Page 39 of Wild Eyes
I’m not above holding a favor over Skylar’s head to get her to help me. It’s for the children. Plus, after watching her with my kids’ last night, I think it might be good for her.
The aromatic press of warm, dry pine needles eases, and the clearing toward the lake opens before me. I spent my entire life here, and the view still brings me up short some days. There’s something magical about Rose Hill. Something that stops you in your tracks. Forces you to take in the view, even for just a beat.
And that’s all the time I have this morning, so I soak in the lake and mountains quickly before forging ahead. I take the dirt path down to the house that loosely matches the main one. The white shiplap siding appears more weatherworn than ever, and the red tin roof has gradually trended toward more of a chalky pink hue.
On the small wraparound porch, I find Skylar sitting in the old rocking chair, wrapped in a Navajo blanket, with her fucking bird on her shoulder. She’s staring out over the water, rocking gently and looking alarmingly at peace.
Before I can make my presence known, Cherry announces me by shouting, “Go away!”
Skylar jumps and turns to face me. She’s pulled up her caramel-colored hair with a big black claw clip and her face isscrubbed clean of the makeup she had on yesterday. I can tell because the dark circles under her eyes are on full display.
She looks beautiful and forlorn all at once.
Not that I would tell her that.
I may be single, but it’s not because I make a habit of putting my foot in my mouth around women.
It’s because I can’t quite bring myself to settle down. Don’t especially want to bring someone new into the fold with my kids either.
“I think your bird hates me,” I joke, trying to ease the tension from last night’s moment of insanity.
The expression of surprise fades from her face, but it’s replaced by the two splotches of pink that match the roof taking up residence on her cheeks.
Mission not accomplished.
She can’t even meet my eyes. Instead, from the corner of her eye, she peeks at the gray parrot and smiles softly. “I think she really only likes me.”
The parrot rubs the top of its head against Skylar’s pink cheek, bunting against her lovingly as though that might help erase the blush.
“Clearly,” I reply dryly.
“I rescued her from a shelter. She wasn’t well taken care of. I was there to do a commercial and something about her just spoke to me.”
“Did she literally tell you to go away?”
Skylar chuckles now. “She didn’t talk then.”
“She, uh”—I flick a hand toward the bird—“have her wings clipped?”
“They used to be. I never could bring myself to do it to her, though. They’ve grown back now. Physically, she canfly, but she never does.”
Her eyes meet mine now, the confidence she oozed yesterday absent this morning. She looks small and vulnerable wrapped in the blanket. “Sometimes I sit outside with her and will her to just try, you know? I want her to know she can. But I’m scared she won’t come back.”
I shrug. “Maybe she knows she can fly but doesn’t want to leave?”
Skylar blinks like I just said something she hadn’t considered. She moves her gaze back to Cherry, and her eyes go a little glassy as she reaches up to stroke the bird’s back.
She lookssadand I can’t fucking handle sad. So I spit out what I came here to ask. “Remember that time I saved your life?” Because who knows? Maybe watching a bunch of hooligans run back and forth across a field will make her less sad.
She snorts and hits me with a droll expression. “I have officially erased all of yesterday from my memory. So…no. That doesn’t ring a bell.”
I react with a dramatic gasp and throw an offended hand over my chest. “Oh my god. You erased our kiss? Howcouldyou?”
Her heart-shaped lips pop open, as though she can’t believe I’d dare to bringthatup.
“Want me to tell you about it so you can commit it to memory?”
A dry laugh lurches from her chest. “No. God. Please don’t.”
