Bird After Bird (10 page)

After the MAM save, he owed me more than ever.

If we could contain our arrangement to the office, it wouldn’t be so bad, but Troy pressured me a lot to take our relationship “to the next level.”

Troy was definitely one of those “next level” guys. “What do you think of this tie?” he’d asked one morning, on the rare occasion that I stayed the night at his place. “Does it say ‘next level’ to you?”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. It was an exceptionally boring tie, one of a thousand like it you could pick up in the menswear department of any luxury boutique on the Magnificent Mile. It was expensive, but sometimes I felt like no matter how much money you threw at Troy, it wouldn’t be enough to class him up on the inside.

In the absence of saying something kind or helpful, I simply told him what he wanted to hear. “It’s a very ‘next level’ tie, Troy. And you’re going to knock ‘em dead today.”

He’d reached to pull me close, kissing me and cupping my rear with his hands. Troy wasn’t my true love, but he was an adequate boyfriend sometimes. That particular day, I was just ready to leave. I had to fake a smile when he said “You knocked
me
dead last night, baby.”

Now he was in my office, interrupting the break I was taking to revisit my Dad, and investigate these paper birds. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Parker?”

“Can’t a fella just stop in to see what his girl’s up to?”

I closed the book with a snap, the crane letter inside it, and put it away inside my bag.

“Just looking over my notes for the next presentation.”

He leaned forward in his chair, resting both his hands on my desk, oblivious to the papers he was crushing and disheveling. “Those market valuations lined up exactly with what the client wanted to see. If we can optimize their profits to fit the projections for the fourth quarter, I think they’ll be sold on a five year consulting contract. I really think we can take these clients to the next level, Birdy.”

“Don’t call me that,” I said, before I realized how sharply I’d spoken.

Troy leaned back, putting his arms behind his head. “What’s your deal lately? That time of the month?”

“Maybe,” I said, standing and switching my computer off for the day. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll just cancel tonight. Stay home and bone up on my notes.”

He rose and met me at the side of my desk. I’d been hoping to slip past him before he could touch me. “You sure you don’t want to
bone up
at my place?”

I sighed. “Later, Tee-Roy,” I said, as I pushed past him. As I passed my secretary, Darcy, I mouthed that she should text me. In the elevator, I asked her to keep an eye on Troy.

Just in case you see him doing anything…Troyish.

On the sidewalk, my phone beeped.

-He’s looking through the papers on your desk right now.-

I texted Darcy my thanks and then rang Troy.

“Babe!” he said, his surprise transparent.

“Something I can help you find in my office, Troy?”

His next words were muffled, like he held the phone to his chest. I thought I heard the words “job” and “fired.”

“Did you just threaten my secretary?”

“Why do you feel the need to spy on me, Wren?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Why are you in my office, Troy? Do I need to come back up there and help you sort things out?”

“Look, I’ve got a meeting. We’ll talk about this tomorrow, okay?”

He hung up, which was just as well. My work was office property and I had nothing to hide, but I still didn’t like him going through my things. It felt invasive.

“Yick,” I said aloud, and the man next to me at the train station glared, before taking a step to his right.

When I managed to snag a seat on the train, I read the letters from inside the paper birds again. Someone named Birdy had met a girl. I assumed it was a man. He drew a picture of a wren and folded it into a crane, and left it in my dad’s old birding spot. I knew he hadn’t left it for me, but the wren combined with the coincidence of his name’s similarity to my own…it just
felt
like the letters were left for me. I had the sensation of reading someone’s private mail—no, the letters felt more like diary entries.

I’d found two bird letters. Was it just a coincidence? Could it be?

As the train pulled up to my stop, I slipped them inside the bird book next to Dad’s final letter to me. My eyes stopped on one line before I had to shut the book and hop off board.

All I'm saying is when you get a hunch, girl, follow it.

Chapter Sixteen

Laurie

“Well, if you thought I was going to be hurt, I have to say, Laurie—I’m a little disappointed. Don’t you know I’m happy for you?”

“Nothing to be happy about yet, Donna—it’s not like I’m dating the girl.”

She smiled. “Maybe not, but you’re moving on, Laurie, and as hard as it’s been, I know this is a good thing. You’re a good looking kid, healthy and normal in every way, even if you always have been more sensitive than most.”

“Thanks, I guess.” I’d been so nervous about telling her, and now it all seemed so silly.

Donna grasped my hands in hers and tilted her chin to look up into my eyes. “Sweetheart, I love you just the way you are. I always have, and I always will. I want you to be happy, son. I’m glad you met somebody new. Sylvia would have wanted that—you know that, right?”

Hap danced around my feet, biting my shoelaces and tearing at my pants leg with his sharp little teeth.

“You’re too kind to me, Donna.”

She captured me in a bear hug and patted my back. “Nonsense, son. You’re easy to be kind to. I just hate seeing you act like a lost puppy, you know that? Like a bird with a broken wing. Nothing would please me more than to see you
really
smile.”

 Talking to Donna had been therapeutic. I hadn’t intended on telling her about the girl from out of town—Wren—but she asked how training Hap was going, and I told her about our plans to visit Goose Pond Fish & Wildlife Area to do more scent training, see how the pup shaped up. I guess I got carried away because I ended up telling her that I hoped I’d see Wren there. That I thought she’d worked the event in the past.

I’d freaked out as soon as I’d let it slip, and now as I made the drive to Linton, I had plenty of time to think about it. What should have been an hour and a half drive was turning into a three-hour sojourn behind tractor after tractor.

“We picked the wrong day to road trip on the back roads, Hap.” He was growing fast and already showing a lot of the same traits as Boomer—smart, but willful. I hadn’t done much research into Goose Pond, but I knew it was a public park, so I expected there would be some trails for us to practice on when we got there. Lots of new smells.

