The Release of Secrets_Littlest Sparrow Gone

by Megan Maguire

  “No.”

  “Why?” She puts her feet flat.

  “Because you should always wait for the right moment before jumping off the boat so you don’t hit your head on a rock.”

  Jim laughs. “What? Salem, how’d you get so fucked up? Jump off the fucking boat and go for a swim, would ya?”

  Joss flaps her hand. “I give up. Babe, do whatever you want, but you better know what it is that you’re doing. Otherwise, you’ll have more regrets than Virginia.”

  “I know what I’m doing.” I scan the items on the shelves, my chest out, beaming from ear to ear.

  “This wonder cabinet doesn’t meticulously correct everything that’s happened,” she says. “It’s great for the ones you’ve lost, but the situation with Eli is like apples and oranges compared to the rest of your family.”

  “Stop pushing this,” I say.

  Nate’s door opens. I ignore Joss to stalk him on the balcony. He hauls his shoulder bag down the stairs to the front desk, dropping it at his feet.

  “Hi.” He slides his long fingers between mine.

  I squeeze his hand, and my heart squeezes harder. “Leaving?”

  “I have to get back to work.”

  I duck my chin into my chest. For obvious reasons, I hate goodbyes. I’ve never understood what’s so good about them.

  He sees the disappointment on my face and leans over the desk, pulling me closer to drop a greedy kiss. His mouth is as warm as when I woke up in the middle of the night to find his head between my legs, him asking if it was all right. It—his stroking tongue—was more than all right.

  “It’s not over,” he says.

  Our foreheads meet and my body locks all the way down. “I’m not ready.”

  “Me either.” His cheek dimples. “That’s why I’d like to make a reservation.”

  “Really?” I light up.

  “Every other weekend until you get tired of me.”

  “Aww, that’s super sweet,” Joss chimes.

  “You don’t need a reservation. I’ve got space.” With a sunny smile, I gesture toward my private quarters.

  “Nope, him too.” Nate thumbs Jim.

  “Both of you?” Joss asks.

  “Yep, Jim has a list of work he’d like to do here at the lodge. I saw him planning it out last night.”

  Jim fiddles with his beard. “Is that so?”

  “If you’re gonna tag along, which I know you will, then that’s so.”

  Joss laughs at Jim’s fake pout. She knows I need the help, so she won’t suggest he stay at her place.

  “He’ll get your pool cleaned up, the playground fixed and painted, whatever you need in exchange for a bed … or even better, a tent.” Nate smirks.

  “A tent? Fuck that.”

  “Oh, I have a tent.” I grin.

  “No tent.”

  “I’ll air it out and get it ready.”

  “No tent!”

  We laugh, walking to the front door like our shoes are stuck in thick syrup, wanting to delay the departure for as long as we can.

  “Are you doing any work or are you gonna just sit with a cold beer and watch me do everything?” Jim asks Nate.

  “I’ll be taking care of my property.”

  “Salem or the cabin?” He rolls his shoulders and lifts his travel bag.

  “Both,” I answer, shepherding him and Joss through the door. “Bye, Jim.”

  “Bye, Salem.”

  “Love you, Joss, even though you think I’ll just be moping. Still love ya. Fill me in later about the job.”

  “Love you, too, babe. No moping allowed. We’ll talk when I come back to get my things.”

  She snaps the chinstrap on her helmet and straightens her goggles while Jim runs his hand over the curve of her waist. They’re like the pheasants in the dense shrubs along the property, taking forever to get airborne and move on out. It’s cute, but stopping on each step to make out is impossible to bear for long.

  I return to Nate’s reach, my cheeks throbbing with heat, the blush embarrassing. “I’ve fallen pretty hard for you,” I whisper. “I’ll miss you.”

  He tilts his head, his emotions pouring into one powerful kiss, a kiss that curls low in my stomach and spills out to my limbs. “Same.” His voice is low and hypnotic, his strong fingers slipping away. “See you soon, beautiful.”

