“I looked into that,” said Richard. “And those suits we met there a couple of days ago were right. The land was bequeathed to the city, and the family said it’d be great if it were a park or something. But it wasn’t explicit. It’s all public record. So the city can basically do what it wants.”
“That’s just wrong!” said Karen. She looked up from her Audubon Society coloring book.
“Indeed.” Richard sighed. “The new school isn’t a given. If you ask me, there’s something hinky going on here.”
“Hinky?” said Owen.
“Underhanded. Low-down. No good. Dirty.”
“Got it,” said Owen.
“Can we chain ourselves to trees or something?” said Risa. In spite of myself, I eyed her long, long legs and her hair that she’d altered to become more crested partridge. Damn it all, brunette worked for her. And why was she so tall?
Laurel. Dude. Chill, I told myself. Birds mate in spring, not Laurels. I mean, not that I’d mated at all, ever. Do teenage birds commit? Are there technically teenage birds?
I made a mental note to ask Louise about bird puberty later.
I made another mental note to do no such thing, ever.
Risa was still talking. “Or we could gather signatures or attend the meetings. This place is special to so many people. They can put a new school any old place.”
“I think the school board is the place to start,” said Richard. “They are the primary source of the hinky, from what I can understand. People with connections wanting to give contracts to their friends. Cheap land keeps costs down.”
“These are wetlands they’re talking about,” said Louise. “Building on them is a bad idea. There would be flooding and structural concerns and who knows what else. Bad, bad, bad.”
“Cheap, cheap, cheap,” said Richard. He grunted and dropped into a folding chair.
“Like a baby bird says,” said Karen.
Richard smiled at her.
“We can get Shunksville Community College in on this,” said Risa. “There is a professor there who studies the bats who used to live in the abandoned carriage house until they moved over here. I don’t think they are endangered, exactly, but something is up with them. There was an article in the Shunksville Democrat a while back. And the bio students study the foxes and voles and groundhogs.”
“And the squirrels,” said Karen. “They all have little earrings on. That’s how you know they have been studied,” she said.
Risa nodded. “Exactly. And the dragonflies that live on the pond eat mosquitos and keep us all from dying from equine encephalitis or some other horrible crap.”
The birders all enthusiastically agreed, even the quiet knitters in the back, who never spoke and I kept forgetting were there. Gran had introduced these ladies to me years ago, but I always thought of them as “Cast On, Cast Off, and Knit,” and I’m pretty sure the fourth woman in their group actually was named Purl (probably spelled Pearl, but I liked it better the other way in my head).
The meeting broke up after that. Owen, Karen, and her mom (Lynn!) moved over to see Richard, so I casually tripped over a garbage can toward Risa.
“How’s your grandma doing? She’d be all over this,” she said.
“Same,” I said.
“Sucks,” said Risa. She and I looked into each other’s eyes for a second. “Well, I should go. Garbage duty today,” she said.
It’d be two hours before the Nature Center would open, but okay. Guess the girl loved her some clean pond and woods. Or maybe she knew about other rare nests she wanted to photograph before I could get a chance.
Since there was so much time before my last day of school, I stopped at Gran’s empty house on the way there. I let myself into the warm, empty rooms. I stared into the fireplace, willing flames to spring up from the dust. But only the clanging baseboards emitted occasional heat. Gran used to chop her own firewood, even though Mom was always on her to just buy it from the grocery store. When the temperature dropped too far into winter to use the fire pit, we’d shove long-handled metal sandwich makers into the coals right here and toast jam-filled mountain pies. Occasionally I could even score a pizza version. My mouth watered at the memory. It tasted suspiciously salty—like tears.
Something struck me, standing there with only memories for furniture. This house was like Gran. Both stood empty and in danger of being lost right now, but both still existed and thus could be saved. I had to try harder because Gran would always wait for me. The whole world should stop on its axis and freaking wait. The tides should cooperate and not obliterate coastal towns, the sun would wait patiently to set or rise or whatever depending on where you were. Then fucking towns wouldn’t try to bogart wildlife reserves or homes while personal tragedies unfolded in people’s lives.
Although if that were the case, the world might never spin. The tide might never come in. And the sun might never rise or set again.
Stupid life.
How did I stop it? I couldn’t. So, if the going was going to get tough, the tough was going to have to fucking find something to save everything. I mean, there was a black-backed oriole in a tree in Jenkins Wood. That at least sounded promising. If Gran had become a rare species who lived in Jenkins Wood, she could be protected by the government or something. Her house, her woods, her pond—saved.
Well played, Gran.
All I needed to do was figure out where she was and then convince everyone of these essential truths.
It’d be a piece of cake!
Or at least a pile of birdseed. Same thing, really.
FIELD JOURNAL ENTRY
MAY 27
School had officially let out, and even though I hadn’t had to really go to class for months, it was still awesome. Though everything else was kind of going wrong.
“So you get paid more now?” Sophie asked.
“Yes. There is a summer work grant that kicks in with a small stipend. So it will keep me in digital prints and ice cream. But we will have to strategically plan what movies we want to see because my budget might afford about one a month.”
