Finding Balance Page 3

  “Thanks.”

  Dad spreads a towel across the box Anica opened, and I set the chicken down inside. She fluffs up and lifts her head.

  “Hey, she’s perking up a little,” Mary says.

  “Maybe she wants something to eat or drink,” I say.

  She sets the bowls in the box next to her, but the chicken just settles on the towel and ruffles her feathers again before her head sinks down toward her chest.

  “Well that’s a dangit.” I say.

  “Lucy sent me some links and I read up on this a bit while your dad was grabbing the towels,” Mary says. “If we press her beak into the water a little, she’ll drink. It’s an instinct. She needs to drink, especially if she is going into shock, which is common for chickens that have been injured. I dissolved aspirin into her water. Lucy told me how much would be an effective dose, but this little gal needs to drink about half of what’s in that bowl for it to work.”

  “Okay.” I feel guilty doing it, but I push her head gently into the water bowl. She lifts her head then, bobbing it up and around. “Hey, that worked. I think she was swallowing.”

  Mary smiles. “Oh, good. Now let’s see if she’ll eat any of these.” Mary hands me another bowl with worms in it.

  “Gross,” I say. “What are these?”

  “Lucy brought them with the crumbles. She says chickens love mealworms.”

  “What’s this chicken’s name?” I ask. “Did she mention that?”

  Mary shakes her head. “She wasn’t named. Lucy just called her the Andalusian.”

  Huh. “Well, you need a name, pretty lady.” I stroke her head, and then I press it down toward the water again. “Once she drinks more, we can try worms.”

  “Smart,” Aunt Anica says. “Water is the most important thing, if chickens really can go into shock.”

  “If Mary said so then it’s true,” I say.

  Dad and Mary look at each other, and I realize that I called her Mary. I wait to see if anyone says anything about it.

  No one does.

  Not even after Aunt Anica goes inside. Mary sits with me and holds my hand while Dad cleans out the wound on the chicken’s back, but she doesn’t mention it. She’s silent while she helps me get the water down the little bird’s throat and while we hand feed her some mealworms. She’s such a cute little grey chicken. Since she’s eating a little on her own and drinking when I encourage it, I really hope she’s going to be okay.

  “Hope,” I say. “I think we should name her Hope.”

  “That’s a great name,” Mary says. “This world can always use a little more hope.”

  I know I sure could. I figured my prayers before bed would be about Piper, but instead I decide to use them on Hope. If God only has time to help me with one thing, I’d rather save her than me.

  But secretly, I hope He has time for both of us.

  3

  Mary

  “I hate your sister-in-law,” I say.

  Luke laughs. “She’s always been a bit of troublemaker, but don’t worry about it. It’ll blow over, I’m sure.”

  “Amy has been calling me ‘Mom’ for a year, Luke. A year!” I sink into bed, my feet aching, my back throbbing, my head pounding. “Anica’s here for five minutes, uninvited and unannounced I might add, and suddenly Amy’s calling me Mary.”

  Luke slides into bed and pulls me against him, his hands working out the knots in my shoulders. “Today was a long day before she got here, which doesn’t help. You’re usually the one telling me to be patient with people. Speaking of patience, what did Amy say before Andy lost her mind and attacked that poor chicken?”

  I close my eyes and sink back against him. “Basically what Chase did. There’s a terrible spoiled brat named Piper who is making her miserable. I’m sure she’s jealous of Amy’s poise and intelligence, but it’s hard to have perspective on that when you’re so young.”

  “And?”

  “I told her I would let her dictate how we handle it, and before you get upset at that idea, someone treating her this way is making her feel out of control. If we step in and handle things another way, it will only increase her unease and fear, believe me. I did put the idea in her head that this little girl is probably being rude because she’s hurting or suffering in her home life. Amy’s such a sweet girl, I imagine that knowing that will help.”

  Luke’s hands freeze. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “About what?”