  I lean against the porch post, legs crossed, Ollie dropping his rump next to my feet. He whines when the engines start, then barks when the two vehicles back out. It’s not long before I’m staring at an empty road, chewing on a cuticle, my nails down to nubs from the erratic week.

  “Coffee,” I say to Olls, “more coffee.”

  He follows me inside to the sitting room where two guests are pointing out the window at Annabelle.

  “That hippo used to be so pretty,” one says.

  “I remember,” says the other. “Bright purple with a white scarf in the wintertime. Such a shame the property is in such poor shape.”

  Ollie startles them with a sneeze. I cringe at their comments, but can’t object. No need when they’re right. It is a shame.

  The women stay in a stunned hush for a minute, but then slip away and take their coffees to their rooms. I don’t move, allowing them a painless escape from their jab at the lodge.

  Annabelle hasn’t worn her white scarf in years. She hasn’t had kids scurrying under her fat belly or riding on her back for over a decade. She hasn’t had the weeds trimmed around her webbed feet or a friendly rub of her nose in forever. Bought from a neglected mini-golf course, my dad thought she’d be much better off with us. Now she lies on her side, screaming for help. The women are right, such a goddamn shame.

  I slip on my boots and power walk out the escape hatch. My arms swing as my feet trudge through the snow. I’m about to cross the threshold and touch her head when my cell rings.

  Brad is cutting into my rescue.

  “What is it?”

  “That was harsh,” he says.

  “Well, it’s been a tough week.” I don’t feel like explaining to him why a thirty-year-old fiberglass hippo on its side has me upset. “Come on, Brad. Talk.” He makes slurping noises with a straw while I kick snow and ice away from Annabelle’s side.

  “So … I have eerie news and bad news.”

  “Not good and bad news?”

  “No, eerie and bad.”

  “Eerie how?”

  “Which do you want first?”

  “Eerie how?”

  “Okay, I’ll start with that.”

  “Whatever. Just spit it out. I’m in the middle of something.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, fingers cold against my skin.

  “Salem, you’re not going to believe this, but I … I think I saw Eli yesterday.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I smile a little, thinking I’ll let a sarcastic comment fly. “Like the time I saw him at my wedding?”

  “No, not at all like that. This was real.”

  I stop clearing the snow and hold on to Annabelle’s leg. “Why, because it was you who saw him and not me? That makes it real?”

  “Listen, he was walking out of the church with a guy who looked like Connor.”

  I laugh. “I really don’t have time for this.”

  “Don’t laugh. I drove past them, but they were gone after I circled the square and drove back.”

  “So why’d you wait so long to tell me? If you thought it was him, you should’ve called yesterday.”

  “Because … I just said Eli was with Connor, Salem … Eli was four. Connor was a man.” He whimpers like Ollie. “Don’t tell Chief about this, okay? He’ll think I’m losing my mind.”

  I stare at a cardinal on a branch by the edge of the forest, and the three sparrows on the rusted metal fence next to the pool. It’s past breakfast. Their feeders need replenishing.

  “You there?” he asks.

  “Yep.”

  “Am I crazy?”r />
  My mouth twists, a debate over whether to let Brad in on all the secrets or let the secrets reside at the lodge.

  “I was fucking spooked,” he says. “Didn’t Joss tell you?”

  “What?” A slight breeze blows my bangs. The birds scatter with a trill. I tip my head back to track their path, taking more than a minute to grasp what Brad just said.

  “I told her and Jim at the diner yesterday afternoon. Joss said they’d drive through town and look for them once they finished eating.”

  “Oh, no, she didn’t say anything.”

  My breath tastes bitter. I suck the saliva from the inside of my cheeks and swallow it down, remembering the scent of grease on Eli’s clothing. If he was at the diner after Brad left, and Joss was there … Did Eli rush in and out of the lodge last night because something was said? Did she talk to him? Did she drop hints? A more significant clue than the key I put in Finn’s pocket? What did she say?