“You could babysit with me.”
“No thanks. I almost let the Williams kid throw himself into the wetlands when I filled in for you last time,” I said.
“Almost. Babysitting by its very nature is ‘almost’ letting the kid hurt himself. You got him to eat lunch, too! You are a natural,” said Sophie.
“No. Bring the kids to the Nature Center and I’ll read to them for story hour. Besides, there are other perks. I can scout shots for the Fauna competition. And Jerry gives me his high-end birdseed and stuff. I have word that next month there is fancy woodpecker suet coming my way.”
“Wow. Yeah. That sounds like a total bonus.” Sophie smirked.
“Whatever.” I threw her stuffed rainbow pillow at her head.
She dodged left. “What’s going on with the place anyway? Are they really going to develop it?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. Sarig Pond and Jenkins Wood have been set aside for birds and wildlife and nature education for as long as anyone can remember. And Richard said the developers he talked to weren’t jerks or anything. They were hired to assess the land and told the city it isn’t even a great site. Wetlands are terrible for building. But the woods are okay. Their report suggested looking at other sites, but Louise did even more digging and found out that some of the city council members are pushing to use the woods because the other sites for the new, merged school district are outside of Shunksville. They want that school here.”
“Adults,” said Sophie, “are dumb.”
“Seriously,” I said. “And it’s not like the pond and woods are just expendable. Threatened species of bats live in the abandoned carriage house. Dozens of types of birds use the pond and woods as a migratory stop. We are famous for it! The birds and insects who live here most of the time keep down the mosquito population. Risa also pointed out how many of the college kids from Shunk U study the marmots, and there are like a milli
on Eagle Scouts who do their projects at that place. And then there’s Gran’s house. Oh my god, fuck me if they rip out the woods.” I rolled over and buried my head in a pile of fluff. Sophie had a thing for unicorns.
Sophie lay down next to me and nudged me with her head until I started to laugh and shoved her back.
“Is Risa there this summer?” Sophie asked.
“Oh yes. She’s in it for the sweet, sweet cash dollars like me. And the photography, of course,” I said.
“And do we hate her currently?”
“No. Not hate. She’s been okay. But then she’s not. She wears a lot of tank tops these days.”
Sophie blinked. “You are noticing her tank tops?”
Heat rose to my face. “I mean. They are clingy.”
Sophie looked at me for a moment. “So we like Risa, then? We are not bent on the destruction of her nature photography? And we are happy when she is not wearing much on her chest?”
I shook my head. “We are, at best, neutral about Risa. And her chest.” Although, that last bit was less true than the first.
“This could be the beginning of a beautiful, birding love affair,” she said. “You and Risa. Or it could be a complete disaster.”
“That generally describes most people I meet.” I nodded. “But no love affair. Just birding.”
“Sure. Whatever you say. I gotta go babysit at the Williams Memorial Day party. Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
“I’m sure,” I said.
I left Sophie’s house and biked over to see Gran. The hospital was slower because of the holiday. Every time I visited her, she looked stretched a little thinner. Like she was being pulled in some sort of tug-of-war between … what? Dreaming and waking, maybe? As Brian Michael Warbley says, “There is little difference between the dreaming and waking soul, if owls screech in both.” But Gran lay silent, regardless of where her soul currently hung out.
Maybe it just wore her out, being alive, but not really.
After the hospital, I went to her house. Nothing like a little housework to invigorate the spirit. If Gran wouldn’t (or couldn’t) move, then I would double up on the business of daily living on her behalf. Maybe a person can’t be forced out of a coma by the sheer will of another, but there was no harm in trying.
I found a broom in the corner and idly swept the dust that had gathered out onto the porch. I checked her garden, which, despite being almost entirely neglected, was bursting with color. I watched a female jay and a male titmouse flutter around from fence to grass to spruce to grass again. I envied their purpose. I felt like I just hopped from one place to another. I looked for the bird but couldn’t find it. I wanted to save Gran’s house and the woods and the pond, but what could I really do there? I wanted to win Fauna’s contest, but I had barely taken any pictures recently. I had a hard time focusing without Gran.
I heard the mystery bird in the woods, just outside of Gran’s backyard. I didn’t even bother to go after it. I went home to my empty house instead.
“At pool with a couple of people from work!” read a note from Mom hanging from the fridge by a magnet. “Come join me!” A couple of people from work undoubtedly included a man. Maybe two; Mom was nothing if not efficient. I just didn’t have it in me.
I went to bed instead. I smelled hamburgers from grills and sweet mowed grass. Summer was here, and with it some of the best birding weather. Gran should be bugging me right this second to be out with her. Instead, I had only the warm breeze that blew in to tousle my hair.
I rolled over and drifted off into a flightless sleep.
FIELD JOURNAL ENTRY
MAY 30
“Read the spider book again,” called Karen. She was one of my most loyal Birdscouts, so I did not want to hate her. But a person can only read Eric Carle so many times.
“How about the Charley Harper book, buddy?” I suggested.
“Or the caterpillar book. Or the one about the grouchy ladybug. I love that guy,” she said.