  “You told her to bear up under the taunting with fortitude? You told her she should feel sorry for the bully?”

  I frown. “That’s not what I said. I told her I’d do whatever she wanted me to do, and I even suggested that Piper’s mother and I should have a chat. I also offered to talk to the school. But I also explained that Piper is likely acting the way she is because Amy’s life is better than hers. I gave her action options and insight—both can be helpful in making a decision about the way to proceed. What I don’t want is for her to feel powerless because we barreled in and took over, in spite of her concerns we’d do just that.”

  “She is powerless,” Luke says. “She’s seven. That’s why she has parents.”

  I spin around. “You think I handled it wrong.”

  “I think you’re new to this.”

  “At being a human? At dealing with spoiled little girls? Or at handling conflict? Which of these things are new to me?”

  “Whoa.” Luke throws his hands up like he’s defending himself from a tiger attack. “Easy. We’re on the same team, remember?”

  “Are we?”

  He laughs then. “I love you so much, you crazy mama bear. You know that, right?”

  “I might be a little hormonal,” I admit. “A tiny bit.”

  “You think?” He smiles. “I would never have let her bring that chicken home. I think it’s more stress than you can handle, and it’s a risk. She’s only going to get more attached and if the chicken lady—”

  “Lucy,” I say. “Her name is Lucy.”

  “Okay, but if Lucy, who knows a lot about chickens, thought she should be put down—”

  “It was so brave of Amy to want to save her, and I think doing something can be therapeutic. Besides, she didn’t think she should be put down, she just didn’t have the time to commit to trying to save her.”

  “And neither do you.” He eyes my stomach pointedly. “But that’s fine. We can give both the chicken and the brat a few days to see which direction they head, but you need to consider that she may need a little more parental intervention than fierce, independent little Mary had at her age. You may have decimated your foes with a single stroke of your broadsword, but Amy’s not exactly the same as you. And she doesn’t need to be. She has us.”

  She’s not the same as me. He doesn’t say this, but it hangs in the air. She’s not even related to me. In case I’d forgotten, that has been made very clear to me today. “I just hope you’re not implying that I’m handling this differently because she’s not my daughter. Because I would set this town on fire for her.”

  Luke wraps his arms around me and pulls me back toward his chest. “I know you would, and it may yet come to that. But for now, sheathe your horrifying claws. At least she opened up to you. That’s a good thing.”

  I toss and turn half the night wondering whether I gave the right advice, and wondering whether I made a mistake with that dumb chicken.

  When my alarm goes off at four-forty-five the next morning, I groan.

  “Should I get up too?” Luke asks blearily.

  I shove him back toward his pillow in answer. Why should we both suffer? I check on Hope before I leave for the day. She’s listless, not even lifting her head when I come into the garage and turn on the lights. “Hey there, little chicken. You may not know this, but the little girl who insisted on bringing you here, well. She’s had a rough life so far. Her mother passed away, and I think that may be part of the reason she needs you to survive this so badly. So I need you to really try, okay?”

>   Hope shows no understanding, possibly because she’s a chicken and can’t speak English. Or it could be that she’s in pain and needs more aspirin water. After all, if my back was in constant agony, I wouldn’t eat either. “Okay little girl. You’re not going to like this, but I need you to drink more of this water.”

  It takes almost twenty minutes, but I get the aspirin water into her. I text Luke so he knows when I dosed her, the dosage amount, and when to redose.

  Between the tax disaster Patrick made at work, general tax season chaos, this pregnancy, and Trudy’s wedding, I did not need to add rehabbing a chicken to my list. But Amy needed it, and that comes first. Always. I just hope it doesn’t die and break her heart. I’m worried Luke is right and that it was a mistake to let her bring this thing home at all.

  After losing a mother, it felt like she was brave to want to save this chicken. But if she fails. . .

