Bird After Bird (17 page)

-Sick again?-

It was Troy.

I wasn’t sick yesterday.

That wasn’t entirely true—I did faint. But he didn’t need to know that.

Apartment flooded. Have to do some work here at home.

-The “plumber” still there?-

Oooooh, he was jealous. That couldn’t possibly be good for my career. No way was I going to confirm any suspicions he had about my time off.

I wanted to dig at him, tell him that I’d been up all night, and I started to type “Too tired from being wet and soaked for hours,” but I erased it. The last thing I needed was a jealous frenemy stalking around the office while I was out. I’d been hard on Martin and although I couldn’t say I regretted it, I didn’t exactly like the reputation that had followed.

Apartment’s trashed, gotta go. Email if you need me—FOR WORK.

I powered the phone off and this time I really did nap. When I woke, I saw that Laurie had called and texted, but it was the early hours of the morning and I didn’t want to wake him. I switched on my bedside table lamp and flipped through Dad’s bird book, instead.

There was one layout where he’d pressed an index card into photo corners. It was a hand-written recipe for lasagna. I pulled it out, gently, taking care not to tear the corners from the page. He’d written a note on the back of it, just as I suspected. The ink was fresher, a different shade altogether from the pen on the front.

This recipe doesn’t have much to do with birds, but I’m putting it here because I know you aren’t much of a cook and if I leave it pressed into the Betty Crocker cookbook, you’ll probably chuck it when you sell the house.

He was right, as always.

Anyway, Wren, I made you this lasagna that night we didn’t find the Snowy Owl. Remember that?

I did. We’d searched all day at Indiana Dunes for a Snowy Owl that was supposed to have been hanging out somewhere on the shore of Lake Michigan. It had been a long drive—almost as long as Laurie had driven yesterday—and there’d been no pay off. We’d driven back to Birdseye dejected, and I’d been sullen, feeling like a failure.

When we got home, Dad had popped a lasagna into the oven. I was so hungry I was watching it bubble and brown through the dimly-lit window of the oven. Dad had made breadsticks and salad, too. We had Neapolitan ice cream for desert. Funny how a little note could bring back all those details.

We feasted that night, didn’t we? I’d planned that dinner ahead of time as a reward for conquering champions. We were supposed to cross off a bird from our life list and return home in glory.

Well, we had the glory, anyway. You don’t just scrap a perfectly good lasagna because things don’t go as you planned. Remember that, Wren.

And layers. Something about layers. I’m sure there’s something meaningful in layering things on, but I’m going to stick to birds for a bit, I guess.

The print got very tiny on the bottom of the card, where Dad had run out of room to write.

I love you, my precious girl. I love you so very much. Dad.

Chapter Thirty

Laurie

That first trip to Chicago led to another, and another. We visited the museum, strolled around Navy Pier, held hands, and gobbled more pizza than should be allowed by law.

At night I held her in my arms, my skin thirsting for hers in a way I’d never known. I knew she wanted me, and it was becoming more and more impossible to keep from tearing her clothes off and taking it there.

“You goin’ back up to Chi-town for another set of blue balls?” Billy asked me one Monday morning at work.

“Mind your damn business,” I said.

“Oooooh, touchy-touchy,” he said, before handing me the wrench I needed. “Sounds to me like somebody needs to get
laid
.”

I took the wrench and had half a mind to smash him in the face with it. Instead, I took a deep breath, and turned to face my friend, his leering expression irritating me more than I expected. Quietly, so the other guys in the shop wouldn’t hear, I said “Look, Billy. I don’t know what this is yet with Wren, but I know it’s special. I don’t want to ruin it.”

“I understand,” he said, nodding, a look of mock solemnity on his face. His eyes could barely contain the mirth as he whispered, “You’re afraid she’ll find out you have a small dick, ain’t ya?”

I laughed, but looked back up at the engine. The car on the lift needed to be finished by lunchtime and I didn’t have time to screw around with Billy’s nosy questions.

“You proposed to Lynette yet?” I asked.

“Thinking about it!” he chirped.

“For real, man?”

“For realsies, dude. She’s pretty great.”

I thought about turning the tables on him, blurting out “Great tits, anyway, right?” but thought better of it. Billy couldn’t help being rude, crude, and disgusting. It was in his DNA and he had no intention of ever changing. That didn’t mean I needed to stoop to his level.

My phone bleeped in my pocket, and I hoped it would be Wren. When we broke for lunch, I checked.

-Got an offer on my dad’s house. Coming to town for the weekend. See you Friday?-

I could barely contain my excitement. The rest of the day went by in a blur. Just four more days until Wren came to town. I’d have to clean up the house and go to the grocery store. The past few weeks, I’d spent all my weekends running up to Chicago, but now I got to really show her what life on my turf was like.

“What are you so smiley about?” Billy asked, his mouth full of burger as we woofed down lunch from the joint across the street.

“Wren’s coming to town this weekend.”

