The Nature of Small Birds

by Susie Finkbeiner

  Somebody drives by, giving their horn a friendly beep, and waves at me. I return it even if I don’t see who it is.

  Fiona’s is bustling today. I can tell as much as I round the corner and see the lack of parking spaces out front. When I get closer, though, I see there’s a booth clear to the back that’s empty. I make a beeline for it as soon as I get through the doors.

  “Morning,” Fiona calls to me from the pass-thru window where she’s hefting an armload of breakfasts for delivery to one of the tables.

  “Hi, Fi,” I say back.

  “Be right there with your joe.”

  “No hurry.”

  In my seat, I put my book in front of me on the table—an ancient collection of Rilke I’ve had since sometime in the late sixties when I first started reading poetry beyond what my high school teachers had assigned. My dad had handed it to me off his shelf, saying he thought I’d take a shine to it.

  He was right.

  A crack in the spine makes the book open to page fourteen. I don’t read the whole poem at first. Instead, I take in the lines about God cupping his hands around “each fledgling thing.”

  At some point in my life, I took a yellow highlighter to those words. I guess they meant something to me then. They sure do now.

  Fiona comes by with a cup of coffee that leaves no room for cream. Just the way I like it.

  “Thanks,” I say, looking up from my book.

  “Yup,” she answers. “You want to put in your order now or wait for your dad?”

  “I guess I should wait.” I peek at my wristwatch. “Seems he’s running a little behind.”

  It doesn’t worry either of us that Dad’s late. The past year or so he’s started having a hard time getting someplace on time unless Mom’s there, giving him what-for and keeping him on track. Every once in a while he even gets lost—no, that’s not the right word. He gets turned around.

  Nothing to cause anything more than slight concern. Not yet, at least.

  “Just let me know when you’re ready.” Fiona nods at the book. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  She moves on to the next table over, and I go back to my reading.

  When, a minute or so later, the phone buzzes in my pocket and I see that the call’s from Dad, I get a little flutter of anxiety.

  “Dad?” I say once I answer the call. “Everything okay?”

  “It’s your mother,” he answers, voice shaky. “She’s taken another fall. Ambulance is on the way.”

  “All right.” I swallow hard. “I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

  “Yup.”

  He hangs up and I push myself out of the booth. Gathering my things, I reach into my wallet and pull out a five to leave on the table.

  “Everything all right?” Fiona asks as I head out.

  “I hope so,” I say. “Sorry. I left money on the table for the coffee.”

  “I’m not worried about it.” She half smiles. “Take care. Whatever it is.”

  I leave without telling her thanks.

  If I know Fiona, she won’t feel the least bit slighted by it.

  Making my way back down the street, I wish I’d parked a whole lot closer. But how was I to know?

  Dad sits in the recliner next to Mom’s bed, holding her hand. He hasn’t looked away from her since the nurses let us in here. It’s one of a handful of instances in which I’ve witnessed any measure of physical affection between them. And Mom’s sleeping through it.

  They’ve got her on some pretty hefty meds and warned us that she might not wake up for the rest of the day.

  It’s probably for the best. She would throw an unholy fit if she woke up to find us staring at her. She’d insist on being allowed to go home.

  But they aren’t going to release her. Not for a couple of days yet. And then only to a long-term rehabilitation center. All signs point to her having had a stroke. Not her first, but her first that led to a broken bone—her ankle.

  Dad’s jaw tenses and relaxes. Tenses and relaxes. He’s got to be thinking what I am. That this very well may be the beginning of Mom’s decline.

  And I have to think that if she starts to go, he won’t be far behind.

  Against all reason and despite Mom having grown into a bit of a crab apple, Dad is still as devoted to her as ever. The way he looks at her reminds me who she used to be when I was a kid. Stern, sure, but loving.

  I like to imagine that he still sees that younger version of her, the one from before grief took up housekeeping in her heart, turning it hard.

  Gosh, I miss how she used to be.

  “Dad, are you hungry?” Linda asks, putting her hand on his forearm.

  It’s the first time in forty-five years of being his daughter-in-law that she’s called him that. It comes as a surprise to me. Maybe to Dad too. He seems to snap out of an open-eyed sleep and turns toward her.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he says.

  “I think you should eat,” she says. “I’ll see what they have in the cafeteria.”

  “All right.” He pats his back pocket. “I’m sorry. I think I left my wallet at home.”

  “That’s okay.” She smiles. “I’ve got plenty of money.”

  “I’ll just take a sandwich, then, I guess.”

  “Sure thing.”

  She kisses his temple and he shuts his eyes, pushing his lips together, the corners turned down into a frown.

  “Thanks, Linda,” he says.

  Once Lin is out of the room, Dad leans forward and lets go of Mom’s hand. He takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes with his knuckles. When he drops his hands to his lap, I notice that his eyes are watery. I don’t know if that’s from all the rubbing or if he’s crying.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “Sure,” he answers after a few seconds. “You called Dana, didn’t you?”

  “Yup. She and Chris should be here in an hour or so.”

  “That’s fine.” He turns his attention back to Mom.

