Anyway, there’s one dog-eared page that always catches me off guard when I look through this book. It’s for a poem about the reason that birds sing.
It’s a bouncy verse, so very happy-go-lucky, and I wonder what made Dale pick that one as a favorite. I guess I can’t know.
So absorbed am I in the poem that I jump at the touch on my shoulder.
“Sorry,” Linda says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“That’s all right,” I say. “Everything okay?”
There’s a smudge of mascara under her right eye and her nose is red the way it often is after she’s been crying.
I glance at Mom and see that her chest is still rising and falling and the heart rate monitor showing activity. Dad’s still snoozing away.
“Yeah.” She puts her lips on mine in a gentle kiss. “Mindy got some news.”
“Oh?”
“It’s not what we were hoping for,” she says. “But it’s not all bad.”
I meet Mindy at our trail, the two of us bundled up in coats and scarves, hats and mittens. I’ve got a thermos of hot tea and a couple of chocolate bars in my pack. I remember that it was Dale who told me years ago that I should always take chocolate on cold weather excursions.
I never hit a snowy trail without it.
It’s quiet out here today, and the only sound we made is the crunching of our boots on the hard-packed snow. Every minute or so Mindy sniffles. Other than that, it’s darn near silent for the first quarter mile or so.
That’s when she stops, breath steaming out of her mouth. I turn to face her, wondering if now is the time to pull out the chocolate.
“The email was from a man named Thi,” she says, pronouncing it as Tie. “I guess he’s my half-brother.”
“Mindy, this is excellent,” I say.
“Hold on.” She puts her hands in her coat pockets. “Don’t get too excited yet.”
“All right.”
“He said that they’ve been looking for me the past couple of years but weren’t sure where I’d ended up.” She closes her eyes. “He said that for a while they were afraid I was on the plane that crashed.”
There’s this clenching in my core at the thought of it.
“But then someone told him about my posts on the Babylift page.” She licks her lips. “He knew as soon as he saw the pictures that it was me. That I’m his half-sister.”
“And you’re sure he’s legitimate?”
“I think so,” she says. “He knew about the impetigo I had on my face. His—our mother told him about it. And he had a picture of me.”
She yanks off one mitten with her teeth before pulling the phone from her pocket and searching for a photograph.
It’s black and white and grainy, a little faded as pictures from that long ago are. Still, it’s clearly our little Minh sitting on the lap of a woman who looks startlingly like our grown-up daughter.
“That’s your birth mother?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“You look just like her.”
“Do you think so?”
“For sure.”
From the way she smiles, I can tell she thinks so too. I can tell she’s proud of it.
She takes one last look at the picture and then puts the phone away, fitting her hand back into the mitten.
“Anyway, Thi lives in Thu Duc, right outside Ho Chi Minh City,” she says, starting to walk again. “He said there’s a lot to see there, some nice hotels for Sonny and me to stay in.”
“Then you’re really going?”
She nods. “Sonny’s calling the travel agent tomorrow.”
“And passports?”
“All set,” she says. “I think we’re just worried about leaving while Grammy’s sick.”
“None of us want you worrying about that, sweetie,” I say. “We’ll manage while you girls are gone.”
We move along on the trail, not talking for a good amount of time. Something niggles at me, though. Something she hasn’t said more than a few words about. It isn’t until we reach the halfway mark on our walk that I get the tea and chocolate out of my pack. I hand Mindy one of the tin cups of chamomile before pouring one for myself.
“And what about your birth mother?” I ask, peeling the wrapper off my candy bar. “You think you’ll get a chance to meet her?”
I’ve caught her mid-sip and she swallows before looking into my eyes and shaking her head.
“She passed away a couple of years ago.” When she sighs, her breath makes a cloud of steam in the cold air. “Thi said it was cancer.”
I feel sick, suddenly no longer hungry for the chocolate.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “You must be heartbroken.”
She nods, looking into her cup.
“It’s sort of anticlimactic, isn’t it?” she says.
She kicks a clod of dirty snow, and it falls apart.
“Well, I’m not sure that real life is all that much like a movie.”
“Yeah. I know.” She sniffles and rubs her nose with the back of her mittened hand. “I had my hopes up.”
“I know, honey.”
“I really wanted to know what kind of person she was,” she says. “I wanted to get to know her.”
I do my best not to spill tea on her as I pull her close, remembering one of the first times I held her. Then I wanted so desperately for her to feel safe. These days I’m aware of how incapable I am of sheltering her. It’s more likely that I can offer a small measure of comfort.
Something tells me that’s enough for her.
We finish our tea and get back to walking. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the red streak of a cardinal zip by and keep my ears open.
Of all the birds in these woods, the cardinal is the only one who sings all winter long. The fellow lights on a branch and gives a tender serenade before taking back to the sky.
CHAPTER
Forty-Seven
Linda, 1975
I turned on the radio, hoping for a happy tune on the way to drop Sonny off at school. My heart felt so raw at the idea that summer was over and that I wouldn’t have her with me all day long. So, when “Landslide” came on, I got all kinds of sappy and weepy.
