The Nature of Small Birds

  “Is that so?”

  “Unless you really want to,” she said. “Then it’s all right.”

  “I really want to, honey.”

  “That’s fine.” She turned toward the bathroom. “Come on, Mindy. Time to brush our teeth.”

  The two of them went together, Sonny giving instructions the whole time.

  Bruce lifted his eyebrows at me, and the only thing I could think of to say was, “First grade is a big deal.”

  It really was.

  CHAPTER

  Forty-Five

  Sonny, 1988

  Mrs. Olds baked a batch of brownies for my last day at the museum, and she refused to let us lift a finger other than to eat, claiming that this was our official office party. She’d even brought kazoos.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “You’re still getting paid.”

  She tossed a handful of confetti in the air when she said it, and I knew Mindy would have to sweep that up the next week.

  “When I was your age, I longed to leave home again,” she said. “If you’ll remember, I was already a divorcée by the time I turned eighteen.”

  Mindy and I nodded, our mouths full of brownie.

  “I was certain that I’d become an old maid.” She scratched her head. “Although, technically, I don’t know that a divorced woman would be considered a spinster. Hm. Anyway, I got a job watching the Huebert children. Of course, they were the very great-grandchildren of the original Mr. Huebert. Would you believe that they still lived in this very house?”

  “Did you have quarters here?” Mindy asked.

  “Oh no. Nothing like that,” Mrs. Olds answered. “I just came to sit with them during the days. Their nursery was upstairs in the critter room.”

  I shuddered just thinking about the stuffed beasts on display up there.

  “They had a map on the wall of the entire world,” Mrs. Olds said. “I’d stand looking at it, trying to pronounce the names of all the different countries and dreaming of traveling from one corner of the earth to the next.”

  She pressed her fingertip into a crumb of brownie on her plate, lifting it to her mouth. She closed her eyes and sighed. They really were that yummy.

  “Well, I didn’t last long in that job,” she went on. “I got fired when the stock market crashed.”

  “Bummer,” I said.

  “It was just as well. Those children were monstrous.” She pushed her hands together. “Anyway, to keep the story short, I eventually met and married Mr. Olds, who just happened to be a pilot. He made good on his promise to show me the world.”

  “Where did you go?” Mindy asked before polishing off the rest of her brownie.

  “All over,” Mrs. Olds answered. “I’ll tell you what. I always considered myself to be a brave woman until the first time I got on an airplane. I just kept thinking about poor Amelia Earhart and how she went missing in her plane. I was certain that would happen to me too.”

  “But it didn’t,” I said. “You were all right.”

  “Obviously.” Mrs. Olds winked at me. “Life requires so much courage out of us, doesn’t it? Even putting our feet on the floor in the morning is an act of bravery, don’t you think so?”

  “Well, I’m not very brave,” Mindy said.

  “My dear,” Mrs. Olds said. “Give yourself some credit.”

  Then she plopped another brownie on each of our plates.

  Bear Run had only one cemetery, and it was way out in the boonies. Not too far from where we lived when Mindy and I were kids. On one side were the oldest graves with cracked, sunbaked tombstones that were nearly impossible to read. On the other end were the more recently departed of the town. The rows on that side were straighter, and some of the planters had flowers in them, even if they were dried up after a full summer of no rain.

  Dad had told me that Grammy and Grumpy already had their plots picked out and paid for, even if they wouldn’t need them for a really long time. At least I hoped they wouldn’t.

  I wondered if, someday, Mom and Dad would buy a spot there too. It gave me the creeps to think about them dying.

  It wasn’t like I was the kind of teen to moon around, reading Poe and contemplating death all the time. It was just, like, when I drove past the cemetery I was reminded that everybody would die someday.

  It made me think of a John Donne poem I memorized for my English class. Like, it was kind of depressing but sort of beautiful at the same time. All about how nobody is an island but instead part of a continent made up of everyone. Each time a person dies, it matters to everyone else.

  I turned the El down the road that would take Mins and me to the cemetery, even if it was really far out of the way, and thought of the last lines of that poem.

  Therefore, send not to know

  For whom the bell tolls,

  It tolls for thee.

  Metallica so totally ripped off John Donne.

  “Why are we going this way?” Mindy asked.

  “I just wanted to go for a ride through the cemetery,” I answered.

  “Um, why?”

  “You’re going to drive,” I answered, slowing down where the dirt road got rough with craters.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yeah, you are.”

  “I don’t even have a permit,” she said, shaking her head. “What if I hit something?”

  “Well, fortunately for you, you can’t hurt any of the people who live here,” I said. “And you can’t break this car. Trust me. I’ve tried.”

  “I don’t know about this, Sonny.”

  “Are you scared?”

  “Yes. Duh.”

  “All the more reason to.”

  I pulled into the narrow lane of the cemetery, glad nobody else was there. It was pretty iffy, giving my sister a driving lesson there, and I knew some people would think it was disrespectful.

  I parked beside the gigantic Huebert family monument.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to do this,” Mindy said.

  “Mins, life is too short to avoid everything that scares you.”

