Bird After Bird

by Leslea Tash

  And then he was gone.

  I was on my way back to Chicago in a flash, doing what I’d always done, but for the first time in my life it felt horribly wrong. It didn’t feel like success. It didn’t feel like achievement. It felt empty.

  Not for the first time, I wished I could talk to my Dad. About work, about life, about stuff. I told myself I’d read the bird book when I got home. “That’s just going to have to be good enough for now.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  Wren

  Mount Saint Francis

  Beautiful weather

  Miles of trails

  At least a dozen Eastern Bluebirds spotted—more in the woods, from their songs

  7 Canada Geese

  2 Wood ducks

  1 pie-billed Grebe

  2 red-tailed hawks

  12 goldfinches

  Grackles—nasty things

  1 very boisterous jay

  5 Northern Cardinals, all female

  15 Tree Swallows…

  The list went on and on. We’d hiked that day, packing snacks and picnicking under a grotto dedicated to Mary on Trail 7. Mount Saint Francis was a private seminary, but the brothers opened it up to the public as a nature preserve, and they did their best to maintain it as little as possible. If it had been closer to the city, I’d have visited it more often in recent years, but it was a bit out of my way now.

  There was a gift shop, and Dad had bought a postcard and put it in the bird book along with his fuzzy snapshots of bluebirds and tree swallows.

  Delight in the common things, he’d written beneath one of the photos.

  I remembered how we’d talked on the drive home. How he’d asked me which I liked better, rare birds or everyday varieties.

  I thought about it, and answered “The everyday.”

  He’d been surprised. “Really? You sure?”

  I’d nodded, pointing out a hawk circling the highway below for a kill. Hawks love open spaces—to them, highways are like big open hunting grounds.

  “Why every day birds, Birdzilla?”

  I shrugged. “If all I cared about were the rare ones, I wouldn’t have near as much fun on this trip.”

  He laughed. “You know—I never thought about it that way, but I guess you’ve got a point.” He’d patted my knee in that way he had—comforting, with just enough pressure to let me know he was there. I was loved, and he’d always be there for me. “You’re too young to be so old,” he’d said.

  And maybe I was. But he had grown older, and died, and now the common bird who was my father—the man of my life, my rock—was gone.

  My dad had been a brilliant mathematician, but when he’d married Mom he settled for a job teaching high school in the next town, at the same school as Mom. Mom had never wanted a life outside Birdseye, and that was reason enough for him to give up his potential in order to teach.

  “Shaping young minds is a powerful responsibility,” he’d said.

  I remembered the night he picked up Mom after theatre practice, and some “young mind” had shown Mom her thanks by egging her car. Stuff like that happened every so often, no matter how well-liked my parents were. I remembered how it took a few paychecks for my parents to save up to meet the deductible for the repairs. Teaching didn’t pay much, and having the paint repaired wasn’t a top priority. Mom drove with that egg-smear badge of “thanks” for more than a month before it was wiped away by a fresh coat of almost-matching paint on the backdoor of her station wagon.

  It wasn’t that I disrespected my parents’ chosen profession, so much as I knew I could do better. And I had, at least financially. If someone vandalized my car, I could afford to fix it the same day. Not my favorite purchase, but life in the city had led to more than one cosmetic repair. No big deal. Cost of doing business.

  Dad’s career cost him a lot more than auto repairs, though. Opportunity cost, as we call it in the business, is when you give up one option in favor of another. You pay for your choices, always, whether out of pocket or not. For example, one year a client was choosing between marketing berry-flavored soda or vanilla. They could afford to produce both, but in terms of what the consumer would adopt, our research had shown that only one flavor would succeed in the long term. Did the company miss out on sales of berry drinks when they chose to push vanilla? Yes. But the gain was so much more.

  Dad gave up one type of job to be with my mom and me in Mom’s ideal lifestyle. No big deal to him. Opportunity cost was worth it.

  I flipped another page in the bird book.

  One of Laurie’s letters was pressed between the pages.

  Dear Sylvia,

  I met a girl tonight. A lady. A little goddess of light and love and energy and warmth, with the sweetest face and the most devious eyes...and I felt something tonight, Sylvia. I felt more alive when she was in the room than I've felt since BEFORE.

  Before I shipped out,

  Before the accident when you and Boomer died,

  Before I let my buddy down and had to send him home in a flag-draped coffin to a grieving wife and kid.

  God damn it, Sylvia, for a few moments I tricked myself into feeling really alive. I cut it off before anyone got hurt, but just for a moment or two, I thought I might feel something—something like trust. Something like love. Not the kind of love we had, but something new.

  I feel so mixed up, Syl.

  I'll never forget you! You'll always be a part of me. Maybe the best part of me.