  “You don’t believe me, that’s fine,” he complains.

  “Feels shitty, doesn’t it? How many times have you not taken me seriously?” I punt snow clumps away from Annabelle. The pointed pines feel like they’re leaning in, the sky darkening, crowding down. Through the open back door comes the sound of the chime.

  “Brad, I need to get back to my guests.”

  “Can I finish?”

  “Make it quick. What’s the bad news?”

  “That woman. We found her.”

  “Virginia?” I gaze out over the yard, biting my bottom lip in trepidation. Same feeling I had when I thought Grady was in the forest. Someone’s here, spying. “Ollie!” I call for his company. He sticks his head out the door. “Olls, come here.” I whistle. He looks inside and wags his tail, turns to me, and back. “Ollie?”

  “Salem, she—”

  “Virginia was here yesterday to get her car. She left.”

  “She left but didn’t go far. Matt Collins from Big Boy’s Plowing & Towing called in tire tracks heading down the marina road. One set going in, none coming out. Chief had Logan check it out. He said she drove right through the wooden gate. He found her there.”

  “What do you mean by found her?”

  “The tracks went down the boat ramp and into the lake.”

  “Into the lake?” My lip twitches.

  “The car’s roof was visible. Big Boy’s was able to tow the car out late last night. Virginia was inside.”

  A vision of my mom settles in front of me, the smile on her face enough to keep me satisfied for the rest of my life.

  “I see,” I whisper.

  “Chief wants to ask you some questions about her behavior before she left. Routine stuff. I gotta contact her family.”

  “Oh.” I hesitate. “Um … Chief should talk to Wayland Casper. She had a funeral for herself, remember?”

  “Yep. I already told him.”

  “Even with the funeral, do you think … you think she had a heart attack or something? Veered off the road and ended up down there?”

  “Nah. The road’s too long. She would’ve gone in a ditch before the lake. Besides, once she busted through the sign, the tracks are steady, straight down to the water. I’d say she planned it.”

  “Hmm.” Pine branches rub and creak in the wind, surrounding me with hushed whispers.

  “Well, I’ll let you get back to your busy life, Salem.”

  I make a noise in my throat like I’m either weeping or elated. A noise I can’t distinguish. “I’ll call you later. We’ll talk.”

  My fingers are frozen, but my mouth is hot and moist, somewhat surprised, somewhat pleased. After my cell is away, I squat alongside Annabelle and stroke her back. The poor girl, miserable for over a decade, left here after she tumbled over in a windstorm the year Connor and my dad died.

  “Let’s do this.” I scoop my fingers under her, tighten my stomach, and lift with my legs. No-go. I try again, hear a crack, and get her dislodged from the hard snow. But I can’t raise her more than an inch. “Fuck, you’re heavy. What have you been eating?”

  I rest my head on her back, take a quick, hard breath, and heave a groan as I try again. She moved easily for my dad and Connor, as if she lived on wheels, but alone I can’t get her up. I bet she weighs over a hundred pounds.

  “Dammit, Annabelle.” I drop her down. “Stand up for me.”

  Two hands sink in the snow next to mine. The wind tosses my hair across my face before I can see who it is.

  “Lift,” he instructs.

  I suck in a giant lungful of wintry air, and a toothy smile explodes as Annabelle steadily comes back to life. “She’s up!” I shout with delight, throwing my fists in the air. “Yes!”

  The figure takes two steps backward and wrings his hands. One step forward and wrings them again. I whisk the hair from my face and stare for a minute. Stare at my likeness, the pale skin, the icy-gray eyes.

  “Salem?” he questions.

  I never told him my name. I never told him my name.

  He scans the playground, the pool, and the area where our mom’s flower garden used to be. He remembers.

  “Salem,” he says a second time with confidence.

  I hug myself when he looks at me. The speculation is over.

  He removes the sparrow key from his coat pocket and squeezes it over his head. “Say my name,” he pleads as if he’s unsure.

