Red geranium and yellow dandelion. Purple iris, green hosta, pink echinacea. When I stopped to sniff a flower, she did too. When I picked one and held it out to her, she took it from me, holding it as carefully as she could, a small bouquet collecting in her hands. Wherever I walked in the yard, she was close by my side.
We went inside around ten o’clock, and I turned and aimed the rabbit ears on the television until I was able to get PBS. We caught just the tail end of the opening song of Sesame Street, and it came in clear as crystal.
Miracle of miracles.
“You have fun watching this,” I said, putting my hand on the top of the set. “I have to go make a telephone call. All right?”
She nodded and turned her eyes to the puppets on the TV screen.
One of the few things on my checklist for the day was calling to get Minh appointments with our pediatrician and dentist. Grabbing my address book from the junk drawer and Minh’s immunization record from the envelope, I dialed the number for the doctor first.
The receptionist at the doctor’s office told me I’d need to get everything square with our health insurance before I made an appointment. The insurance agent told me I’d need all my paperwork in order before I added Minh to our policy. The adoption agency told me that they still weren’t sure how immigration status worked for these kids brought over from Vietnam.
“Does that mean she’s here illegally?” I asked.
“Not necessarily,” they answered. “We’ll let you know how all that’s going to work when we’ve got it sorted out.”
That was not confidence inspiring.
I hung up the phone, feeling dizzy and not an inch closer to getting a doctor’s appointment for Minh.
What was left over in the Mr. Coffee from first thing in the morning had gone tepid, so I poured the java into a pan to heat up on the stove. While I waited for the coffee to warm up, I hummed along with the familiar song playing on the TV.
Once it was warm enough, I poured the coffee into my cup, careful not to make it slosh over onto my hand, and stirred in my cream and sugar.
It wasn’t fresh and it wasn’t nearly as hot as I would have liked, but it would hopefully work to stimulate my brain into figuring it all out so we could get Minh in to see the doctor. And soon.
Oscar the Grouch’s voice carried through the television, and I stepped into the living room to see Minh still sitting in her spot in front of the screen.
“Everything okay in here?” I asked.
Minh glanced at me before turning her attention back to Oscar.
“I guess so,” I said under my breath.
Sipping my coffee, I turned toward the piano, fingers itching to play. It had been a few days since I’d had the chance. If anything could clear my head, it was playing something languid and emotionally charged. Debussy might just do the trick for me that day.
It would have to wait, though. Minh was settled and I had lots of chores to get done before Sonny came home at lunchtime.
I started in the girls’ room, not worrying too much about making their beds. They’d just be in them again for a nap that afternoon. I picked up stray socks and teddy bears from the floor and carried the dirty laundry to the hamper in the hallway.
It was when I was in the bathroom, wiping down the sink and countertop, that I heard a loud noise from outside. Figuring it was just a tractor backfiring in the field next door, I went on with my work. That was until I heard the high-pitched screams from the living room.
Panicked, I rushed to Minh, having no idea what could have happened. I’d only been in the bathroom, a handful of steps away.
Still on the floor, she had half turned toward the front door, her mouth turned into a gaping frown, her eyes enormous and unblinking. She screamed over and over.
“Minh?” I said, trying to keep calm but not doing such a good job at it. “Did you get hurt?”
I put my hands on her arms, moving her little body so I could see if she was bleeding or . . . or . . . I didn’t know. When I couldn’t find anything, I pulled her to me, trying to soothe her.
She clung to me, still screaming, as I carried her to the kitchen and wouldn’t let me go when I tried to put her on the counter.
We stayed like that for a very long time. I imagined it was the banging sound that had terrified her so. I thought of Chris and how he stayed inside on the Fourth of July and flinched at sudden noises. All since coming home from Vietnam.
I wished I could know what Minh had seen of the war, what she remembered.
Was it even possible for a child to have shell shock?
Her screams had dissolved into whimpers, her breath deepening. Still, she trembled, clinging to me for dear life.
“Oh, sweetie,” I said. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
After a while she let me go long enough for me to wet a washcloth with cool water to dab on her forehead.
“Doesn’t that feel better?” I asked.
She looked directly into my eyes. Her irises were so deeply brown it almost seemed impossible. I cupped her cheek with my hand and gave her a gentle smile.
Her poor little face showed how exhausted all that fear had made her.
I took her to the couch and held her while she slept. Not long. Just twenty minutes or so. But all the while I tried not to imagine what horrors she held in her memory.
I wished I could erase them all.
Bruce came home at the end of the day with an apple pie from his boss’s wife and a couple dozen cookies from the bakery in town.
“They wanted to congratulate us,” he said, handing the box of cookies to me. “And they really mean it. They didn’t just give us oatmeal raisin.”
“Chocolate chip,” I said, grabbing a cookie from the box.
“How did Minh do?” he asked, glancing out the kitchen window to watch the girls as they played in the yard. “Did you have a good day?”
“Well, we all survived,” I answered before taking a bite of the cookie.
“That’s something, I guess.”
Outside, Sonny curled her body for a somersault, rolling across the yard. When she tried to stand up, she tumbled onto her behind. I could hear her laughter all the way inside the house.
