Star shoved the whole kit away and turned back to Sophie. “Paul Bunyan is dead. He jumped off the fast ferry from P-town. Or was pushed or something. His body washed ashore. What do you think that means?”
Sophie shrugged. “It means he’s dead. There’s no secret meaning. He was unhappy. Haven’t you ever wanted to just turn everything off?”
Not until you started haunting me. “We went to find him. We thought he took you. We were so sure. You were watching him and taking notes like he was one of your birds. We thought you were leaving us a secret message.”
“All you had to do was ask me. I’d have told you. Paul Bunyan wouldn’t hurt a fly. He wouldn’t hurt me. Or anybody.”
“Then who would?”
“Follow the bird seed. You’ll figure it out.”
“I don’t want to. Sophie, you have to stop coming. I can’t help you. You have to leave me the fuck alone.”
“What happened to you being my BFF? Our blood pact? Sisters forever?”
“We are. I mean, I was. People grow up. Things change. Life goes on.”
“For some of us.”
“I’m sorry I broke my promise. I’m sorry for whatever happened to you. I really am. I miss you, Bird Girl, but it’s time to say goodbye.”
Without a word, and very matter-of-factly, Sophie climbed on top of the desk, yanked open the window, and crawled toward it.
“What are you doing?” Star shouted.
But the girl moved quickly and was climbing out the window. Star rushed over and saw Sophie thrust one leg out, followed by her head, body, then the other leg. Star grabbed for her and caught her by the foot, but she couldn’t hold on. Sophie slipped away. It was too late.
Star stuck her head out the window and felt the shock of the cool air hit her face. “Sophie!”
Sophie, her arms outstretched like a bird’s wings, her bright-orange socks peeking out at the ankle from her black clogs, was swooping up and over the Johnsons’ roof next door. Then she was gliding off into the sky. Sophie was flying away. Star didn’t blink, afraid to lose sight of her. The girl was getting smaller and smaller. Soon, all Star saw was a tiny dot. She squinted, then the dot was gone. Sophie Albright, her ten-year-old best friend, had flown off into the night sky and disappeared.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The next morning, Barnes was at her door. Jesse stepped back and opened it wider. She hadn’t expected to see him again. But he’d been so kind to her yesterday on the phone, when she’d needed him most. She poked her head out, looking for the media.
“They’re gone. There’s a cop at the end of your drive keeping the press away.”
“Thank goodness,” she said.
Saint Anthony trotted over to him, his tail wagging quick and high. He did a snazzy little side step back and forth. Jesse thought of it as a happy jig and wanted to do the same.
“Hi there, my friend.” He petted the dog, feeding him a biscuit. “Good to see you, boy.” He bent down and scratched the dog, who reciprocated with licks to Barnes’s face. Barnes looked at Jesse and seemed to be taking her all in with his eyes. “How are you?”
“I’m okay. Hanging in there.”
“I thought I’d come to see you. Have you heard from the Wellfleet police today?”
“I called this morning. Nothing new yet. And you?”
“I found April Johnson yesterday,” he said. “The GPS on Star’s phone led me to her in Springfield.”
“That’s great. Is she okay?” Jesse was trying to act normal, but her hands kept moving about, touching her hair and her collar. He aroused so many feelings in her. He wasn’t being cold, the way he’d acted the other day after she pushed him away, which made her more jittery.
“Yes. I think she was tired of running. She’s back home with her parents. They have plenty of issues to work out. But she’s home safe.”
“I’m so glad.” And she really was. But she was also stricken with a deep feeling of envy.
“Your tip and Star’s cell phone helped.” And he held up the blue backpack. “Maybe you can see that she gets this. All her stuff is still in it.”
“Oh.” Jesse glanced away then back up at him. “Probably you should just drop it off at her house. I’m persona non grata with her right now.” Jesse pushed the door open wider. “Why don’t you come in?”
He stepped inside, looked left into the living room then looked right. “Something’s different.”
