Джерри Хилл: Gulf Breeze

Pat shrugged. "I don't need any money, Aunt Rachel. I've told you that."

"That's not the point and you know it. It won't hurt you to pad your accounts, in case you have an emergency of some sort."

"If I have an emergency, then I'll ask you for money."

"You are so stubborn. I sometimes wonder if you're from this family at all. Money is and always will be the most important factor in the Ryan family. Your great-grandparents are probably rolling over in their graves this very moment."

Pat laughed. "I'm sure they've been rolling for awhile and it's not because of money."

Aunt Rachel laughed too. "Yes, you're probably right. I'm sure they've turned several times over my eight marriages alone. Your being gay, however, was the last straw."

Pat managed only a ghost of a smile.

Aunt Rachel reached out and grabbed her arm.

"I'm sorry, Pat. Fuck them. We've got all we need right here."

At that, Pat laughed. It was a rare occasion that Aunt Rachel used the F-word. And usually, it was during a discussion about the family.

Alice interrupted them with a Tom Collins and a fresh beer for Pat. They smiled at each other and touched glasses before drinking.

"God, I love days like this," her aunt said. "Beautiful spring weather, sitting out here enjoying the day with you." She leaned closed and whispered, "You are my very favorite person in the world, you know that."

"You keep telling me that, although I don't know why," Pat said.

"Your parents are total fools. They have no idea the wonderful person you are. Or how talented you are. Or that you've grown into such a beautiful woman. I pity them. They chose to see only one thing about you and they couldn't live with that one thing. Well, too bad for them. I never desired children, Pat, I've told you that before. But if I had ever had them, I would have wanted a daughter, just like you."

Pat moved her hand across the table and grasped her aunt's wrinkled fingers in hers. She gave a slight squeeze then pulled away.

"Enough of that," Aunt Rachel said as she cleared her throat. "I'm too damn old for tears in the middle of the day. Now, I'm wondering if I should get you drunk first."

"Before what?" Pat asked warily.

"I have a rather large favor to ask you."

"Ask," she said. "We'll decide about drinking later."

Her aunt drew up her arms and rested her elbows on the table before speaking.

"Well, since you're a local, I'm sure you know about the Habitats For Nature project."

"What?"

"Habitats For Nature," her aunt repeated slowly.

At Pat's blank stare, Aunt Rachel slammed on hand on the table.

"Good God, woman, you make a living taking pictures of wildlife! Don't you keep up?"

"No. I go out, shoot, then I leave." At her aunt's piercing stare, Pat raised her eyebrows. "What?"

"You go out. What if there was no place to go out to? What if there weren't these wonderful projects that are trying to preserve nature? Then where would you take your pictures?"

Pat rubbed the cold beer bottle against her forehead, desperately trying to figure out where this was heading.

"Habitat For Nature," her aunt repeated slowly. "They bought the old Thompson Ranch."

"Oh, yeah," Pat said, finally remembering. "Up the coast from Aransas Wildlife Refuge?"

"Yes. Only the government won't have a hand in this. They have wonderful ideas, Pat. They are going to bring the marshes and wetlands back to their natural state. Can you imagine the wildlife?"

Pat stared at her, wondering when her aunt had turned into an environmentalist. For that matter, when had she started birdwatching?

"And your favor is?" Pat asked hesitantly.

"Well, I have become a contributor. A major contributor," she added as Pat stared at her. "In fact, I've even offered some input."

"Uh-huh?"

"Well, I was hoping you would volunteer your talents to them."

"What?" Pat demanded.

"They need some promotional material and they'll need photos for the Visitor's Center. Naturally, I thought of you. I told them I was certain you'd be thrilled to donate some time to this wonderful project."

"Are you out of your mind?" Pat demanded. "People pay money for my photos. That's how I make a living. That's why I don't have to ask you for money. Because I charge people for my photographs," she said, her voice rising slightly. "And, I don't have time. I've got six goddamned more nests to find and today was wasted because old Mrs. Davenport put it on the hotline, for Christ's sake!"

"Will you calm down?"

"You volunteered me already, didn't you? They think I've already agreed to this, don't they?"
"I may have said you'd be thrilled to do this. I mean, you do make your living out there in nature."

"Aunt Rachel, I just take pictures. I'm not really active in these things, you know? All those environmental rights people kinda make me nervous. They're strange."

"Oh, pooh," she said. "Dr. Cambridge is one of the nicest people I've ever met. She's devoted her life to preserving nature. She's got such a passion for it, I just couldn't resist. And, because funds are very limited, they don't really have the budget to hire a photographer. So, naturally, I thought of you."

"Naturally," Pat murmured. She leaned back in her chair and lifted her hair off of the back of her neck, letting the breeze cool her skin. And old Dr. Cambridge was probably as flighty as old Mrs. Davenport.

"I've arranged for you to meet Dr. Cambridge first thing Monday morning, on site. She'll show you around and give you some ideas on what they're looking for. Just a few nice shots for promotional material, posters, brochures, things like that. Something to send out to potential donors. And, of course, they'll need some really nice shots to display in the Visitor's Center."

Pat stared at her aunt, her eyes narrowing. "So, you've got it all arranged, do you? Just a few shots? Sure. It's not like I've got a goddamned deadline for this magazine! It's not like I've got six more nests to find!" she finished, her voice rising with each word.

But her aunt simply smiled and patted her hand.

"I knew I could count on you. And, Mrs. Davenport has agreed to show you some nests if you'll agree to show her the Curlews."

"What?" Pat demanded.

"Yes. In fact, she said there are Plovers nesting in her own yard."

Pat scowled. What the hell did Plovers look like again? Were they considered shorebirds? Damnation!

"Will you keep quiet?" Pat said for the fourth time.

"They're over there."

"I see the goddamn nest," Pat growled. Not only did she have to show Mrs. Davenport the Curlews, she had to suffer her presence at each and every nest that the old woman had shown her. She tried to ignore her, moving closer for another shot. Ruddy Turnstone. A drab brown bird until they flew, then beautiful wing patterns unfolded and even Pat had to admit that they were pretty. But she was really only taking shots now to appease Mrs. Davenport. She would come out before dawn and photograph the nests early, just at feeding time. And, she would come out alone.

"I think that's enough," Pat said.

"You didn't get very close."

Pat tapped her 500 mm lens. "Close enough."

"Do you want to see another?"

Mrs. Davenport had shown her seven nests, two on her own property. The thought of spending any more time with the old woman hovering over her shoulder did not appeal to Pat. Not that she wasn't already in her debt, but the entire Sunday was nearly gone.

"I really appreciate you showing me the nests, but I've got enough for now. I think I'll just head back to the island and start developing these."

They crept back along the marsh quietly and Pat tossed her camera bag in the back of the Jeep. She laughed quietly as Mrs. Davenport tied a scarf around her hat. It had blown off earlier in the opened Jeep and they had to turn around to retrieve it after she'd insisted to Pat that it was her lucky birding hat.