“I found out that Minh’s feet are ticklish,” I said. “And that she likes applesauce.”
“Well, that sounds like a pretty great day.”
“And I learned that loud noises send her into hysterics.” I regarded my half-eaten cookie before handing it to Bruce to finish. “The poor little lady.”
He accepted my cookie, and we watched the girls for a few minutes longer. It appeared that Sonny was busy teaching Minh how to do a somersault. When Minh tried it, she ended up flat on her back, arms stretched out at her sides. Then she rolled over, her back toward us. At first I worried that she’d gotten hurt.
But then she got to her feet and I saw the wide smile on her face and the way her little body shook with laughter.
CHAPTER
Thirty
Sonny, 1988
Every year on the weekend of Fourth of July, we rented a cabin at this little resort in Fort Colson. I mean, it wasn’t a resort with a spa and massages or anything like that. It was a lot more rustic with a row of cottages to rent and a campground where people could park their RVs or set up their tents.
There was a little camp store, though, that sold penny candy and served scoops of ice cream as big as my dad’s fist. So, at least there was that luxury.
We always stayed in Cabin 9, which had the best view of Chippewa Lake.
All day we’d swim or take a rowboat out on the lake. In the afternoons Mindy and I would take a rest on the beach, catching as much sun as we could, checking our tan lines every once in a while to see how dark we were getting. In the evenings we’d sit in the screened-in porch, drinking root beers we’d bought from the little store and playing Michigan rummy, Mom fretting over our sunburned noses and shoulders.
Every night I’d lie in the top bunk in the room
Mindy and I claimed and listen to the loons call back and forth to each other.
Their song was creepy and beautiful at the same time.
Without a question, our trips to Chippewa Lake were the best memories of my childhood.
That year, packing for vacation, I wasn’t sure if there’d be a family trip to the lake the next year. I couldn’t know if Mom would want to drag an almost one-year-old along—I’d have a new sibling by then!—or if I’d even be back home for the summer.
I shoved my swimsuit into my bag, thinking about how growing up meant I had to let go of things little by little. Maybe going to the lake with my family was one of those things just like I’d given up my Barbie dolls when I was twelve.
It made me sad to think about.
But then I thought of all that I could grab hold of once my hands were free.
The day was blisteringly hot, and the cabin wasn’t air-conditioned, so the only relief was in the lake. Mindy and I got into our swimsuits and held hands when we jumped off the end of the dock, the shock of cold water making us almost numb until we bobbed back up to the surface and into the sun.
Mindy got out after a little while, wrapping herself in her towel to read on the beach in the shade of a tree. I, on the other hand, wasn’t ready to leave the water. It just felt too good being cool and weightless.
Floating on my back, I closed my eyes against the too-bright sun. The water rushed in and out of my ears, making a sloshing sound that drowned out any other noise. If I’d tried, I could have imagined I was the only one around.
It was peaceful and lonely at the same time.
Well, it was until something smacked down near me, sending a splash of lake water into my face. I gasped and got a lungful, making me hack and flail until I got my feet on the sandy bottom.
“Hey, sorry,” somebody yelled from over by the dock. “You all right?”
I waved my hand over my head and took in a wheezing breath. “Fine,” I croaked.
“I didn’t even see you over there.”
It was a boy. Of course it was. The sun made his bright-red hair look like flames curling up from his head, and from the way his skin bore a certain shade of lobster, I predicted he’d be sore later on.
“It’s all right,” I said.
“Could you grab my football?” he asked. “It’s right over there. Yup. You got it.”
Had I been a cool girl, I would have thrown that ball in a perfect spiral, impressing the socks off that boy. Instead, I tossed it using both hands, as if it was a basketball. The problem was, I didn’t let go of it in time and it dropped, nose first, into the water in front of me, going no more than a foot.
“Well, good try,” he said.
I grabbed the ball and tucked it under my arm, side-paddling my way to the dock. When I handed it up to him, he sat down, dipping his feet into the water.
“Thanks,” he said. “You wanna play catch?”
“Not really.”
I made sure my swimsuit wasn’t riding up where it shouldn’t have before climbing the ladder up and out of the water. The wood of the dock was rough and hot under my feet.
“You staying in one of the cabins?” he asked.
“Yup.”
“I live just down the road,” he said. “Maybe could I buy you an ice cream cone sometime?”
“No thanks,” I said. “I have a boyfriend.”
It wasn’t totally the truth. Not yet at least. I mean, Mike hadn’t asked me to be his girlfriend, but whatever. I knew he liked me.
I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around my chest so football boy might stop ogling. When I turned to walk back to the beach, I saw that Mindy wasn’t alone with her book.
There was a boy sitting with her. His hair was just as dark as hers, and when he tilted his head upward, I saw that he was cute. Like, really cute.
And my sister was talking to him.
She even laughed. But not her quiet, shy laugh. It was full-on, head-thrown-back laughter.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“My brother,” football boy answered.
“Really?”
“Yeah, he’s adopted.” He held the football under his arm. “We got him from Korea.”
“You mean he was born in Korea?”
