Bird After Bird (12 page)

…day will come when I don’t wake up and think of you

… morning. I know it’s natural, I know it’s right, I know

…it doesn’t make it any easier. Sometimes I wonder how

much of my guilt over your death is mingled with guilt over

…odriguez’s. Can you forgive me? Can I forgive myself? Maybe

…the question, really.

I couldn’t refold the swan, but I carefully pressed the letter and tucked it into my jeans pocket, hoping it would survive the day.

Eventually the birders ran out of steam and we returned to the fairgrounds to release our charges. Not before I caught a glimpse of a lone truck, though. Something about it seemed familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“Rhoda, do you know whose green truck that is?” I gestured to an old restored pickup, almost blending in with the wild grasses of the marsh. No one was in it, but a black and white puppy ran out from under it, chasing the bus for several yards before the tall, lean figure of a man ran after it, leashing it and pulling it back.

Laurie.

“No clue. Cute guy,” she said, checking him out in her rearview.

“You coming to the bar for drinks with the rest of us tonight?” Rhoda said as the last of the tourists disembarked at the fairgrounds. The little boys from the back of the bus were calling out their thanks, one of them hugging my leg at the last minute as though he wasn’t ready to leave. “I owe you a brew, at least. I’m headed there as soon as I drop off the bus.”

“You know, Rhoda, I’d like to…but first I have to check on something.”

“You don’t mean the green truck guy, do ya?” She flashed a knowing smile. “Tell him to keep his dog on a leash. Great opening line.” She waggled her eyebrows.

“Can it, Groucho. I think I know the guy.”

“Oh, I hope you do, honey. He was cute. Go bring him back to the bar, and I’ll buy each of you a beer!”

Chapter Eighteen

Laurie

Before I could let Hap off-leash to train, I wanted to find my missing swan. I’d been writing the letters and leaving them folded as birds at the different parks, but when I got to Goose Pond, I realized one must have flown out the window.

“Damn it, Hap. I didn’t mean to come up here and litter the place.”

It was one of the weirdest parks I’d ever seen. No monkey bars, no picnic areas—just a lot of cornfields and the kind of shallow lakes that farmers give up and let go after years of losing crops to flood.

I was retracing my steps, and had finally reached a section of the park without many people around, so I let Hap off the leash.

The first thing he did was run right after a bus. Once it was gone I walked him on-lease again. No sign of the swan.

Finally, I showed him the treats in my pocket and let him off-leash again. He ran right up to a car. The first car I’d seen in a half an hour.

A little blue Beemer.

Wren’s car.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” she said.

“What, at lakes with questionable bathroom facilities?”

She nodded, chuckling. “Good to see your face, Laurie...” She hesitated for a moment, like she intended to say my last name, but forgot.

She looked amazing. The cool breeze off the marsh lazily wisped her long red curls. There was minimal parking at this place—maybe that’s why the DNR called it an “area” and not a park, I realized. She pulled to the side of the road and got out of her car.

“Wow,” I said, Hap biting at my pant leg for attention. I tossed the tennis ball for him and let him run. “You look amazing, Wren.”

She laughed. “You remember my name?”

I approached her, reaching for her nametag. “Well, even if I hadn’t, it’s right here.”

She smiled, removing her nametag. Her fingers grazed mine and closed over them for a moment. I felt a jolt, like the kick of my M-9, or the way I’d felt when I saw my first Duchamp. “I wasn’t sure since you didn’t call.” She blushed a little as she shoved her nametag into her pocket.

“So you’re a tour guide or something?”

“Just for the weekend. Special event to raise money for the marsh. It’s one of the most important migratory stops in the region.” She took a breath. “I have to admit, though, I’m a little disappointed. I felt pretty special when I thought you remembered my name from the Beer & Bait fiasco.”

I wanted to say “Oh, you
are
special,” but I bit my tongue. Too soon. Too corny.

“Your nose looks better,” I said.

She gave me a funny look. “My nose?”

“Yeah, it was kind of swollen before.” Crap. I’d was trying to be clever, and failing. I laughed nervously, hating the sound of my own insecurities. I’d driven all this way in the hopes of running into her, and now I was going to blow it?

It turned out it didn’t matter what I’d said, because my puppy blew it for me.

“Shit, your dog!” she yelled, pointing toward the water.

My puppy was swimming as hard as he could after a crane.

“Crap, um…should I go get him?” I hated the sound of my voice. Of course I should go get him. What an idiot.

“That’s a rare bird!” Wren yelled, and I could hear the desperation in her voice.

“Oh, no.” I ran to the edge of the marsh closest to where Hap was doggie-paddling after a pair of tall white birds. “Will they fly away?”

Wren wasn’t waiting to find out. I guess she must have been crazy about these birds, because she’d jumped into the pond with all her clothes on. Although it was late spring, in north-central Indiana it’s still too cold that time of year for a dip in the lake. The water seemed to only be about waist deep, but it had to be freezing. She was pissed and on the move toward my errant dog.

“You blasted mutt,” I said, removing my shoes and pants. I dropped them in a heap and pulled off my shirt, until I was down to my boxer briefs. Maybe I should have jumped in with all my clothes on, too, but I just couldn’t see wearing wet clothes all the way back home. I wanted to help, but I wasn’t crazy. “Wait!” I said, as I waded into the marsh. The bottoms of my feet hit slippery mud and what felt like layers of dead reeds, but I didn’t have time to think about it. Wren was going to think I was a total jerk with an a-hole of a dog. If he got to those cranes she’d never forgive me.

 “Hap!” I called. “Heel!” I moved as fast as I could toward the dog, but he couldn’t be bothered.