  I shake off my concern and get in the car. Nothing to do about it right now. Which doesn’t keep me from fretting all the way to the office. I spend the next two hours trying to find a way out of the mess Patrick made. When I finally find it, I want to break something.

  I found a solution, but it’s still going to cost LitUp an extra two hundred thousand dollars over the next three years.

  For a mistake my firm made, which means we need to make the client whole for it.

  I check the clock and decide that ten-thirty in New York is late enough that Peter might be in the office already. I dial his number, dread forming in my belly. The baby kicks just then—startling a smile out of me. “Be patient little guy. We have a few more weeks yet.”

  “Excuse me?” Peters voice booms, even through the receiver.

  “Sorry,” I say. “This is Mary Wig—Manning.”

  “Good morning, Mary.”

  “This isn’t going to be a good call,” I say by way of warning.

  He shouldn’t be surprised since his son is the one who made this mess, but he’s still utterly silent while I walk him through what happened, including the erroneous election and the fiscal impact on our client. He didn’t become the lead partner by accident. He immediately understands the ramifications. “You want to offer the client compensation.”

  “I do. In addition to being the right thing, it’s also exactly what we’d do for any other client to whom we did this.”

  “But this is your husband’s company, isn’t it?” His voice is sharp.

  “It is.”

  “That’s a bit of a conflict of interest, I’d say.”

  “You didn’t say that when I brought them in as an account. Their business alone is equal to a tenth of the Atlanta client roster.” I can’t believe he’s insinuating that I’m trying to force the partnership to do something we wouldn’t do for any other client.

  “They weren’t about to cost my firm two hundred thousand dollars when you asked to bring them on.”

  “They could sue us, and you know it. They’d win lawyer’s costs, fees, and the same sum I’m requesting.”

  “Unless.”

  “Unless what?”

  “You could convince your husband not to sue.”

  “Your son was responsible for the entire mess,” I snap. “You and I both know it. So here’s the bottom line, Peter. Your son will change offices at a minimum, since you seem unable to fire him, and you’ll offer full restitution to LitUp. You have until Monday to let me know whether you’ll comply with these terms.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I’ll be severing my partnership with Frank & Meacham and starting my own firm. And I’ll be sure that every single partner knows exactly why.”

  “Your optional maternity leave starts next week. Are you positive you want to toss this grenade onto the pile right now?”

  I plan to work up until the day I have the baby, but I lined up an assistant manager for the office just in case the baby comes early. It’s the responsible move, especially right around tax time. “If you think I’m any less likely to go to war because I’m pregnant, then you don’t know me at all.” I hang up.

  But my hands are both trembling, and when Margaret comes in, I stand up. “Do you feel capable of taking over for me today?”

  Margaret’s steel grey eyes widen. “Will you be available by phone?”

  “Of course.”

  Some of the tension leaves her body. “Then yes, I think so. I thought you meant to be here until Monday.”

  “It’s nearly eleven am,” I say. “I arrived here at five-thirty. I think that counts as a half day at the very least, don’t you?”

  She doesn’t argue.

  Which is good. Normally the thought of firing someone wrecks me, but today? Today I’d like to do it. Not her, though. Margaret has been a true godsend. “I’ll finish reviewing all the reports from last week and send my approvals once I get home. I’ll also review those letter rulings Jonathan sent, and if you have any issues, definitely call me.”

  “Thanks,” she says. “That will be perfect.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  She bobs her head and I shuffle out of the office. If my stomach gets any bigger, I’ll need to roll out of here on a scooter. Actually, a scooter would probably be an epic fail. I’m so uncoordinated right now that I’d probably flip and kill myself.

  When I get home, I’ve got a text from Lucy. I HAVE A LITTLE TIME BEFORE I HAVE TO LEAVE FOR MY SHIFT. CAN I COME BY AND CHECK ON THE CHICKEN NOW?

  I text back. YES. AMY NAMED HER HOPE, FYI.

  I’M SO GLAD SHE’S STILL HANGING IN THERE.

