In Fallout, Katharine Crawford Robey sweeps us to the Dry Tortugas, where Alicia, fresh from a broken engagement, is caught between a charming bird guide and the pull of escape. Amid jewel-colored migratory birds and turquoise seas, she must decide whether to linger or leave before dawn.
“No binoculars? The guide, a tall, handsome thirty-something Aussie asked Alicia.
“I came to get away." She’d flung her engagement ring at her finace and leapt on board the first ship bound for sea. Now, sixty seasick miles later, she was at Fort Jefferson in the Dry Tortugas. The boat gently rocked at the small pier behind her.
Larger birds than Alicia had known existed floated on the sea breeze. They gazed down at her benignly.
But her heart was palpitating, fingers cold.
The destination wedding was tomorrow. Breakfast service had been good. Her fiancé hadn’t even tipped. It wasn’t right!
Birdwatchers, interesting men, swept her over the moat, into the courtyard. The guide was at Alicia’s shoulder. “It’s a fallout!" he exclaimed. Afternoon light played over his turquoise shirt. He reminded her of the changing sea.
“A what?" she asked him.
“Fallout. Wind and rain forced them to fall out of the sky." He swept his arm gracefully back and forth. “Look!"
Birds of every size and color clung to bushes, hugged branches. Blue, yellow, indigo, red. The tiny island was covered with birds, and men.
“They just flew five hundred miles over the Gulf. They’re exhausted." The guide peered at her. “You look flushed. That straw hat’s not doing much good."
They entered a lush and shady grove. Alicia splashed cool water drops on her hot face from a small three-tiered brick fountain, fanned herself with her hat. Her fiancé would never take her to an enchanting isle like this. He’d said Key West was exotic! She pictured his rigid back, filing into the Audubon House in a starched shirt while everyone else wore a t-shirt or less.
“Only fresh water for miles and miles." The guide remarked. He smiled at her, then up through lacy leaves to the clear blue sky. “Stars will be out to guide the birds north tonight. Poof! Tomorrow they’ll be gone." He patted a bench. “Sit here with me and enjoy the show.
Alicia sat. The guide’s warm side touched hers.
A black and white scissor-tailed bird flew to the fountain. It balanced on the rim, and drank, then tail floating, glided away. A flash of her fiancé all dressed up in tails came to her. He’d taken her to an opera in their town. He was carrying two flutes of champagne, resolutely, swiftly, sailing downstairs, eyes sparkling at her.
The guide whispered. “You’re smiling. Ah, the Swallow-tailed Kite."
“Elegant."
A scarlet colored bird with black wings appeared, sipped, raised its throat and drank--she lifted her own throat. The bird plunged in and raised its black wings, about to bathe. “Raise your arms," her fiancé had said to her, on his knees beside the tub. “I’ll wash you there."
“The Scarlet Tanager," Alan announced.
“Marvelous," she replied. Two little yellow birds fluttered in and splashed up water. “Charming. But so quiet ... can’t one maybe hum?"
“When they get home to nest, he’ll sing!" Alan said triumphantly. His voice soared.
“Tomorrow we visit a wild and beautiful Key. Peregrine Flacons, turquoise water, sand even whiter than this."
“Falcons!" She pictured those dashing birds. “Tomorrow?"
“We don’t return to Key West for two whole mornings, Alicia. Talk about getting away!" His hand brushed her knee.
That very morning, just as she’d landed in Alan’s boat, her fiancé had shouted, “Stick with me!" She rubbed her naked ring finger. Blood rushed to her cheeks. Pressure throbbed in her head.
Out of the shadows, a man in khaki pants appeared. “Hydrofoil for Key West-five minutes."
Alicia rose unsteadily to her feet, glanced back at Alan and the birds, then dashed to the pier and onto the strange-looking boat.
...