Time just went along too quickly. Life changed constantly. The last thing I needed was another reminder that, before I knew it, my girls would be all grown up. First days of first grade would turn into high school graduations and moving away to college. Then came weddings and babies of their own.
If I was this emotional sending Sonny off to school for seven hours, how much of a wreck would I be when she moved to another town or state?
I told myself to get it together, blinked against the tears, and took a good, deep breath.
Motherhood wasn’t for wimps.
“Now, Mindy,” Sonny said, hanging over the front seat to talk to her sister in the back, “I’ll be at school all day and there won’t be any naps, so when I get home I’ll be a little grumpy, so don’t do anything to make me mad. Okay?”
“Okay,” Minh said. “Sonny bye?”
“Yes. Remember? I’m going to school.” Sonny held up her hand and waved at her sister. “Bye.”
“Bye,” Minh repeated.
When I looked in the rearview mirror, I saw Minh’s little mouth turned down into a frown.
Pulling up to the curb in front of the school, I opened my mouth to tell Sonny to have a good day, that I loved her, to be kind to new kids. The whole rigamarole.
But before I could get a word out, she swung open the door and took off toward the playground, hollering a “bye” over her shoulder as she went.
It was a stab straight to my heart.
I had to shimmy myself across the seat to shut her door, and someone in a car behind me honked to let me know that I was in their way.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, straightening back up in my seat.
I took one last look at the playground before pulling away.
Sonny sat at the very top of the tallest slide, her arms lifted
over her head and her face tilted toward the sky.
Ivan stopped over shortly before lunchtime, and I offered him a cup of tomato soup. It was from a can, not the homemade kind he was used to from Hilda, but he was still gracious enough to say it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
For about the hundredth time I entertained the thought that Hilda did not deserve such a kind man.
“Say,” he said after slurping up his last spoonful, “I happened to be at the toy store the other day.”
“Oh you were?” I asked, taking his bowl to the sink.
“Can’t an old man frequent a toy store?” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Thanks again for lunch.”
“You’re welcome any time.”
“That’s good of you.” He leaned into the back of his chair. “Anyway, I was looking at the dolls and darned if I didn’t find one with dark hair and eyes.”
“You did?” I asked, putting a hand on my hip.
I’d bemoaned more than a couple of times the lack of non-blond-headed dolls in all the stores in Bear Run.
“I sure did. And she was a pretty doll too.” He smiled at Minh. “If you think that might be something she’d like, I can get it.”
“You don’t have to buy her a doll.”
“Well, I already did,” he said. “It’s in the car.”
“Ivan . . .”
“Now, it’s nothing special, so don’t get too excited.”
He went back outside, and Minh left her seat at the table to watch him out the living room window. Holding his hands behind him, he came back into the house.
“Grumpy?” she said.
“Hey, she said my name.” His face lit up. “How about that?”
He knelt on the floor before handing her the doll.
“Mindy?” she asked.
“Yup. That’s for you, Minh.”
The smile on her face was pure radiance.
She reached up and bopped him on the nose.
As she’d predicted, Sonny was tired and grouchy when she got home from school that afternoon. Somehow her shirt got stained with ketchup—even though I hadn’t packed any in her lunch—and her piggytails were tangled and frizzy.
It looked more like she’d wrangled a mountain lion than spent a day in first grade.
“We didn’t even learn how to read,” she grumbled in the car on the way home. “They promised we would!”
“Well, honey,” I said. “You can’t learn to read in just one day.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a big thing.” I pulled to a stop at an intersection, turning on my left turn signal. “You need to be patient.”
“I don’t like being patient.” She made a harrumph sound and crossed her arms. “I want to read. Now!”
“Sonny, I love you,” I said, “but you’re going to have to learn to go with the flow a little bit.”
She didn’t like that, not even a little, and pouted for the last half of the drive home so I’d know of her great displeasure.
We were just about to turn down the road to our house when I heard Minh’s tiny voice from the back seat.
It wasn’t unusual for her to jabber away to herself, trying on words she’d heard one of us say, practicing them so she could use them.
“Did you hear what she said?” Sonny asked before scrambling up onto her knees to look back at her sister. “Say it again, Mindy.”
“Sonny, I love you,” Minh said, then giggled.
“That’s good,” Sonny said. “Did you hear her, Mommy?”
“I did,” I answered.
“Mommy, I love you,” Minh added.
“Oh, sweetie pie, I love you too,” I said.
“Daddy, I love you.”
I pulled into the driveway, only just, and put the car into reverse.
“How about we go surprise Daddy at work?” I said. “We could take him some ice cream.”
“Can we have ice cream too?” Sonny asked.
“Daddy?” Minh asked.
“Let’s go.”
I pulled out of the drive, headed to Bruce’s office, and reminded myself to take it slow, even if I was eager for him to hear the new thing Minh had learned to say.