She gestured to the few filled trash bags tied up and leaning near the door. “I’ve started to declutter. Just the beginning.” She stood looking at him, awkwardly searching for pockets she didn’t have. She crossed her arms over her chest and uncrossed them. “Come, let’s go outside.”
He followed her out back to the screened-in porch. She sat in her old wicker. Barnes took the larger teak rocker, the one Cooper used to sit in.
Barnes gazed at the view of the yard that sloped down to the creek. “It’s nice out here.”
Maples and elms shaded the left side of the porch. Dappled shadows from their leaves filtered through the screens. The light in the early morning was always soft and gentle, Jesse’s favorite time of day.
“It reminds me of being in a tree house,” she said.
A gaggle of Canada geese flew into view, landing smoothly on the creek in V formation. They veered off into pairs, except for one goose swimming by itself.
“It makes me sad to see a loner like that one,” Jesse said.
The other geese began honking noisily as if they were having a spirited discussion.
“So...” She took a deep breath. “About Star.” And she proceeded to tell him everything. Paul Bunyan. Sophie’s notebook notations. Star’s ghostly visits from Sophie. The cutting.
He leaned in, listening attentively. She talked a little more and paused. Then she said, “I told her parents about the cutting. About going to the Cape. Now Star hates me. I mean absolutely hates me. I’m a walking Judas. And her parents aren’t too thrilled with me, either.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I should have asked to bring her with, but they’d have said no, of course. It was a rash, stupid decision, but she was actually a huge help. So I don’t regret it. But now she feels like I betrayed her. I don’t think I had a choice. I had to tell about the cutting.”
“You did what you had to do. She’ll need time to heal. Her parents, too.”
“There’s more.” She paused, looking at the ground as if the words she searched for were written there. “That day back at the Zone with Sophie. I didn’t tell the whole story. I left something out.” The words came spilling out as she replayed the whole scene again. “By the time I came to my senses, she was gone. Two minutes or less. Gone.” She looked up at him.
He took her hand. “You’ve carried that around for a very long time. That must have been a huge burden. I’m sorry you’ve had to live with that.”
“But that’s not the point,” she shouted, snatching her hand away. “It’s what I did. I’m the one who disappeared. I wanted to be free of her.”
Barnes grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to him. He brought his face in close and spoke slowly and softly. “You can’t blame yourself for someone else’s criminal act. Blaming yourself is another way of holding on to Sophie. Like your finds. Your drinking. Your acting out. It’s about control. I know about this. I’ve seen it before. I’ve done it. You think that if you were in control, it wouldn’t have happened. But you’re not in control of the universe. Things happen. Bad things. Little boys and girls get cancer and die. Children get snatched. They disappear into thin air. We have no control. Someone I respect once told me ‘Sometimes life is messy, and you have no control.’”
Jesse cocked her head. “Did I say that?”
He nodded. “Yes, you did.” He took her hands in his and squeezed them. “It wasn’t your fault. You must believe this. You must.”
Tears ran down her face. “I want to believe that. I do. But I’m not sure that I can.
She’s been leading me with her notebook, with Bixby. I think they’re going to find her.”
Barnes nodded. “They might, but still it wasn’t your fault. You can believe. Just let it sink in.”
He was the second person she’d revealed her secrets to, and he, like Star, didn’t seem shocked. Maybe, like Star had said, she had been a good mother, mostly. He stood and helped her up.
She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “But wait a minute. Why are you here? After the other day. The way I acted. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
He looked deep in her eyes and took her hands in his again. He shook his head. “I couldn’t stay away.”
“I’m glad. I wanted to see you again.”
He leaned in and kissed her on the mouth slowly and gently. She pulled back and looked into his eyes, searching for an answer. Then she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him again, harder. They kissed for a long time then held on to each other tightly. When they pulled away, Jesse said, “That first time I met you, when you came here to the house, I touched your chest.” She gently placed her hand on his chest. “I pushed you away. I felt something. A jolt.”
He nodded. “I felt it, too.”
“It scared me. You scare me.”
He placed his hands on hers, fingers spread out, palm to palm. His hands were bigger, his fingers peeking above hers. “Don’t be scared.”