He loved to ride in the passenger seat of my truck and I rolled the window down enough to let him take in the fresh air.

It was easy talking to Hap. Easier than talking to Sylvia’s mom had been, but I was glad I’d done it. I never regretted sharing my feelings with Donna.

What I regretted was telling
my
mom what I was going through. She’d pretty much ordered me to a family dinner a few days prior, complaining about how she never saw me. When I showed up with a puppy that needed to be let out of the house every hour on the hour, she threatened me.

“If that thing goes on my carpet, you’re out of the will, Laurence!”

My older sister Louisa rolled her eyes and walked outside with me. “Cute dog,” she said. “What are you calling him?”

“Boomer 2, obviously!” our baby sister Jo had interjected, joining us. Of the three of us, Jo got along best with Mom, and she took after her in all the worst ways—but today she was at least more interested in the puppy than in fighting.

I started to correct her, but Louisa beat me to it. “Obviously not, Jo. How insensitive can you get? You can’t just replace a dog with another one.”

Jo smirked. If she followed the concept, I wasn’t sure, but she had the good grace to keep quiet for the moment. I hated it when my baby sister opened her mouth to talk and our mother’s voice poured out.

“I named him ‘Hap,’ short for ‘Happy,” I said. “Is that lame?”

Louisa dropped to her knees to pet Hap, speaking to him in that voice dog lovers reserve for special pets. “Of course it is! It’s totally lame! But it does fit! Oh, yes it does! Who’s a happy pup?”

He got so excited, we had to throw the tennis ball for him for quite awhile. I don’t know how long we were out there, but it was long enough for Jo to get bored and go away.

“So, did Mom lecture you about not coming around?” Louisa asked. I could tell from her tone of voice she’d gotten “the talk” as well. L was a free spirit. She loved to do her own thing and the second she’d turned eighteen, she avoided Mom as much as possible in favor of librarian college and the perpetually sky high stack of books next to her bed.

I nodded. “Seems like she’s in a good mood today, though.”

It was L’s turn to nod. “I already got my monthly dose of Mom’s wisdom. Maybe you should go in and get yours over with before dinner, otherwise we’ll all have to listen to it through the meal.”

“Good point,” I said. “Mind keeping an eye on Hap for me?”

She did that silly doggie talk to Hap again. “Does Aunt Louisa mind? Oh, no she doesn’t. Oh, no she does not!”

Mom was beating something with a whisk and speaking in a volume meant to be heard upstairs and down. I was sure she was expounding on her interpretation of life for Jo’s benefit, but J seemed to have snuck downstairs to watch TV with Dad.

Mom turned and jumped when she saw me. “Laurie!” she said. “I was just talking about you!”

“Anything I want to hear?” I washed my hands at the kitchen sink and dried them on her spotless kitchen towels. I could feel her cringing from across the room. I’d doubtlessly gotten dog germs on them, or possibly worse, “Mechanic’s grease!” She often spoke about engine oil like it was raw Ebola virus.

“Only that life goes on, and you’d be a fool not to move on sooner than later. Jo heard through the grapevine you met a girl. If it’s that Wren Riley, then I say well done. We used to know her parents, a million years ago. I think she was friends with Louisa in high school, wasn’t she? Or maybe Louisa went to a party at the Riley’s house once? I’m not sure—Girl Scouts! That was it! I remember now. Her mother died and her father took her to scouts. Only father who came to the den meetings—think he was a teacher. She did the most beautiful project one year for the flying up ceremony. Or maybe they called it bridging up. I don’t know, anyway—it was something to do with birds, I think.”

It was tempting to pump Mom for information, but I’d learned long ago it was better to just let her talk. Besides, if she told me more about Wren I might let it color my opinion, and if I did see the girl again, the last thing I wanted to hear in my mind was my
mother’s
take.

Not that I’d even see her again, though. I mean, I hoped. The truth was, I hadn’t actually worked up the nerve to text her yet. We’d had a great night on the porch, but now that she was gone and I was back into the routine, I couldn’t help but wonder what a girl in Chicago would see in a small town guy like me.

I tried not to hope
too
much.

Mom was rattling on, something about life lessons now, as she poured batter into a pan and set the timer on the stove. “Life never gives us more than we can handle, Laurie. You’ll learn that’s true someday.”

Oh, I was going to break my rule now. I couldn’t help myself. I knew I would regret it, but that adage went right through me.

"But that's not exactly true, is it, Mom?"

She looked at me quizzically. "Whatever could you mean by that Laurence? Of course it's true." She looked away quickly and had a sip of a drink she’d left on the counter next to the stove. It had a slice of lime in the top and the rim was salted. A margarita. No wonder she was so talky today.

I thought about telling her that losing Sylvia was something I couldn't handle, but we’d been there before and it hadn’t ended well. Sometimes it felt like my mother hated who I was. Where Donna loved me for being me, my own mother saw my feelings as a sign of weakness. At least Dad left me alone.

I should have kept my mouth closed and just gone to see what Dad was up to, but I heard the words leave my mouth before I realized what I was saying.

"What about Rodriguez?" I said.

"Rodriguez, Rodriguez, you mean the man who mows our lawn?”

She knew exactly who I meant, and I shot her a look that said as much.

“Oh! You mean your friend from the military, don’t you?" She ran her finger around the rim of her glass, collecting the salt and then surprising me by using it roughly against her teeth, like toothpaste. How drunk was she?

"Yes, Mom. He was my friend. And it was my fault—"

She sat her glass down and put her hands on her hips, interrupting me. I don’t know why I thought she’d ever allow me to finish a sentence. "It was a tragedy, yes, but you’ve handled it, and you’ll keep handling it—like a man," she said. "You've handled worse."