  For most of my life I’ve had a difficult relationship with my mother. It’s a hard thing to admit, especially with her looking so helpless in the stark white sheets of a hospital bed. I’ve never said it out loud, but I sometimes wonder how my dad stuck it out for all those years with her.

  He takes her hand again, lifting it to his lips and holding it there for a full minute.

  He loves her and it doesn’t matter that I fail to understand it.

  As hard as she makes it, I love her too.

  I’m not ready to let her go.

  CHAPTER

  Five

  Linda, 1975

  I sat beside Dana on the bed in the hospital room she shared with a handful of other moms and their newborn babies. The whole maternity ward smelled soft and warm like Johnson & Johnson, and I breathed it in. Just the smell of it took me back to right after Sonny was born. I ached in the center of my chest for that time.

  Goodness, my little girl was growing too fast.

  Baby Teddy’s mouth opened wide in a yawn. I met eyes with Dana in wonder. It didn’t take much for me to be completely and utterly amazed by a baby.

  “He’s beautiful,” I whispered, rubbing the bottom of the tiny foot that Dana had uncovered for me to see. “Just perfect.”

  “Do you want to hold him?” Dana asked, not waiting for me to answer before putting him into my arms.

  He was absolutely perfect.

  “Hi, Teddy,” I whispered, running a fingertip over his soft, peach-fuzzy cheek.

  “Say hi to your Auntie Lin,” Dana whispered to him.

  “Oh goodness, I’m an aunt.”

  “You’ll be the very greatest ever.”

  I hoped so. I loved this little human so much already.

  I held him for as long as I could, marveling over his soft skin and impossibly small fingernails, trying to notice every single thing about him. I held him until he started squawking and the nurse hustled in to bustle me out.

  On the way to pick up Sonny from Hilda’s house, I turned
up the radio and sang along to every single word of that corny Brady Bunch song they played all the time that spring, feeling the sunshine day deep down in my soul. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know all the words or that I looked ridiculous bopping along to the bouncy beat.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so full of complete and unabashed happiness.

  Bruce stood at the dresser we shared, emptying his pockets like he did every night. He dumped the handful of coins into the canning jar we used for our rainy-day fund and put his wallet next to my jewelry box. Last of all was his Swiss Army knife.

  Ever the Boy Scout.

  I lay in bed, propped up on one elbow. When he turned and looked at me, he gave me a puzzled look.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Huh?”

  “What are you smiling so big for?”

  “Oh. I don’t know,” I said. “Am I smiling?”

  “Yup.” He narrowed his eyes, right hand working at the button on his left sleeve.

  “Do you think we should have another baby?” I asked.

  “What’s that?” he asked, his eyes widening.

  “I asked if you think we should have a baby.”

  Just the idea of it made me feel buzzy all over with excitement. All day long I’d imagined how this conversation would go. So far, though, I was the only one smiling at the prospect. Bruce didn’t seem so certain, pulling one side of his mouth down.

  It was something Hilda did when she was unsure of something, and it took all the happy, sunshine-day feelings from me.

  “Forget it,” I said. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No. It’s fine,” he said. “I just wonder if it’s a good idea. You know, after what the doctor said.”

  I knew very well what that humbug of a doctor said. That my inability to conceive was an indication that something was wrong. He worried that I’d have a miscarriage if I were to get pregnant again.

  “He could be wrong,” I said, trying not to sound like I was pouting.

  “I guess so.”

  I sat up, hugging my knees to my chest. Bruce left the room and I heard the water running in the bathroom followed by the sound of him brushing his teeth.

  “All right, why do you suddenly want a baby so badly?” he asked, coming back into the room.

  A nugget of possibility sparked in my chest and I couldn’t help but smile.

  “I always want a baby.” I sighed. “I miss having a baby. Babies are so dreamy and wonderful.”

  “And messy and stinky and demanding.”

  “Well, so are you, but I still like you.” I batted my lashes at him. “Just joshing.”

  “I’m not the messy one.” He proved his point with a nod of the head at my side of the dresser, where the jewelry and scarves and makeup were all jumbled together.

  “You knew I was like this when you married me,” I said. “Anyway, I wish you could have seen Teddy today.”

  “Oh. So I have him to thank for this.” Bruce winked at me.

  “Don’t you think Sonny’s ready to be a big sister?”

  “Maybe the real question is if she’s ready to stop being the only child,” he said. “She’s got it pretty good right now.”

  “I’m serious.” I pushed the bangs off my forehead.

  Bruce sat on the edge of the bed, hands on his thighs. He didn’t say anything and he didn’t look at me.

  “Having a baby on our own isn’t the only option,” I said. “We could adopt.”

  He nodded. “That’s true.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  I reached forward, touching his shoulder. He turned and we locked eyes. I regretted saying anything at all.

  “It’s not a great time to take a leap like this, Linda.”

  I pulled back the covers and slipped in under them, rolling away from him, not wanting him to see how disappointed I was.

  He was right. Obviously he was.

  We were making it, but just. Our salaries together made all our payments and bought groceries, but there was hardly anything left over. Thank goodness the school let me teach music twice a week to cover part of Sonny’s tuition.