  “It’s a completely rational fear, Sonny.” She crossed her arms. “You saw those videos in driver’s ed. People die in car crashes every day.”

  “Yeah, but more people don’t.” I got out of my side and around to hers, pushing her across the seat and behind the steering wheel. “Now drive.”

  The driving path in the cemetery wasn’t paved, but was straight and flat, and Mindy took it at maybe ten miles per hour. Whenever there was a bend or a turn, she slammed on the brake before spinning the steering wheel. After the first five minutes of white-knuckling it, she relaxed.

  By the end of the first time around, she was smiling.

  She never even came close to grazing a gravestone.

  When we got home there was a letter from Eric on the counter, and Mindy ran up to our room to read it, locking the door behind her. The only reason I didn’t pound on the door for her to let me in was that Holly was sleeping and Mom threatened to banish me if I woke her up.

  After ten minutes of me begging in whispers to be let in, Mindy finally opened the door, a goofy smile on her face. She handed me the one-page letter.

  “You can read it if you want,” she said, her voice dreamy and both hands resting on her chest, right over her heart.

  I skimmed the note. It was mostly about how beautiful she was—which was true—and how he couldn’t stop thinking about her—which was corny—and how he only ever wanted to be with her—which was gag-worthy.

  Blah, blah, blah.

  But then, at the very bottom of the page were the three words that every girl wanted to hear from a boy.

  I love you.

  “He loves you?” I whispered, wanting to yell but afraid of banishment. “What in the world?”

  “I know,” Mindy said, practically swooning onto her bed.

  “Do you love him?” I plopped down beside her.

  “I don’t think so. At least not yet.” She
took the letter from me, folding it and putting it on her bedside table. “I guess I like him, though.”

  “Okay.” I pulled my legs up under me. “Why?”

  “Well, he’s nice and he likes Star Trek,” she said.

  I resisted calling him a nerd because I was a good sister.

  “We have a lot in common.” She swallowed and looked down at her comforter. “He’s the only person I’ve ever met who really knows what it’s like to be me.”

  The mood in the room changed with that last sentence she said.

  It wasn’t about me and I knew it. So I tried to ignore my hurt feelings for a couple of minutes at least.

  “I just mean that he understands what it’s like to be adopted,” she said. “I didn’t mean . . .”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “He was a baby when he was adopted, so he doesn’t remember Korea or anything. Still.”

  “I get it,” I said, even if I didn’t really understand. Not totally. “So, do you want to go out with him?”

  “I guess.” She shrugged. “I kind of wish we could just be friends for a little while longer, though. It’s scary.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he might break my heart.”

  “Not if you break his first.” I smiled at her.

  It was nice when she smiled back.

  She grabbed a piece of paper and her favorite pen from her desk to write him back. Just to tell him she was ready to be his girlfriend. When she’d finished, she asked me to read it, like to make sure it all made sense and that it wasn’t too cheesy. It was fine, even if she did quote Spock once toward the end.

  What tripped me up, though, was how she signed the letter.

  “Your girlfriend, Minh?” I read out loud. “Does he call you that?”

  She lowered her eyes and nodded like she felt guilty about it.

  “It’s not bad,” I said. “I mean, it’s your name.”

  “I know,” she said. “Do you think it’s weird?”

  “No.” I paused for a second. “It’s just that I thought you liked being called Mindy.”

  “I guess it’s fine,” she said. “It’s not like I have a choice, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You decided that everybody would call me Mindy, not Minh.” She shrugged. “I just went along with it to make you happy.”

  “Well, that’s dumb.”

  She scowled and shook her head, rolling her lips between her teeth like she was trying to keep her yapper from saying the wrong thing.

  “I’m sorry, okay?” I said. “I was, what, five? I didn’t realize at the time that I was wrecking your life.”

  “You don’t have to be so dramatic about it,” she said. “It’s fine. I’m not mad about it.”

  I thought about storming out of the room and stomping down the stairs. That, however, would have been dramatic, just proving Mindy’s point.

  “Me being Mindy is easier for everyone, I guess,” she said. “But it’s nice to have one person in the world call me by my real name.”

  From the other room Holly cooed and Mom started singing a little song to her.

  I looked back at Mindy’s letter and the way she signed it at the bottom. Even if I lived until I was a hundred years old, I would never be able to understand what it was like to be adopted. I’d never know how it felt to look different from the rest of my family. There was no way I’d ever get it.

  But Eric did.

  And I’d just have to be okay with her giving him a part of her life that she’d never be able to share with me.

  It wasn’t about me. Not even a little.

  “Your letter’s fine,” I said.

  “Should I have said that I love him back?” she asked.

  I told her to hold off on that for now.

  A girl could only do just so many brave things in one day.

  CHAPTER

  Forty-Six

  Bruce, 2013

  Mom fell again this morning. When Dad called, he said this might be it. I sat with him in the hospital waiting room until the doctors and nurses finished all manner of testing and got Mom set up in a room.

  Their best guess is that it was another stroke, probably her biggest yet. She’s unresponsive, and this time around we can’t say she’s just being stubborn.

  Still, Dad talks to her, whispering pleas for her to open her eyes, to see who’s here to see her.