We’d have time—our whole lives—to hear her tell us that she loved us.
Still, I couldn’t bear the idea of him waiting until he got home from work.
I peeked at Minh in the rearview mirror. She had both of her dollies—the old yellow-headed one and the new one with hair as dark and silky as her own—tucked under each of her arms.
She’d insisted on bringing them both.
CHAPTER
Forty-Eight
Sonny, 1988
I sat in the front seat of Mike’s car. He kept the engine running and the radio was playing “Glory of Love,” and I thought that if there was any time for him to ask me to be his girlfriend, it was right then.
In less than one hour, I’d be leaving for college and I wouldn’t see him until Thanksgiving. That was a long stretch for a girl not to be around a guy she liked. Every inch of me ached just thinking about how much I’d miss him. Not to mention how my stomach twisted when I considered how many girls he could meet in that time.
I wasn’t sure that I was in love with him—I wasn’t even sure what that really meant—but whatever was going on in my heart was causing me a stupid amount of agony.
Was I totally overreacting? Sure. But I was saying goodbye to him for three months. I was allowed a certain amount of melodrama.
At least I was keeping it all bottled up inside so Mike didn’t end up thinking I was a total spaz.
“So,” he said, “you’ll make sure to send me your phone number?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m going to miss you.”
He nodded and reached over for my hand, grazing my thigh with his knuckles.
“I think I should get inside,” I said. “Don’t you have anything you want to ask me first?”
“Yup.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat. “Do you really think college food is as bad as everybody says it is?”
“Michael.”
“Give me a second,” he said. “It’s kind of scary.”
“Are you saying that I’m scary?”
“Yeah. I am.” He turned toward me. “Because I still don’t believe I’m good enough to be your boyfriend. You’re way out of my league.”
“True.”
“It’s a big deal, asking a girl to be official and stuff. You know?”
“So, are you asking?”
“Of course I am,” he answered. “Sonny, will you please be my girlfriend?”
“Okay, I guess so.”
We kissed, and I was only a little bit annoyed when I noticed Mom spying on us out the front window. She pulled the curtain in front of her face once she knew she was busted.
Mike walked me to the front door and kissed me again. I wouldn’t have said that we were really good at it yet, but we were getting there.
I checked and double-checked my packing list, making sure I’d grabbed everything that was going with me to college. Mom had promised to send anything I left behind; still I went through every drawer and peeked under my bed one last time.
I was stalling.
Not that I wasn’t excited to get to college and move into my dorm or anything. I was just really, really nervous about leaving home.
The stack of books on my bedside table caught my eye, and I read their spines, trying to decide if I needed to take any of them. Pulling The Glass Menagerie out from the middle, I thought about the character Tom and how he abandoned his family, leaving them to fend for themselves.
If there was one thing I’d hated about that play, it was how he’d wrenched himself away from his mom and sister. What a jerk.
“Hey,” Mindy said from the doorway. “You about ready to go?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Just a sec.”
“You don’t want to be late.” She crossed her arms and leaned into the doorjamb.
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“I know.”
“You know that we’ll all miss you, right?” she said.
“I’m going to miss you too.”
I tensed, like, every muscle in my face trying to stop myself from crying. Still, the inside corners of my eyes stung and my nose got runny.
“Oh, don’t cry, Sonny.” Mindy crossed the room and gave me a hug. “It’s going to be great. You’re going to love college. I know it.”
“I mean, I know that,” I said. “It’s just, I feel bad leaving you behind.”
She narrowed her eyes at me and shook her head.
“You aren’t leaving me behind,” she said. “Besides, it’s not like you’re going away forever.”
“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
“Girls,” Mom called up the stairs. “We’ve got to get on the road.”
“Yes, Mom,” Mindy answered. Then to me, “Coming?”
“Yup. Be right down.”
She let me have another minute alone in the room that would never really be mine again. It would just be a place I’d crash over breaks and during the summer months.
I put The Glass Menagerie at the foot of the bed that had been mine as long as I could remember.
Dad met me at the bottom of the steps, his eyes all crinkly when he smiled.
“You ready?”
I wasn’t, but I walked out to the car with him anyway.
CHAPTER
Forty-Nine
Bruce, 2014
It was a long, deeply cold winter. The kind that makes a man wonder if turning into a snowbird and making his way to Florida for a couple of months isn’t a good idea. The snow drifted high against the house, and more than a couple families in Bear Run had the pipes burst in their basements.
But we’re on the other side of it now. Gloriously, spring is making its slow entrance back into our lives. Just the other day I noticed that we’ve got what I call Robert Frost blooms on the trees. The little golden flowers will soon spread into leaves and we’ll be in a world of green before we know it.
Spring is the time when I’m glad I didn’t head south so easily.
Stuck inside as much as we were made for lots of movie nights and euchre tournaments with Dad and Mindy and more than a little baking. A couple of times we had the granddaughters over to make ice cream out of the piles of untouched snow that accumulated in the yard.
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