I raise my hip to give Washington access to my pocket. “Call my brother for me.”
He digs out my phone and hits the password only he knows, besides me. If anything were to happen to either of us, the other would need access to phone numbers, make calls to our families.
“Hey Nathan, it’s Asante. I’m calling for Wyatt. No, no, he’s good. Just driving in this mess. Here. Putting you on speaker.”
My brother’s voice fills the car. “Wy! Where you at?”
“Piedmont Park! Heading in. How ‘bout you?”
“We’re rescuing cats and dogs. A couple calls came in for some bicyclists stuck in West Midtown, but another firetruck covered it.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“My arms will be slashed up pretty good by the end of this. Cats aren’t a grateful species.”
“You take care out there.”
“You too, Wy. Love you man.”
“Love you, too.”
Washington hangs up and sets my phone between our seats, staring out his window. Under his breath he mutters, “I’ve gotta tell my brother I love him one of these days.”
My head is in the game now. I drive by the hill tennis courts live on, and turn right. A deserted public swimming pool on our left. Finally we arrive at the kid’s playground where swings are flapping like crazy and sand slices the air.
“Ready?”
“You have to ask?”
We throw open our doors and break into a run, heading right and blocking our eyes from flying sand. A path outlines the lake’s perimeter. Large bushes could be a refuge, and benches spread throughout. We search while fighting violent winds, rain that all but blinds us, drenched to the bone. We shout for anyone stuck out here. Circle the entire lake, uniform sticking to every crevice in my body.
Over the storm I shout, “Nobody here!”
He blinks to see me, shouting, “Let’s head back!”
The wind shifts and a pained quacking reaches our ears. We exchange a look and stomp puddles the size of kiddie-pools to a thick hedge bent by the storm.
I ask him, “Ducks don’t have a problem with rain, right?”
He shrugs, “How the hell should I know?!”
We pull back a section, and squint at a light brown, female Mallard crying out. With her are six little ducklings.
Washington peers over as I point out, “She’s hurt!”
He frowns, confused, “The storm do that?!”
“Maybe a car. Don’t think even these winds could do that.”
He stares. “We have something in the trunk to hold ‘em?”
I think about it, and shake my head. “The back seat is all we’ve got.”
“How do we carry all these li’l guys?”
Without hesitation, I unbutton my uniform shirt and loosen the tucked-in section so it balloons enough to hold ducklings. Washington does the same, face wary. “I’m afraid of squishing them. This is so clingy,” he points to the soaked fabric, “will they suffocate?!”
“Just keep pulling it away from your skin so they have air. It’s not that far to the car!”
We take three each.
Last is momma.
I gingerly lift her as her babies squirm against my chest. “She’s not coming without a fight.”
He tells her, “You wanted us to save your family! Now just calm down. We’ll get you out of here.”
“That helped.” It didn’t. Cradling the poor, crushed-wing and crushed-foot duck, I gingerly pin her so she can’t flap around anymore. “Don’t want to drop you,” I murmur as if she can understand English.
Wash and I bend our bodies to get back as fast as possible. It’s a battle. He’s taller than I am so my partner leads the way to give momma and I some cover — a fool’s hope.
The wind picks up and he shouts, “Let’s move!”
“I can’t run with her!”
Water streams downs his face as he looks back, nods, resigned, and we continue trudging against biting gusts.
A twelve-foot long tree branch cracks and falls just behind me. Don’t have time to react. We’ve got to get inside.
“Keys!” Washington shouts, and I can barely hear him.
“In my pocket!” I yell back. “Grab ‘em!”
His teeth flash for some levity. “Second time I’ve been in your pants today. Boy, are you easy!”
I laugh, drinking in rain as it obliterates everything but our spirits. Washington digs for our keys. I do a couple of left-hip-thrusts. We’re grinning our asses off and somehow he manages to open the back door and tucks his three ducklings inside. Reaching for mine next while I hold out Momma, we silently agree that I should hang onto her until we get to the station. He slams the back door and runs around to get in.
My passenger door threatens the life of its hinge as I open it. He didn’t think to get my door because, well, I’m me. So I swear under my breath and battle with one hand while my other arm is wrapped around my poor injured duck. She’s not trying to escape anymore, probably in shock now.
Like I know anything about birds!
As soon as I get us safely in, I lock the door and mutter to my drenched partner. “Great day for a BBQ. Let’s have one.”
He chuckles, “I’ll bring the beer and burgers. You put up a canopy.”
“It’d survive a whole minute.”
“Good news? Chief might like you now that you’re a hero.”
“She’ll probably say we did this so I could get laid.” My gaze falls to the wet and silent brown creature on my lap, water dripping from my eyelashes and chin onto her head. “Think she’s gonna make it?”
“I don’t know,” he admits, putting the car in drive and heading out of Piedmont Park. “But her ducklings will. That’s all she cares about.”
CHAPTER 9
DIANA
I ncreasing to a nice clip that I intend to sustain for about a mile or so — in my dreams — I navigate uneven yet familiar paths.
The wind lifts my ponytail and I shake my head with stubborn determination to ignore that. Drops of rain I ignore, too.
Forcing my gaze straight ahead I pant, “I promised myself I would jog every morning and that is what I’m gonna do!”
So I get a little
