A fanfare of barking broke out and Vin released Nicky to scout the upstream side of the meadow, where Randy stood looking intently at the river. Nicky rolled her eyes.
“What’s he barking at now?”
“I don’t see anything,” Vin said, hopefully. “He’s just a little high-strung today.”
Nicky shaded her eyes from the dissolving sun and pointed to a spot a stone’s throw offshore. A small triangular face was pushing downriver in their direction. It had slicked-back fur and rounded ears above dark eyes and a whiskered nose. Its upper back barely broke the surface. “It’s a beaver!”, she said, leaning forward for a better view.
“Cute little guy,” Vin said, chewing a hunk of bread. “Nature’s engineer.”
The beaver’s head made a tiny V-shaped wake as it was driven across the water by a submerged, undulating tail. As they watched, its head and upper back dove beneath the surface. A flat tail rose from the water and smacked down with a thwack that echoed against the nearby trees. The tail sank and the beaver disappeared before emerging further offshore, its nose plowing upriver now. The beaver curved shoreward and curled its head underwater again. Its tail flexed up and fell immediately with another echoing thwack. The beaver resurfaced to complete the top portion of a figure eight, then dove again. While finishing their apples and bread, they watched the beaver trace three full figure eights and slap the water a dozen times before swimming away downstream.
“I love it when we get to see animals play in the wild,” Vin said. “When you consider what they have to do on a daily basis just to survive, it’s almost like an affirmation.”
Nicky looked at him quizzically, her blue eyes darkening a shade. “That’s not an affirmation,” she said softly. “It’s a warning.”
***
Sunset was imminent when Nicky pulled into the driveway on Ridge Line Court. Vin opened the back hatch for Randy, who hopped down and shook off a spray of canal water.
“If you clean him off, I’ll set us up for a glass of wine on the back deck,” Nicky said.
Vin grabbed an old towel from the back of the car and took Randy around to the backyard to hose him down. “Feels good, doesn’t it buddy?” He toweled the dog and circled to the unlocked sliding glass door on the lower level of the house.
Crossing through his office, he felt momentarily depressed as he passed the books and papers on his desk. It was a consulting project from his old life and it already felt alien. He shuffled up the stairs and through the living room to the deck. Nicky was sitting in one of the chairs, and an unopened bottle stood on the patio table next to two champagne glasses and a plate holding crackers and red grapes.
“Champagne?” he said, cocking an eyebrow and approaching the table. “Mais oui.”
“Well it is Saturday,” Nicky said. “And tomorrow is your birthday…”
“Does that mean you actually get the day off? You worked the last two Sundays.”
“Yeah, I got stuck with Mondays off instead. It sucks, but that’s how seniority works. Or I guess for me that would be juniority. But Abby said she thought Carlos could cover for me tomorrow, so as of now I’m just on call.”
Vin twisted the cork out with a flourish, then filled the glasses and raised his for a toast. “To our new life in Maryland. And our first house together, even if it’s just a rental.”
“To an eventful next year,” Nicky said, as they clinked glasses and sipped. She tipped her glass toward Vin and added, “and to the next stage of your career.”
He sighed, propping his elbow on the arm of his chair and bracing his chin with his fingers as he looked at Nicky. “I’m thinking I could be a dog trainer.”
She took the bait, as he knew she would; deadpan humor was one of Nicky’s endearing traits. “You’ve already got the ‘how-to-break-up-a-dog-fight’ thing down. How much more could there be to learn?” He nodded and they discussed the pluses and minuses of a business catering to the idiosyncrasies of dog owners. Nicky suggested that he might not be suited to chaperoning lapdogs wearing argyle sweaters, so they agreed that dog taxidermy might be a more promising career. If she could secure a supply of deceased canines from the clinic, maybe Vin could build some inventory and put together a catalog.
“I need to give this some serious thought,” he said, refilling their glasses.
“While you’re doing that, you can assemble one of your birthday presents,” Nicky said, reaching under the table and pulling a gift bag toward the base of her chair. She peered inside and extracted a bone-shaped piece of smooth wood, which she placed in the center of the table.
“Is that… driftwood?” He walked around the table to share her perspective. The stick was a bit asymmetrical, with a knob at one end, but so smooth it could have been sanded.
“Yep. I think that piece is part of the N,” she said, reaching back into the bag. “So this must be part of the V.” She pulled out a slightly larger stick and laid it at an angle to the left of the first. “And here’s the other half of the V.” She withdrew a femur-sized stick and set it symmetrically to form a V. She used two more driftwood sticks to form a wobbly N to the right of the V. Fishing once more into the bag, she found two finger-sized sticks, which she placed on top of each other at right angles in the center.
“V plus N,” Vin said. “I love it.”
“It’s a mobile. I found a big pile of sticks in a crevice between two rocks on the Billy Goat Trail next to the river. For some reason I couldn’t take my eyes off them. I wanted to bring a few pieces home, but I couldn’t think of anything to do with them. Then I remembered your birthday.”
“It’s brilliant,” he said. “We can hang it in the living room.”
“I was thinking the basement.”
“Hey wait,” he said, squinting at Nicky. “Is this a symbolic gift?”
“What do you mean?”
“Driftwood.”
“Well… you are a bit adrift. I mean both of us... or in transition anyway. Getting married, me starting a new job and you finding one, considering the baby thing.” She stood up, put her arms around his waist, and kissed him lightly on the lips. “But first things first – there’s more champagne tonight. And tomorrow’s your birthday, so that means more presents, plus dinner and cake at the Tuckermans.”
Vin set his glass on the table, then bent down quickly and put an arm behind Nicky’s thighs. He pulled her legs off the ground, catching her back with his other arm.
“Cake tomorrow?” he said with mock incredulity as he marched toward the door. “I want my dessert now!”
“I think reading driftwood sticks has turned you into a caveman.”
“Caveman no read,” he grunted. “Cave too dark. Dark cave good for having sex with cavewoman.” He carried her into the master bedroom and dropped her face-up on the bed, then knelt astride her and pinned her wrists to the mattress.
“Well you may be Conan the Barbarian,” Nicky said, thrusting her lower half sideways to free a leg, “but I’m Houdini.” She yanked an arm loose and flipped to her knees, parallel to Vin. He kept one of her hands pinned and tried to repin the other while she tried to push his shoulder away.
“Houdini was a guy.”
“OK,” she said, catching her breath. “I’m Mata Hari.” She threaded a leg between his knees and pushed his shoulder hard. He flipped onto his back and she hopped on his waist and held his wrists to the bed, grinning and dangling her hair toward his face.
“Well you may be Hari,” he said, “but I’m a hairy beaver!” He capsized her and she rolled onto her hands to prevent him from pinning them again. He lowered his chest onto her back and thwacked the mattress with his open palm. She made a muffled squeal in surprise. “I’m a raging wild beaver!”, he said, pounding his palm into the mattress again, closer to her thigh. “I’m a wild, drifting beaver,” this time smacking her butt cheek with his palm as Nicky yelped. “And I am going to thwack you with my tail!”