you say so, Mr. Boss Man.”

We move to an enclosure housing a pair of tiny sandpipers. The brown and white birds, feathers still stained with oil, look up at us, wary. “I’ve got these guys,” she says. “Look how adorable they are. They’re so tiny.”

Hovering nearby, watching her every step even though I pretend to busy myself with restocking food pellets. My fingers itch to help, to guide her through the process, but I’mreallytrying to show her I don’t need to control every little thing, that I can respect her boundaries.

Blake murmurs soothingly to the birds. “It’s okay, little guys. We’re just going to get you cleaned up.”

One of the sandpipers flaps its wings and pecks at her, but Blake doesn’t flinch, maintaining her calm as she carefully lifts the bird and places it into a shallow basin for cleaning.

“Just be careful with its wings,” I can’t help but add. “You need to get right under there with the cleaning solution.”

She glances over her shoulder, smiling. “I’ve done this before, remember?”

“Right, sorry.”

She flashes me another quick smile before turning her attention back to the sandpiper. Soon she’s done, and it feels like a small victory for both of us: she cleaned the bird, and I managed to hold myself back from making helpful suggestions.

As the morning goes on, we move from task to task, cleaning more enclosures, preparing food, and administering medication. There’s a quiet satisfaction in the work, a sense of purpose that makes the hours fly by.

The other volunteers are finished by the time Blake and I head out with Bandit and the truck belonging to the rehabilitation center to pick up the birds rescued today. As we drive, the low hum of the engine fills the cab.

Blake’s got the window down, and the afternoon sun streams into the truck, her red hair catching the light and keeping it. There’s that sensation of falling again, the pull toward her irresistible, a beautiful and terrifying freefall.

We pull up at the next beach along after the lighthouse, the tires crunching over gravel. Antonio is there, waiting beside a stack of cages filled with the birds his team has rescued and partially cleaned. The rest of the volunteers have already gone home, leaving the beach eerily quiet except for the distant crash of waves.

Antonio waves as we approach. “Hey, you two.”

Blake hops out of the truck, her ponytail swinging with the motion. “Hey, you. How’s Juan doing?”

Juan is Antonio’s little brother. He was in a car accident when he was a kid, which left him disabled. Antonio and his family have been through a lot, but Antonio never loses that smile of his.

“He’s doing great. Actually, he just started a new physical therapy program.”

“That’s great news,” Blake says. “He’s such a good guy. Say hi from me.”

“I will. You know he’s had a crush on you forever. It’ll make his day.”

Her cheeks flush, and she laughs softly. “Oh, that’s so sweet. Tell him I said hi back and that I’m rooting for him.” Pausing, smiling warmly. “And remind him that he’s always been one of my favorite people.”

We start loading the cages into the truck, each bird carefully secured for the ride back. The birds have been mostly cleaned of the oil that once coated their feathers, but traces of it still linger in small patches on their bodies. The volunteers have done their best, but they’ll need another clean and a chance to rest before they can fully recover.

Bandit circles around us, sniffing at the unfamiliar smells and staying close, but not barking at the birds. He’s such a good boy. Once the cages are all loaded, we stand back. The sun is dipping lower in the sky, casting a golden hue over everything.

“Thanks for waiting for us,” I say, clapping Antonio on the back.

“No problem,” Antonio replies. “Take care, you two.”

We climb back into the truck and start the drive back to the rehabilitation center. As we drive, I cast a sideways glance in Blake’s direction. “I’m going to pick you up at seven at the bar. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

She’s taken to closing early this week. With numbers so low, there’s no point in staying open.

“Oh yeah? What are we doing?”

“Just trust me,” I say. “It’s a surprise.”

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