Wren climbed onto a small island in the center of the marsh. As I caught up to her, she pointed to the birds, who were whooping like all get out against the invading dog. I was about to give Hap a good “whooping,” myself. I finally reached his collar, and I think we both let out sighs of relief. The dog and me, that is. Wren was still pretty stressed.

“They’re not flying away because—Oh my God, they’re on the nest!” Wren’s tone was equal parts horror and amazement.

We stood for a few moments, and I took it in, holding the wriggling water-logged puppy against my chest. The reeds were the perfect camouflage for the nest, sticking up all around like a fence. In the middle, the birds had created a sort of floating island for their home.

After a moment, I could see Wren’s shoulder’s dropping back down to a more human position. Even soaking wet and covered in muddy water, she was beautiful. In a much quieter voice she asked, “Do you have any idea how precious these birds are?” She didn’t sound angry, just matter-of-fact. I could barely understand the question over my own relief.

“Sure,” I said, then regretted it, as her eyes danced with fire again. “I mean, no-no, I’m sorry. I love birds, but I don’t know much about waterfowl. My knowledge is more about songbirds, I guess.” Hap moaned, and she gave him an appraising look.

“I guess it’s no use scolding him,” she said. “He didn’t know what he was doing.”

I wasn’t sure if she meant the dog or me.

“Did he hurt anything?” I asked.

The large white cranes whooped at us again. The sound was so loud, I thought for sure Hap would have run away in fright, if I hadn’t been holding his collar.

“I don’t think so,” she said, peering through the reeds to the straw island the two birds were loudly defending. “We should get out of here, though, before they abandon the nest. If she’s hatching eggs, they’re worth more than their weight in gold. It’s a federal offense to disturb them, too.”

I was covered in grime and my dog was a trouble-maker who roused protected wildlife. I felt lower than dirt. To think, I’d driven all this way in hopes of running into Wren again—and now I was putting her favorite bird at risk.

After we waded our way out of the marsh, I put Hap in the back of the truck, holding his collar with one hand and fumbling with the other for a beach towel I kept in the cab for emergencies. I was about to pat him dry, when I noticed Wren shivering on the banks of the marsh.

I attached the leash he should have been wearing all along to his collar, and then fastened it to a hook in the bed of the truck. He did what wet dogs do—shaking all over, christening me with his muddy thanks.

I went back to the edge of the marsh and wrapped the towel around Wren’s shoulders. “Smart of you to strip before you dipped,” she said, shielding her eyes with her palm against the bright sun.

“You’re not mad?” I offered her a hand to help her up.

“I’m not thrilled, but I’ll get over it. Not the first time I’ve taken an unplanned dip after a rare bird. I’ve got a blanket in the back of my car and an extra pair of jeans. How’s the heater in that old pick up of yours?”

I reached down and got my clothes. “It’s not bad.”

Maybe I haven’t blown this after all,
I thought. I liked the way she was looking at me, but I still wanted to get my clothes on before I froze off anything important.

“Go start your truck,” she said. “I’ll meet you there in a minute.”

I was freezing and covered in mud, but I don’t think I’d ever smiled so hard. Not for a long time. By the time Wren opened the passenger side of the truck and climbed in, I was wound tighter than an eight-day clock.

She put her dry jeans on the back of the seat and pushed the blanket between us. “Do you mind if I dry my shirt on the dash? I’ll have to take it off.”

I covered my eyes. “I promise I won’t look. But won’t someone see you?”

“This place is going to be deserted the rest of the day.”

“Oh.”

“And who says I mind if you look?”

She pulled her top off, and for a moment I couldn’t do anything but take in her beautiful breasts, creamy white with tiny orange freckles scattered across them like the speckled shell of an egg. She wriggled out of her wet jeans and reached out for the dash of my truck, cranking the heat until hot air blew to her satisfaction. Her legs and feet were beautiful, her knees a study in fine sculpture. I felt myself fighting the desire to touch her, to stroke her, to feel every bit of her against my body.

“Aren’t you going to get dressed?” she said, pointing to the pile of dry clothing stacked on my dashboard.

“Um…yeah, I guess…unless you want to wear my shirt.” I handed it to her, and her hand closed over mine again. She pulled me toward her, into a kiss.

I felt her damp chest against my own, and a tide of emotions rise in me.

“Oh, Wren,” I moaned, pulling away for air before I did something I’d regret.

She laughed and slipped on the tee.

For a moment I didn’t know who I was. I wanted to push her back, cradling her body in my arms so I could climb on top of her, kiss her until she was as crazy as I was, until our two bodies formed a jumble of lust and longing. All I could think about was touching her, having her—but I wanted more. In that instant I knew it, and it took my breath away.

I put my jeans on, a little embarrassed to wriggle into them in front of her.

She reached for the dashboard heater switch. “Wow. Got hot in here real fast,” she whispered, shutting off the fan. For a moment we sat in silence, and I checked on Hap in the rearview to make sure he was okay. He napped in the sunny bed of the truck, oblivious.

She’d brought a bottle of water in her purse when she hopped in the truck, and retrieved it now from the floorboards. I missed her proximity already.

I didn’t know what to say. I was so far off the map, thrown and a little lost by the depth of emotion I felt for her.

She twisted the lid off and had a sip.

“I want to sketch you, Wren. Would you mind?”

Her eyes lit up, and she finished her sip before offering me the bottle. “Draw me like one of your French girls.”

I laughed, my voice sounding so raspy I hardly recognized it. I wasn’t sure I’d recognize my own reflection. I felt like a different man, or a better version of myself. I liked it.

“Seriously, though, maybe another time. You hungry? I know a great pizza place.” She wriggled into her dry jeans.

“No shirt, no shoes, no service,” I said, gesturing to my bare chest.

“Hrm. Want to do a little birding while my tee dries? Then I can give you yours back and we can get that pizza.” She reached up to feel her shirt on the dash, rearranging it a little.