  Bruce definitely had a point.

  Oh, but it was infuriating that he was always right.

  “Eventually things will pick up at work,” he said. “I’m next up for a promotion.”

  “You’ve said that for three years.”

  “I know.”

  “The least they could do is give you a raise,” I said. “You’ve been there plenty long enough for it.”

  “Well, I don’t have much control over that kind of thing.”

  He didn’t say anything all the while he changed out of his clothes, tossing his socks and shirt into the hamper—a child of Hilda Matthews never threw their clothing on the floor. He didn’t say anything when he climbed under the covers and arranged his head on the pillow. And he didn’t react when I reached over and clicked off the bedside lamp.

  “Honey?” I whispered after a few minutes in the dark. “Are you upset with me?”

  “Nope.”

  “I shouldn’t have said anything about another baby.” I pulled the covers up over my shoulder. “I was just being impulsive.”

  “Well, my answer isn’t no,” he said. “It’s maybe later.”

  He tossed and I turned, neither of us able to fall asleep.

  “You still awake?” he asked after a little while.

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “It’s silly. You’ll think I’m being ridiculous,” I said.

  “I promise I won’t.”

  “The possibility . . .”—I paused, taking in a trembling breath—“of never being able to have another baby feels like mourning a death.”

  I very rarely cried that hard, especially in front of Bruce. Or anyone for that matter. He did his best to calm me down, holding me tight and whispering in my ear. Once all the tears were cried out, he kissed my forehead.

  “I promise that we’ll have another someday,” he said. “I can try and find a second job and we can save up . . .”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I said.

  “I want to.”

  I couldn’t see his face for how dark the room was, but his words sounded so sincere that I had to imagine the earnest expression he wore.

  “Maybe a little boy?” I whispered.

  “Maybe.”

  He fell asleep but my mind kept spinning, so I went to the kitchen to warm up a glass of milk.

  When I put my hand on the fridge, I saw that Sonny had been playing with the alphabet magnets. She’d rearranged a handful of them to spell “SONNY LOVES MAM.”

  I knew she’d spelled my name that way because she’d already used both of the O magnets.

  I traced the letters with my fingertip.

  If raising this girl was the extent of motherhood for me, then it would be enough. I could be happy and content and fulfilled.

  My sweet girl. She was enough.

  CHAPTER

  Six

  Sonny, 1988

  Mindy zipped me into my prom dress and I smoothed the bodice over my stomach. The metallic blue fabric was smooth and shimmery. The black tulle under the skirt was itchy against my legs, and I hoped it wouldn’t bug me all night. Not only that, the shoes we’d had dyed to match my dress pinched my toes and rubbed at the back of my heels.

  I looked at my reflection in the full-length mirror, thinking that it was worth any amount of pain and blisters just to be going to prom.

  I fanned a hand in front of my face, trying to keep down the flush that was creeping up my neck.

  “You look nice,” Mindy said, circling around me and fussing with my skirt.

  “Thanks,” I said, drooping my shoulders.

  I wasn’t going for “nice.”

  I was going for something right out of a Molly Ringwald movie. I was going for nothing short of perfect.

  Shutting my eyes, I daydre
amed about how I wanted everything to go.

  Dad would call up the stairs that my date had arrived, and I’d check everything—hair, makeup, nails, breath—one more time before making my entrance. I’d take my time walking down the steps, fingertips skimming the railing, the skirt of my dress flouncing.

  Kevin would look up at me from the landing, and his jaw would drop.

  “You look beautiful,” he’d say, holding out a wrist corsage that exactly matched the blue of my dress.

  Then we’d walk out to his car and . . .

  “Sonny,” Mindy said, interrupting my daydream.

  “Yeah?” I opened my eyes to see her so close to my face it made me jump.

  “He’s here.” Then she clapped and almost skipped to the door. “Come on.”

  I totally forgot to do my last check. By the time I thought of it, I was already at the top of the stairs.

  Feeling a little lightheaded, I held the railing in a death grip and my hand made a skidding sound against it as I slid it down, sounding like what Mom would have called a “rude noise.” Mindy giggled behind me and I turned and shot her my look of death.

  It didn’t work. She kept laughing at me.

  “I’m ignoring you,” I hiss-whispered at her, then took another step down.

  Once I was halfway down the stairs, Mom snapped a picture and I smiled just a second afterward.

  “Oh, honey, you look so pretty,” she said, replacing the disposable flash cube from the top of the camera before taking another. “All right. Hold on. I want to get one of you standing right there. Don’t move.”

  Snap. Flash.

  And again.

  The woman was going to blind me before I even stepped out the door.

  “Mom,” I said in a whiny way that let her know I was mildly annoyed with her.

  “Okay, okay.” She smiled at me and wiped under her eye.

  I wanted to tell her not to cry, but something else caught my attention.

  Him. Kevin. Standing at the foot of the stairs and looking like Rob Lowe in The Outsiders. Well, except that his hair wasn’t greasy and he was wearing a tux instead of a T-shirt with the sleeves torn off. But still.

  Oh, Sodapop.

  “You look hot,” Kevin said.

  My dad cleared his throat. Loudly.