“Awesome! Bring her by the Beer & Bait and let her hear our band.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said. Normally I never missed one of Billy’s shows. He and the boys were my compadres. “Last time she stopped in there, you almost puked on her.”

When my phone bleeped again that night I was just getting out of the shower.

-I hear someone important is coming to town this weekend.-

I had to stare at the text for a long time. I’d expected it to be from Wren and I wasn’t sure what I was reading. Then I saw the name at the top of the screen. Jo. My little sister. Mom, Junior.

I ignored the text and got dressed. In a couple of hours I’d be settling down to video chat with Wren for our nightly virtual snuggle session, and in the meantime there were things I needed to get started around the house.

The phone bleeped while I dusted.

-I know you read my text.-

The phone bleeped while I did the dishes.

-Grow up, Laurie. We need to meet her sometime.-

The phone bleeped while I vacuumed.

-If you don’t bring her home for Dad’s birthday, I’m telling Mom.-

“Shit.” I’d totally forgotten it was Dad’s birthday that weekend.

Fine. Saturday. But not for dinner—we’ll just stop by in the afternoon and say hello. Good enough?

-We’ll see.-

Who told you she was coming?

-Who you think? Big mouth Billy.-

Jo was as nosy as our Mom was mean, and I had half a mind to kick Billy’s ass for spreading gossip behind my back. What the hell had he done? Posted it on Facebook? Before I called Wren, I went online to poke around. Sure enough, Billy’s fiancé and my little sister were friends. Graduated the same year. “Ugh, small town shit.”

I dreaded telling Wren she had to meet my family. I had a feeling she wouldn’t understand. Or would she?

“What’s the big deal?” she said, all smiles, the warm background of her bedroom lighting her face in a flattering color. I screen capped the chat screen.

“Did you just take my picture again?” she said, frowning. “I don’t even have any makeup on.” Her face was half-hidden by her fluffy white pillow.

“You’re beautiful,” I said. “I want to take a thousand photos of you every time I see you. Do you know how beautiful you are?”

“I’ve been told,” she said, teasing, sticking out her tongue.

“I want to kiss you.”

She sighed. “Oh, Mr. Byrd. How you do go on.”

“I want to go on and on and on…”

“Maybe this weekend, then,” she said sleepily.

“You think we should?”

A look of agitation crossed her face, and she took a deep breath. There was something she wanted to say, but she was holding back. I’d seen her make this face several times, and I always wondered—was she about to shut me down? I’d never put my feelings on the line quite like I was doing with Wren. I didn’t like the thought I might be pushing her too hard, too fast.

Finally, she exhaled, and held the camera close to her face. “Laurence Byrd. I have never wanted anyone as much as I want you. The moment my phone starts beeping because you want to chat, I get wet. Every time you kiss me I worry that you’re going to smell my desire. I think about tearing your clothes off the moment you walk through my door. I don’t know, man. Do you think we should make wild passionate love this weekend?”

I was hard as a rock. “I want you so fucking bad,” I said.

“I want
you
, sir,” she said. I saw her face contort and heard rustling in the sheets. Was she touching herself? “Talk to me,” she whispered throatily. Oh, God. She was.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me what you’re going to do to me this weekend.”

I took a deep breath, enraptured by her glorious face. “Wren, I’m going to love you so fucking hard. I’m going to worship the shit out of you. I’m going to adore you in every room of the house and when I’m done I’m going to cherish you again and again and again, until you scream for mercy.”

She came, laughing, a smile on her face. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes two happy slits.

“Did that work for you?” I asked.

“You know that doesn’t exactly qualify as dirty talk, don’t you?”

“Wren Riley, I love you. I want to love you in person for the rest of my life. I solemnly swear I’ll do my share of dirty talk, but girl, I’m so in love with you right now, it hurts. Do you know what I mean?”

She said that she did, and not long after, we disconnected for the night. I drifted to sleep with the knowledge that she loved me, too—I just hoped that she still would after she met my mother.

Chapter Thirty-one

Laurie

Wren looked amazing when she rolled into town on Friday night. I had wine and a roasted chicken at the house, and we nibbled and sipped until we ran out of things to talk about, and the temptation became too much.

We kissed on the couch until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I tore her clothes off of her. I’d never been like that in my life—but she brought something out in me that no one ever had. I felt like a new man, emboldened by my need for her touch.

“Laurie Byrd!” she exclaimed in mock outrage as I ripped the buttons from her shirt. “I do declare!”

I pulled off my own shirt and lifted her up to carry her to the bedroom. Her words and giggles soon turned to moans as I sunk to my knees before her, removing the last of her clothes.

“Let me please you, Wren,” I said.

She did. She tasted sweet as syrup, and the sound of her squeals as I worked her over with my tongue drove me wild. When she came, gasping and reaching for me, I yanked my jeans and briefs down and climbed atop her, savoring the feel of her embrace, her arms and legs wrapping around me as though our skins were made for one another—like we were two halves of the same beast, finally becoming one again.