The kid shrugged his rounded, sunburned shoulders.
When I rolled my eyes and turned away from him, he yelled “See ya!” at me.
I wanted to yell back “I hope not,” but I didn’t want to interrupt whatever kind of love connection Mindy was making with the cute boy on the beach.
I walked back to our cabin, trying to act cool, like my heart wasn’t beating a million miles a minute. Once I got inside, though, I let myself spaz out a little before calling for my mom.
“What?” she asked, jolting up from the nap she was taking on the couch. “Is everybody okay?”
“Yes.” I waved her over to the screened-in porch. “You’ve got to see this.”
Bleary eyed and having a very hard time getting up—I didn’t know how that belly could possibly get any bigger—Mom made her way to my side.
“Is that a boy?” she asked, whispering.
“Uh-huh.”
“And Mindy?”
“Yup.”
“Is she flirting with him?”
“I think so,” I said.
“I didn’t know she even knew how to do that.”
“Isn’t it great?”
Mom and I huddled together behind the screen and watched Mindy and the boy for at least fifteen minutes before we got bored and walked down to the store for ice cream.
Mom and I helped Mindy pick an outfit—we didn’t have much to work with from her suitcase, so I let her borrow one of my tank tops and cut-off jean shorts. Then we did her makeup and hair, and I was glad I’d thought to bring an extra can of hairspray.
“I need to sit down,” Mom said, pulling out a chair at the table. “My ankles are killing me.”
“Ew, Mom,” I said, looking at her legs. “They’re huge.”
“Sorry for being so gross.” She sat, fanning herself with her hand. “Can you pull that chair over so I can put my feet up?”
“Is that normal?” Mindy asked, helping her lift her legs to the seat of the second chair.
“No clue. It is pretty hot today,” Mom answered. “But don’t worry about me. You get ready for your date.”
“It’s not a date.” Mindy’s eyes got wide. “Is it?”
“Might be,” I answered, using the point of a safety pin to separate her lashes. “Don’t move or I’ll accidentally poke your eye out.”
She pulled away from me. “No thank you with the safety pin, please.”
“That’s the weirdest sentence I’ve ever heard.” I dropped the safety pin back into my Caboodle. “You look pretty, Mins.”
“What’s his name again?” Mom asked.
“Eric,” Mindy said. “I don’t remember if he told me his last name.”
“You might want to figure it out,” I said, backcombing her bangs just a little more so they’d have more lift. “See if it sounds good with Mindy.”
“Oh my goodness, Sonny.” She slumped her shoulders. “It’s not like I’m going to marry him.”
“You might.” I winked at her.
Dad came in, tackle box in one hand and a bag of quickly melting ie in the other.
“Whoa, what’s going on in here?” he asked, setting the tackle box on the table next to Mom. “I didn’t know you girls were bringing makeup.”
“Dad, I bring makeup wherever I go,” I said.
“Why?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Mindy has a date,” Mom said.
“A what?”
“We’re just getting a pop or something, Dad,” Mindy said. “Don’t panic.”
“With who?” He dumped the ice into his cooler. “Do we know this boy?”
“Dad, she’ll be fine,” I said. “It’s a boy she met down by the beach.”
�
��Today?”
“He’s nice, Dad,” Mindy said. “I promise, I won’t be gone long. Okay?”
“All right.” Dad smiled at her. “You look pretty.”
She laughed and looked down, cheeks pinking even deeper than the blush I’d brushed on.
Mindy was pretty. So pretty. I wasn’t sure she knew that.
We all went quiet when we heard the knock on the door of our cabin.
“I’ll get that,” Dad said.
Mom went to bed early, saying she didn’t feel very well. It wasn’t too hard to see that the heat was draining her. Poor Mom. So that left Dad and me to sit on the porch and play rummy while waiting for Mindy to come back. We placed bets with M&M’s, and my pile grew with each game.
I liked to win.
Dad checked his watch while I shuffled the cards.
“Are you worried about her?” I asked.
“Nah,” he said.
“It’s okay if you are.” I started dealing, moving my lips while counting.
“Well, I don’t know.” He picked up his cards, fanning them in his hands. “But I’m sure worried about this hand. Did you even shuffle?”
“Yes. Don’t be a spoilsport.”
“I’m not. I just don’t want to lose all my candy.”
I rolled my eyes. “Just play.”
Dad checked his watch again.
“She won’t be late,” I said.
He nodded and popped an M&M into his mouth.
“I know you still see us as your little girls,” I said, grabbing a tan candy and putting it in my mouth. “But we’re growing up. You can trust us.”
He huffed out a laugh.
“What?” I asked.
“It’s not you girls I don’t trust,” he answered. “I was a boy once. I know how they are.”
We finished that game, and I let him have half the M&M’s.
When someone set off a firework on the other side of the lake, I worried that it would make Mindy jump. She hated loud noises like that.
CHAPTER
Thirty-One
Bruce, 2013
All the ladies of the family got up extra early this morning, headed for a bridal shop in Grand Rapids to find the very most perfect wedding dress for Holly. Off the rack, of course. There’s no time to wait for an order to come in.
The Nature of Small Birds Page 19