“Oooh, do that one!” said Karen’s friend Fred.
Damn it, Karen. I sighed.
“Okay, grouchy ladybug it is,” I said.
Fortunately, a disheveled-looking Richard burst into the Nature Center. “Laurel, there you are. We need you.”
I glanced over at Jerry, who was glaring at a display of feathers that would not stay up on the wall.
“Story time ended fifteen minutes ago,” he said. “Birdscout Laurel has to help other nature enthusiasts, my young friends!” he said. He was always kind to kids.
The kids groaned.
“Next story time, I’ll do this first. And last. And maybe once in the middle, okay?” Karen pouted but didn’t argue. I went outside, where Richard was standing with Risa.
“What’s up?” I asked him.
Richard pointed to men in suits walking down the path toward the pond. “The interlopers,” he said gravely.
I shoved down a grin at his tone.
“Follow them,” he hissed at Risa and me.
Neither one of us thought it wise to argue with him when he was like this.
“Onward,” I said to Risa, chucking my thumb toward the retreating suits. We crept behind them, trying to keep our distance. They stopped at one of the outlooks, seemingly gazing at a few black-crowned night herons. Risa gestured for me to follow her off the path.
“What are you doing?” I whispered at her.
“There’s no poison ivy here. Just don’t step on anything. This is for the greater good,” she whispered back.
I waved my arms wildly in protest, but she just kept going without me. Fuck me if Risa was going to single-handedly gather valuable intel and probably see a barrow’s goldeneye or something. I gingerly ran after her. We ended up in a clump of reeds below the outlook. I nearly fell into the pond as I tried to adjust my footing while stooped low. Risa grabbed my arm to steady me. Her fingers lingered there for a few moments longer than necessary. In spite of the absurd situation, heat crept up from her grasp and spread up my neck. I pushed it to the back of my brain. I had to focus.
“Those are the developer guys,” I whispered.
“There’s someone else coming,” she said.
We crouched lower. A wood duck quacked at us as we accidentally disturbed his hiding place.
“Sorry, sorry,” said Risa.
The duck threw us a pissed-off look and took flight.
Voices floated down from overhead.
“Hello there, gentlemen,” said one. “Thanks for meeting us here.”
“No trouble,” another one said. “Good to get out of the office in this weather.”
“It’s a good spot for a private conversation,” a third voice said with a laugh.
“So, what’s the word on this place?”
“We are moving forward with the proposal. These woods are actually gorgeous. We are going to suggest using lumber from the trees in the building of the school. That might appease some of the nature freaks.” The group laughed.
I shuddered.
“And the surrounding land? There were some zoning concerns.”
“Yeah, not a problem. There’s three houses along the perimeter. But two are rental properties, and the owners are no longer local. Those can be ours by summer’s end. The last house is presenting a small issue, but I’m pretty sure they will sell, too. We have one of our guys ready to press them when we need to move forward.”
“Good, good,” said the first voice. “And what about the wetlands situation?”
“Well…” The voice sounded uncertain. “We have to tell you. Our surveying is clear. If you really want to build on them … basically you just shouldn’t. It will be prone to flooding. Your foundations could be compromised. Mold could be a problem. There’s any number of things…”
“And your report reflects that?”
“No,” said yet another voice. There had to be at least six men in the group. “The report doesn’t say anything right now. I know there are some politics to all
of this.” The voice paused. “We want you to know that building here is probably a bad idea. It is also an important ecological habitat. And the woods alone aren’t big enough for the campus you are proposing, if you really want the merged elementary and junior high here. You will need the pond and wetlands. And even if you shouldn’t build there, you probably could. You could try to plan for these contingencies.”
Hawks called above everyone’s head, as the men ceased talking. My quads burned. Risa’s face looked flushed, like she might take off and peck a few eyes out herself.
“There would be more consulting in the future,” someone said slowly. “You gentlemen and your firm would be a great asset to the project. We could probably guarantee you’d have work for at least three years, with generous compensation.”
“That’s a great offer, Mike. But…”
“You should know that there is a lot at stake here for Shunksville. Having the new schools here would create a lot of jobs and bring a lot of attention to a neglected city once known for its coal and steel. You’d be doing a lot of people a lot of good if you could make your report highlight the possibilities here.”
“We aren’t asking you to lie,” said another man. “We’d never ask that. Just make it evident that this is possible, you know?”
“I think we can do that,” said the voice.
“Definitely. And it’s really only a preliminary study. The vote on the land isn’t until July. Anyone will be able to see it as soon as we file it and bring their concerns to the June or July meetings.”
Everyone laughed. Why was that funny? I didn’t have much time to think about it because the wood duck returned with two lady friends and all three quacked at us. I tried to shoo them away without giving away our position.
“You have your camera.” Risa turned to me and poked at my neck.
“Of course.”
“Try to get a picture of these guys.”
“The reeds are too thick. And they’ll see me if I go up there.”
Risa nodded back toward the path. “Don’t worry. I have a plan.”
The Confusion of Laurel Graham Page 8