  Hearing that Lucy is relieved that she didn’t die overnight isn’t very heartening. I cross the garage to the box, disappointed to see the food untouched and the chicken sitting completely still in a huddle in the corner, right where I left her. The poop behind her is runny and has soaked into the towel. I’m not sure whether that’s good or bad.

  Lucy knocks on the front door almost the second I walk inside the house. Andy barks and barks and barks. “Hush, girl.” I pat her head and open the door. “Thanks for coming by,” I say.

  “Of course,” Lucy says. “I’m happy to come by as often as you need.”

  “You might think it’s a little odd that, knowing nothing about chickens, we decided to try and save her.” I gesture for Lucy to come inside.

  She follows me to the garage. “Everyone reacts a little differently to things like this. Even people in the chicken world vary pretty widely. Some would put her down and some would wait and see if she dies.” She pauses in the doorway between the house and garage. “Very, very few are willing to take on hand feeding and whatnot. So if it’s too much, no one would blame you.” She looks down at my stomach. “Especially right now.”

  I sigh. “Since Amy’s at school, I can explain that her mother passed away a few years ago, and I think that may be why she was so desperate that we try and save Hope. It’s also the reason I was reticent to turn her down.”

  Lucy’s eyes widen. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry to hear that.” Her eyes soften. “And now I’m really concerned about Hope’s chances.” She gestures toward the side storage area. “Is she in the box?”

  I nod. “What do you think her odds are?”

  Lucy takes a moment to look Hope over and then shrugs. “It’s hard to know, but with a dog bite that looks as nasty as that one. . .”

  Not good, I take it.

  She lifts Hope from the box to inspect her, and then sprays on more Vetericyn.

  “Oh.” I can’t quite help exclaiming. “Look!” Beneath where Hope had been sitting, there’s a white egg.

  Lucy smiles. “Looks like she laid.”

  “That’s good news, right?” I lean over and pick it up.

  “Not really. It’s probably the last one she’ll lay for a very long time. It takes about 24 hours for their bodies to make an egg, so this would have been formed before the attack yesterday. Her body’s just purging it, so don’t read much into it.”

  Dang.

  “She’s
lethargic.” Lucy sets her back in the box, shifting the food so it’s in her easy line of motion. “Has she been eating on her own?”

  “She ate a few worms last night.”

  “Since then?”

  I shake my head. I’m terribly afraid Luke was right. I should have held firm and let Lucy deal with this poor sweet little girl.

  “If she doesn’t eat soon. . .”

  “Luke told me he picked up plain yogurt. It’s in the fridge, in case that helps.”

  “I feed mine yogurt pretty regularly, and it’s a treat. Maybe it’ll be the motivation she needs.”

  I bring a bowl out, but Hope doesn’t move. If anything, she looks more exhausted from her medical exam.

  “You’ve been dosing her with aspirin water?”

  I nod.

  “Well, at this point, we have two ways we can go. Chickens don’t have a strong drive to live, like humans or even dogs or cats might. If she’s not eating, it’s unlikely she will start on her own.”

  “What do you mean, on her own?” I gulp.

  “Well, my chicken that survived that raccoon attack. . .” Lucy sighs. “I force fed her for almost two months.”

  “Two months?” My hands go unconsciously to my belly. “I can’t do that.”

  Lucy’s lips compress, but not in judgment. She gets it. “I don’t have time either.”

  “Amy—”

  “She’s probably too young to do it herself. It’s pretty frustrating and requires a significant amount of coordination. Here, I can show you.” She crouches down. “To do it right, you need to hold her head like this.” She places her palm at the base of the back of Hope’s head. “You force her beak open with your free hand and hold it in place, then use a syringe to squirt yogurt or a spoon to put softened feed pellets in her mouth.”

  “But will she swallow?”

  “Luckily that’s a reflex. But you have to feed her about every two hours during the day, since their crops can only process so much at a time.”