Page 7 of Darling Beasts

I tackled the ground floor first, checking closets and built-in bookcases, peering behind radiators and furniture, lifting up window seats. All three bathrooms appeared free and clear, likewise the rarely used guest room. As I finished one last sweep, my phone buzzed in the back of my pants.

“Is it a flare?” Diane said, straight from the jump. “Is that why you left so suddenly? Your skin looked pretty red.”

“I have all the symptoms, but nothing so far,” I said, windingmy way back to the living room. I flopped onto the white slip-covered couch and kicked off my Birks. “Nothing over there?”

“Nothing,” Diane confirmed, and I breathed a literal sigh of relief.

“Were people mad I left?” I asked, wincing, fingers crossed. Talia was usually good for a comment or two, some salty observation muttered under her breath.

“Nobody mentioned a thing,” Diane said, and I was instantly annoyed with myself for assuming they’d care either way. “That is not a personal indictment!” she added, knowing how my brain worked. “Ozzie left right after you did. Talia was very busy with her questions and lists.”

I chuckled. “God love her for trying to make sense of it,” I said. “Running for office. It’s so bizarre. He can’t really want to ‘do good’ or whatever.”

Diane took a second to weigh this. “No, probably not. I think he just wants to create something new. He inherited FDG and lost it, and likely feels guilty, even though it’s not his fault.”

Was it his fault? I’d wondered more than once. He wasn’t in jail, which was a pretty strong sign, and Uncle Doug had carried out his misdeeds from a company not directly linked to FDG. But Dad did own one third of Doug’s so-called “special purpose vehicle” and while I couldn’t imagine him intentionally breaking any laws, it was possible he’d looked the other way.

“I hope he gets something worthwhile out of it. The guy needs a win.” I glanced down, startling at the sight of my pale, regular, nonrashy skin. When I inhaled, the only smell was the old, woody scent of my home. “Oh my God,” I said, sitting straight up. “I think the symptoms just... stopped?”

“Really? Oh, Gabby, that’s terrific news!” Diane said, and I could feel her smile through the phone. She sounded relieved, and why not? My problems always became her problems, too.

“I can’t believe it,” I said, marveling at my beautiful, beautiful arm. “Maybe I am finished with this bullshit. There are worse diseases—I get it—but it’s a pain in the ass. And they say it’snot deadly, but do we really know—” Something moved in my periphery and my rambling screeched to a halt.

“Gabby?” Diane said. “You still there?”

“Still here.”

It moved again and I rose to my feet, eyes narrowing in on the fireplace mantel. On the mantel sat the model ship my father gave me as a housewarming gift despite the fact Gunns weren’t into boats. In the ship, poking out from between two sails, was a pink beak. Attached to the beak was a fluffy white bird. I screamed and dropped the phone. My PBS had returned.

***

The symptoms began on the second day of my very first period, a few weeks shy of my fourteenth birthday. As I stood in front of the linen cabinet, pondering the definition of “flow” and checking boxes for expiration dates, my skin began to itch. Badly. An odd scent filled the room. I’d never heard of menstrual symptoms that involved rashes or the smell of burnt hair, but what the hell did I know?

After selecting a “medium flow” pad and getting it into place, I returned to my bedroom. The itching had ratcheted up and,good Lord, that smell was legit rancid. I opened my closet door, half expecting to encounter a small fire. What I found instead was a bald eagle, sitting atop a nest of school uniforms.

I slammed the door. “Help! Anyone!” I shouted, my voice echoing through the empty apartment. The only other sound was the rain pelting the windows.

My heart rate spiked. Was there such thing as period-induced hallucinations? Why would I hallucinate a bald eagle? I didn’t even like America that much. I briefly contemplated whether Ozzie might be playing a prank, but just as quickly shot it down. My brother wouldn’tnotput a bald eagle in someone’s closet, if the urge struck, but he never messed with me. We were friends. He said I was like a big brother, but better. I’d never given him awedgie or punched him in the face. Also, I was the only person who laughed at all his dumb shit and, trust, there was a lot of it.

After collecting what remained of my wits, I peeked inside the closet again. The eagle locked his beady black eyes on mine, then sighed dramatically and rotated his head toward the wall.

I stumbled out of the room.

“Dad?” I called out hopelessly. “Dad? Are you still here?” He didn’t hang around much in the morning, didn’t hang around much at all, but it was earlier than usual, and maybe he hadn’t left for the office yet. “DAD!” I said, my voice reverberating off the walls.

I picked up the hallway phone. Who was I going to call, exactly? What would I say?Hello, police, I’d like to report a large bird.The police. Harboring a bald eagle had to be some kind of felony.

As the busy signal bleated in my ear, the elevator dinged. I practically flew out of my skin. “Hello?” I warbled. “Who’s there?”

“Gabby, is everything okay?” came the calm, reassuring voice of Diane.Thank you, Jesus, I whispered. But who needed religion when you had a Diane?

I dropped the phone and sprinted to where she stood in the entryway, shaking the rain from her umbrella. “You won’t believe what happened—” Panting, I stopped. It took a beat for my brain to catch up with the scene. I’d found a bald eagle in my closet, but the present conundrum was Diane, who always, always,alwaysarrived when Ozzie and I were back from school. But here she was, before eight o’clock in the a.m. Dread plopped like a stone into my stomach. “What are you doing here so early?”

Diane slid off her trench coat. “Your father had to go out of town,” she said. “He asked me to stay with you guys.”

I scowled. A little heads-up would’ve been nice, but we didn’t have that kind of dad. Just doing the best he can, I reminded myself. Diane said that all the time. “Where’d he go?” I asked.

“California, I think?” Diane cleared her throat. “It was last-minute, and he didn’t give me any details, but swore he’d call tonight—”

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