They pressed their hands together, and she felt warmth radiating through them.
“You told me you were building a boat.” She ran her fingers along his long slender ones, tracing each one as he watched. “What kind of boat?”
“A wooden canoe. I love to feel the smooth wood under my fingers.” He demonstrated by gliding his hands ever so lightly under the sleeve of her shirt, touching her soft skin.
She felt vulnerable, as though she wanted to cover her skin but, for the first time in a long time, surprisingly powerful and sexy, too. The rich mocha color of his skin next to the pale creaminess of hers was beautiful, and she imagined the two colors swirling together to make a brand-new shade. She thought she must paint it later. She leaned in, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. She gave his neck a gentle lick. The taste was both sweet and a little salty.
He drew his fingers through her hair, pulling her to him. He whispered in her ear, “You need to be touched.”
It was true. “Do you need to be touched?” she whispered.
“I need to touch you.” He ran his hand under her shirt.
She felt his fingers on her stomach, and his touch made her shudder. He started to unbutton her shirt and slipped it off her shoulders.
“I’m a mess. Is this a mistake?”
“Do you want this?”
She looked down, then up again, right into his eyes. “Yes. Oh, yes.”
“Then it’s not a mistake.”
She took Barnes’s hand and led him back into the house, up the stairs, and into her bedroom. He looked around, and she noticed him studying her little shrine next to her bed. Her candle, photo, and plastic saint.
“It’s my shrine to Saint Anthony. The saint, not the dog.”
He picked up the plastic figure and turned it over in his hand. He rubbed the crack where it had been glued together after Saint Anthony had knocked it over.
She lit the candle, and the room glowed.
“To us both finding what we’re looking for.” He tipped the plastic saint toward her. Then he placed it back in its shrine.
She smiled. “Maybe we already have.”
Standing next to the bed, their bodies were drawn together like magnets. They kissed for a long time, frantically, breathlessly. Their tongues mingled, exploring.
They heard the click-clack of nails on wood and pulled apart to see Saint Anthony ambling in. He picked a shoe up off the floor and trotted around the room with it in his mouth.
“I do believe he’s jealous,” Jesse said.
He circled, nestling into a throw rug, and finally settled on the floor with two thuds—the shoe then the dog’s body hitting the floor. Barnes and Jesse followed suit, their bodies falling onto the bed, their arms and legs entwined. First, they laughed, then they were quiet as clothes came off. Just the rustling of sheets. The gentle moans of two lovers. The soft light from the candle flickered on the ceiling above the bed. The dog gave a contented groan.
JESSE WOKE AND SAW the start of an early-morning pink sky outside her window. They’d spent the whole day and night in bed, making love, talking, and taking breaks to bring food back with them. They fed each other pieces of cheese, apple, and chocolate, but they continuously set it aside because they couldn’t stop touching. They needed to be close.
She picked a shirt up off the floor, slipped it on, and looked over at the sleeping Tuck. He did look like Tuck and not Barnes anymore. She smiled. She glanced at the photo of Sophie on the nightstand—the one of her standing on a swing in her bathing suit, a serious expression on her face. Jesse looked back at Tuck. He stirred then opened his eyes.
“Good morning,” she said.
He grinned. “Morning.”
“Remember that story you were trying to get me to listen to the night of the Harvest Fest? The Native American tale. I thought of it the other night, but I couldn’t remember the details.”
He nodded and sat up on his elbows. “Soul keeping. It’s a sacred ritual. It helps parents deal with the loss of a child. They cut bits of hair from the child and put it in a bundle with other prized items. It’s where the soul of the child will be kept for as long as they need to grieve. They give it to a soul bundle keeper. A family member or other volunteer. Someone they trust. A holy man, who will hold onto it until the soul can be freed. During this period, it’s a time of contemplation. A time of atonement. The parents are not to fight or argue. They’re to always keep their child in their minds.”
Jesse listened, spellbound.
Tuck continued, “At the end of this period, when the parents feel ready, the soul of their child is released in a big happy feast.” Tuck leaned Mr. Bear against the pillow with a pat. “It helps the healing process for those left behind. It makes a lot of sense. Some other tribes practice mourning by painting their faces black. Others cut their hair short. Still others cut their arms and legs.”
