Page 15 of Marrying My Moth Lady

Poor Horus. He looks like someone ran over his puppy as we survey the demolition site. Two backhoes and a bulldozer wear ‘CARTER’ in red blocky letters on their sides. I wish I could throw him a lifeline like maybe Carter sold the equipment to a competitor. But Matthew already explained the money trail. Not that Horus heard any of it. His eyes glazed over during the first few minutes. I felt a kinship with him because blocking out my brother’s speeches is an art form I’ve mastered…out of self-preservation.

“That’s Eli Carter Jr.,” he says, pointing at a large man. Eli Carter alternates between yelling at the workers and struggling to keep his pants up. Is the tugging on his belt loops a stim or will he moon us?

It’s the first words Horus says since I carried him to the treetop. Matthew and I stand on the branches two feet below his perch. Impressive that he climbed to this height by himself, but I wish I had the chance to carry him. Flying Matthew up here wasn’t nearly as satisfying as stealing a hug from Horus.

“Proof is plain as the nose on your face,” Matthew declares.

“Checkmate,” Horus says, dropping his gaze to his lap. He hugs the tree trunk tighter, as if seeing how far the ground is from his perch for the first time. “It makes no sense. Why would he fund my research, the foundation, and the conservation center?”

“Why would anyone try to be someone they’re not? Popularity,” I say with a flip of my hair. “I can’t imagine pictures of forest clearing would get many likes on social media.”

“Brilliant, Millie, he’s running for office this fall,” he says, running his hand down his face. Despite how the realization upsets him, I preen under his praise.

“Having an environmentally friendly face wins votes in tourist towns. Too bad he has a dirty, rotten underbelly,” Matthew adds. “I’ll be late for work if I don’t shake a leg. Can I trust you to hang out with Mills until sundown? I get off at five.”

“I have work to do too,” Horus says with a snarl. “If I don’t log into the system, someone will notice. Not to mention I’m supposed to be tagging insects. Won’t it be suspicious if I’ve been gone for days but haven’t tagged a single bug?”

“Tell that to the guys bulldozing their habitat,” Matthew replies with a cocky chin snap.

“You worry too much, Matthew. Go to work,” I reply, fluttering up to Horus’s branch to sit next to him. “I’ll take Horus to the areas where the butterflies puddle.”

“I’ve never seen males mud puddling in this forest. There’s too much activity for them to gather,” Horus says in a lighter tone. Excitement crinkles the corners of his eyes and pushes the betrayal of Eli Carter to the back of his brain.

“I’ll leave you geeks to it then,” Matthew says, skidding down the tree in a shower of bark tendrils and splinters.

“Can I carry you?” I ask with my cheeks heating to inferno levels. How I wish our roles were reversed, andhehad wings! We’d fly through the forest whileI cuddled him. My soap bubble daydream pops.

“You carried me from the ravine to the treehouse, didn’t you?”

“Of course. Did you think Matthew sprouted wings for your trip?”

“Guess not,” he says, flashing dimples. “I’ve got some locations I must check pinned to the GPS on my phone, too. Let’s fly—”

I grab him by the waist and take flight. Phooey on his GPS pins. I know where the moths and butterfly leks hang out. He sits by milkweed and goldenrod plants, tagging them individually as they eat their favorite snacks. We will go to where the monarchs puddle on the large cigar tree leaves. The males drink the salty rainwater and clean the dander from their wings before prancing for potential mates. He can tag a hundred male butterflies from a single location.

“Besides monarchs, what other species do you want to tag?”

“Spongy moths and coal flies, please,” he squeaks. I grabbed him under the arms, so it’s not his fault I smashed his face against my cleavage. His embrace squeezes my hips like a vise. With his ankles looped around mine, his bent waist sticks his butt out and reduces our speed.

“If you allow your legs to dangle, I can fly faster,” I say with a giggle.

“If it’s all the same to you, Millie, I need to hold on with all appendages,” he grumbles.

“Just try,” I say, kicking his legs off my feet. We drop a few feet with the momentum of his legs, but I steady us in seconds. I have to hand it to him—he didn’t scream. “Come on, loosen up—”

“Says the lady with wings to catch herself.” He’s glued to me. My human-boa and I soar through the branches as I race to the afternoon waterhole of the monarchs.

“Spoilsport, we’re here.” I place him on a branch of the thick cigar tree, due north of the treehouse. After settling beside him, and pulling my skirt between the bark and my butt, I peel back the flimsy branch overhead.

Horus

“Oh, Millie,” I whisper in awe. For once, I’m at a loss for words. The beauty of hundreds of male monarchs resting on the leaves brings tears to my eyes. Their orange wings move in lazy flaps like sleepy eyelids as they drink from water on the leaves. When I heard, ‘puddling’ my mind snapped to the academic definition where butterflies ring a puddle about six inches in diameter on the ground. I never considered the water collected on leaves to be puddles.

“It’s the water condensing on the cigar leaves after it’s released as vapor in the transpiration of the upper tree leaves! A tiny water cycle rotates between the upper shelf and the canopy. I doubt many people know this exists. Climbing the tree would disturb the lek,” I whisper as I drag my backpack onto my lap.

Where is that damn blue case? Ah ha! Serves me right for dumping my bag on the floor with the excitement of a silent disco. Now I can’t find anything. My heart races with the needto tag each insect before they fly away. My data will increase tenfold, and my scatter plot maps will show a more accurate migration path. Charts and graphs fly past my mind’s eye at the speed of light while my fingers clumsily assemble the nanospray bottle and load the nozzle.

“I doubt many people care as much as you about a puddle…but the butterflies sure do.” Millie’s giggle at my enthusiasm warms my heart. Within twenty-four hours, she learned what makes me happy…and cared enough to give this gift to me. Not since I lived with my parents has anyone cared enough to share my interests…wow.

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