  “It’s Brucie,” he says, using the name they called me when I was little. “You wanna say hi to him?”

  When she doesn’t move, not even a fluttering eyelash, he reaches up and tries his best to fix her hair.

  “I’ll have to ask her nurse for a comb,” he mutters. Then he looks toward me. “You think they’ve got some here?”

  “I’m sure they have a whole drawerful,” I say.

  He nods as if satisfied, and gives her bangs one last swipe to the left. I don’t tell him that she’s always worn them to the right.

  He’s trying.

  We each find a chair and settle in, watching her and letting the time slide by.

  Just about suppertime Dad tells everybody to go get some grub. Everybody but Dana and me. With most of our family vacated, the room feels empty, colder. The sounds of the machines hooked up to Mom are more pronounced. There’s a click over here, a whooshing over there. Every couple of seconds something beeps.

  It’s uncomfortable, that discordant song. When Dad starts to talk, I’m relieved.

  “I know we’ve talked about this before,” he says. “But I just wanted to remind you of your mother’s wishes.”

  He glances at Mom and clears his throat.

  “Her advance directive?” Dana asks.

  Dad nods.

  “We remember,” I say.

  Mom’s made it clear that, at the end, she doesn’t want doctors keeping her alive longer than she has to be. Dana puts her arm around my shoulder, and the kindness is enough to undo me a little.

  “Hey, hey, son,” Dad says. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  “I know it.” I rub the meat of my hand under my eyes. “It’s just hard.”

  Dana pulls me closer to her, wrapping her free arm around me in a sideways hug.

  “If she has to go, it’ll be okay,” Dad says. “We’ll be okay. Won’t we?”

  “Yeah, Dad,” Dana says. “We will.”

  He takes Mom’s hand and leans down, pressing it against his lips.

  Then he returns it to the bed so carefully.

  Over the next few days, we all take shifts at the hospital with Mom. Nobody can stand the thought of her being in that room by herself, so somebody’s there at any time of day and night.

  Thank goodness the nurses keep the coffeepot going at all times in a hospitality room at the end of the ward.

  Last night all three of my girls kept watch, and when I step into the room first thing in the morning, it looks like they’ve had a bit of a party. The trash can is full of candy wrappers, pop cans, and an empty box of pizza sits on the counter in the corner.

  “You didn’t save me a slice?” I ask.

  “Sorry,” Holly answers. “Staying up all night makes a girl hungry.”

  “I bet.” I turn toward Mom. “Any change?”

  Sonny shakes her head. “The nurse said her vitals are steady.”

  “That’s good, I guess.” I feel my coat pocket, pulling out a cell phone. “Oh, Mindy. You left this on the charger at home.”

  “I know,” she says, taking it. “Thanks for bringing it.”

  She yawns and clicks on the screen, typing with her thumbs.

  “Why don’t the three of you go home and get a little rest,” I say, sloughing off my coat and hanging it on a hook by the door. “Grumpy’ll be here soon.”

  “I’m in no hurry,” Sonny says, checking the clock on the wall. “Evie’s probably on her third living room performance of ‘Let It Go’ by now. I’d bet she’ll have at least a dozen more to do by lunch.”

&nb
sp; “It’s a great song,” Holly says.

  “You want to go be her audience for a couple of hours?”

  “I’d love to.”

  “Guys,” Mindy says, staring at her phone. “I just got an email from Vietnam.”

  When she looks up, her red-rimmed eyes are wide and there’s just a hint of a smile in the corners of her mouth.

  “What does it say?” Holly asks. “Is it from your birth mom?”

  “I haven’t opened it yet.” She shakes her head and then swallows hard. “I’m nervous and excited and terrified.”

  Holly leans over and gives her a peck on the cheek. “We’re here.”

  “I know.” Mindy makes the screen dark. “And I love you for it. But I kind of need to read this by myself.”

  “We get it,” Sonny says. “Right, Hol?”

  “Sure.” But from the way she dips her head I can tell she doesn’t really get it.

  Sonny and Holly left an hour ago, headed for home and Evie’s never-ending concert. Holly was a little put out when Mindy sent a text to let us all know that she was getting some fresh air, that she’d catch up with us later.

  If it were up to Holly, we’d all give her daily updates on all the goings-on of our lives. Not so much because she’s snoopy, but more because she cares that much. She just has a different way of showing it.

  The cup of coffee I brought for Dad after he showed up has already gone cold, forgotten on the rolling tray next to Mom’s bed. His head is resting against the back of the recliner and he’s snoring with abandon.

  I’ll let him sleep as long as he needs to.

  The poor guy.

  I brought my copy of Robert Service’s poems to read to Dad if he wanted me to. It’s the book he gave my brother for his sixteenth birthday. After Dale died, I pilfered it, knowing that nobody would notice.

  There were a few pages that had the corners folded down. Mostly the ones about adventures in Alaska. Dale had always dreamed of the Yukon. My heart is still tender when I think about how he never made it there. Not on this side of life, at least.

  I liked to have hope that heaven would hold adventures we couldn’t have here and that Dale got his chance to face down a grizzly without any fear of being eaten.