Jesse turned to Tuck, her eyes wide. “They cut themselves?”
“That’s right. As an expression of their grief.”
Her head was spinning. As usual, Tuck’s words were comforting. She thought of him as her own sage, her personal holy man, guiding her through a maze of confusion she’d created. Calm, assertive. And he was patient, letting her come to the truth in her own time.
“Think I’ll take a shower,” he said and got out of bed.
“Okay. Meet you in the kitchen for breakfast when you’re done.” She patted his chest and headed for the stairway.
Thinking she’d heard a noise, she stopped at the door to Sophie’s bedroom. She opened the door and stood for a minute, taking it all in, looking about. Everything was the same, but she entered and picked up Sophie’s Wellfleet birding journal from her nightstand. Jesse sat on the bed and flipped through it once again. She stopped on a page where Sophie had drawn a bird with a red crown and a red patch at its throat. It was labeled “yellow-bellied sapsucker.” Sophie’s name for Professor Pollen. In her small handwriting in blue ink, Sophie had written: He keeps singing the same song, tapping away noisily. Then it looked as though maybe she had copied something from a guide book: The drumming is a love-song in the mating season. In the fall they turn quiet and reserved.
Jesse closed the book and placed it on her lap. She sat for a moment then reopened it to the first page to look for a date. Sophie had started the journal in the spring before their Wellfleet trip. Her last months of fifth grade. The same year Star had said Professor Pollen was their substitute teacher. Jesse thought back to the first time she’d met the guy, but she couldn’t even remember his real name. He’d written his first book years ago. Blu
e had a reading series at the Book Barn, and Professor Pollen had given a little talk and read from his book. He had a little stutter that wasn’t there when he read but appeared when he spoke off the cuff.
Jesse was in the audience, and he’d introduced himself. He was wearing his signature red bowtie and round wire-rimmed glasses. He’d shaken her hand. She remembered him holding it a moment longer than necessary, which made her a tiny bit uncomfortable. He’d said, “Nice to meet you. I’m a big fan.”
She recalled thinking it was an odd thing to say. She hadn’t written a book. How could he be a fan of hers? At the time, she’d put it off to his being socially awkward. When she saw him years later, at the reading for his honeybee book, he did seem overly smiley for a man she didn’t really know. But he’d been too shy to actually come up and speak to her.
She flipped through the notebook, searching for what, she wasn’t really sure. Another mention of the sapsucker, perhaps. Then she halted abruptly when she reread the words Sophie had written in her last entry of the Wellfleet trip. Herring Gull and Screaming Cowbird in a fight on the beach. Friggin’ bird brain! Friggin’ bird brain!
Nate, at the AA meeting in Wellfleet, had called his friend, Paul Bunyan, a birdbrain. Could he have been involved? She was seeing clues wherever she read. Professor Pollen. Nate. Jesse’s stomach dropped, and a wave of nausea rose up. Her head was spinning. “What are you telling me, Sophie?” She slapped the book shut, took it with her, and headed downstairs.
JESSE WAS PREPARING scrambled eggs when Tuck walked into the kitchen, smelling all soapy fresh.
“Hey, something smells good.” He came up from behind and kissed her neck.
“I was going to say the same thing. Hope you’re hungry.” She placed the eggs on the table and gestured for him to sit.
He sat and spooned eggs onto his plate. He picked up his fork and dug in. Jesse sat down but just stared into space.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, putting his fork down.
She looked at him then placed her palm on Sophie’s notebook, which she’d placed on the kitchen table. “This might be crazy, but I have this feeling. This awful feeling.” She proceeded to tell him about the clues she found in Sophie’s logbook. “Maybe one of them slipped through the cracks. Maybe the police didn’t know about Professor Pollen subbing at the school and didn’t question him. Or maybe that old guy had been stalking the girls on the beach. Maybe Sophie’s logbooks are leading us.” She looked directly into his eyes. “Is it crazy?”
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