  I step closer, clutching our granddad’s letter in my hoodie pocket, willing myself not to cry.

  “Eli?” he questions.

  “Eli.” I nod. “It’s you.”

  He smiles as he rubs the EW initials, and I smile back.

  Behind him, Finn pets Ollie in the doorway. He waves hello, and a family of tree sparrows sings a series of sweet twitters, a call that links to my heart, returning it to a steady, rhythmic beat.

  • • •

  twenty-nine: the last letter

  Grady,

  I’ll be over on Sunday to pick you up for the pancake feed at the Post. But don’t you dare laugh at my trim, you hear me? I’m counting on you to keep a straight face. It’s Carol’s fault. She said, “When a man’s eyebrows meet, his heart is full of deceit.” My wife thinks that of me. Me, Felix Whitfield, charged with dishonesty because I have caterpillar brows. Worse, now that I’m an old man. But they’re gone. Carol clipped them. Took a razor and swiped them up the middle, looks like a mini lawn mower went through my forehead. Gotta love that woman!

  Thought I’d write to tell you as a warning before our breakfast. Wouldn’t want you to have a heart attack, seeing me looking like I went to a fancy beauty shop to get it done. Prepare yourself. I’m a sight. Elastic-waist pants and trimmed brows, that’s what my life has become.

  Heck, can you believe our age? Where has life gone? Carol and I even got our affairs in order last week, if that doesn’t depress a person.

  We don’t have much. The lodge was already passed down to Tom, our mobile home isn’t paid off, but we’d like the grandkids to have a little something. Hard to believe we’re close to the end and have nothing to show, nothing apart from family. But that’s a treasure, isn’t it? Our kids and grandkids are gold. We’d all be better off if we measured wealth by flesh and blood, not by green. That’s why we thought we’d give them the original keys to the front door of the lodge. The first set, Carol’s and mine. Not about money, but about holding on to the heart of the sparrow that symbolizes our love. Our keys will be a confirmation that our home is their home forever. And if Sparrow Lodge is where our souls will rest, then someday theirs will too.

  See now, Grady. It’s after midnight, and this is what I do. I write. I write to quiet my head. Am I the only one, or do you have the same thoughts keeping you up late at night? Writing seems to help. You think about it like me? Is your bank account, your land, your bone art, or your love, going to be your fortune? Don’t answer if I ever ask you that in person. I think I have you figured out. Your entire world revolves around Gert. Yo
u’d do anything for her.

  We know you’re going through a lot. These are tough times, but don’t lose hope.

  Gert said she’s thinking about leaving the area. She said she doesn’t want Carol coming over or anyone to see her so sick. We understand, but it still hurts. I guess all we can do is pray. The two who never pray are praying. You’d do the same for us … you did with Eli.

  My poor grandbaby, I miss him, Grady. I miss him every day. But like I always say, our littlest sparrow will come home. My gut tells me so. Believe me. Maybe I won’t be alive to see it happen, but someone will. And even if I miss that day, the time without him has taught me not to lack the milk of human kindness. Compassion for others is everything. You get it. You know all about it.

  Sunday, Grady. Pancakes. Fancy brows. Elastic-waist pants.

  Maybe now I can get some sleep.

  Felix

  Thanks for reading!

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  MEGAN MAGUIRE

  Megan Maguire’s hippie grandparents raised her in an Airstream Overlander. A homeschooled, free-range kid, she spent her childhood traveling the country in search of the strange and unfamiliar.

  After receiving her MFA in painting, Megan hit the open road in an RV of her own. She’s spent the past five years crisscrossing the country with an affectionate cat, Miranda, and a slobbering dog that hitched a ride and goes by the name, Abbott. The three drifters enjoy setting up camp next to lakes, deep in the forests of the States. They live happily without social media, far away from the tragedies of society.

  Writing, chasing bugs, and fetching sticks are their top priorities. Manicures, hairdressers, going to bars, and watching reality TV, are not.