  Sometimes it sure feels like the best parts of me are gone, and I don’t know how to find them again.

  Sorry. That’s sad, isn’t it?

  Thanks for listening, anyway.

  Love,

  Birdy

  I shut Dad’s bird book and looked at my computer screen. Janice’s email was waiting for a reply.

  Got you that job offer you wanted. The board says we need someone like you to grow our international distro share. Come work with me.

  Can you start in two weeks, or do you need a full month to close up shop?

  They’ll double your salary, Wren, and this company is going places, if I do say so, myself.

  Come take a bite out of the Big Apple with me! We’ll get frozen hot chocolates and ice skate at Rockefeller Center for Christmas! What do you say?

  Could I ask Laurie to move to New York with me? He’d been through so much, so fast. Had we been together long enough to make it work?

  I wasn’t even sure we were ready to move in together in Chicago. We were too new and he got angry when I brought it up.

  “Meeting’s starting, Wren.” It was Darcy, popping her head into my office. “Anything I can do to help?”

  I left the bird book on my chair and password-locked my computer.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  The meeting was exactly what I expected: a quarterly report of which partners had brought in which accounts, and how profitable that work had turned out to be. One yawn after another set to PowerPoint.

  Additionally, the more profitable staffers were listed, with Troy coming a close second to myself. Nothing new to see, until the end.

  A slide filled with confetti graphics and party horns announced COMPANY NEWS! STARTING MAY 1, PARKER & BASH WELCOMES TROY PARKER AS OUR NEWEST SENIOR PARTNER!

  Everyone applauded, little golf claps except for Troy’s father whooping over his son’s success. I wasn’t sure I could believe my eyes. Did they really, in black & white, just point out that I was more profitable to the firm than Troy, but choose to promote him to partner before me?

  “And Wren will be next, right?” Troy spoke up, after the congratulations died down.

  No one but Troy and our managing partner Allen made eye contact with me. Troy’s smile suggested he had no idea this was on the docket, but I doubted it. I’d never had much reason to trust him.

  Mr. Parker looked apologetic, but didn’t answer Troy’s question.

  Troy moved to shake my hand, then pulled me into his arms for a congratulatory
hug. “I’ll bring you up,” he whispered. “Let’s talk over dinner.”

  My phone vibrated. Laurie was calling, but I didn’t want to talk to him while I was so stressed about work. Eventually we were going to have to talk, because I was pretty sure our long distance relationship was about to get a lot longer.

  I ignored Troy and went straight back to my office to send Janice an email response.

  I’m dying to see Broadway. When can I start?

  Chapter Forty-two

  Laurie

  “Wren, it’s me again. Just…give me a call, I guess.” I hated the dejected sound of my own voice, but her voicemail box wasn’t the kind that let you delete and re-record. I hung up the phone with a groan that Hap matched.

  Sometimes I thought he was more hound dog than collie. I’d taken him out to train twice over the past week and both times he’d gotten so excited over rabbits that I packed it in and took him home. I was close to giving up. A search dog has to be focused, and so does his trainer. I wasn’t sure my heart was in it anymore.

  At lunch I texted Wren, and she apologized that she’d been too busy to call.

  -Work blowing up. Sorry. Talk soon-

  I pocketed my phone and went back into the garage. Maybe I could finish work early and head up to Chicago. Surprise her again.

  “No chance, bro,” the boss said. “We’re already behind schedule and if we don’t get caught up I’ll have to hire another man.” He looked around at the boys in the shop and raised his volume. “And if I gotta HIRE someone that means no raises for any of YOU.”

  The guys wanted me to stick around for a few beers after work, but I just wanted to get out of there. Wren and I didn’t usually let a day go by without talking, but it had been almost a week now since she’d taken my call.

  I played back our last visit in my mind. She’d gotten an offer on her house. She’d met my family. She’d been a little terse about the idea of moving in with me here in Birdseye. Before that, though, she’d talked about me moving there. Then work texted her and she was gone like a shot.

  Her texts swore she was buried with work, and I tried to take it in stride. I figured it was something I would have to get used to. I’d been in a long distance relationship before, but it was different then. Working on trucks beneath the hail of gunfire has a way of taking your mind off your problems.

  The fact was, Wren had the kind of job I didn’t understand—I just knew she told huge corporations how to spend their money so they could make more. There were probably always going to be huge demands on her time. I’d have to find a way to meet her half way if I wanted to be part of her world.

  “Half-way. Maybe that’s the ticket.”

  I got home and looked up birding or art events around Indianapolis—the half-way point between our homes.

  Finally, I planned a weekend for us she couldn’t pass up. Eagle Creek Park in Indianapolis was holding its annual art fair, and I thought we’d take in a day of nature hikes followed by shopping, then a romantic dinner out.

  The Bed & Breakfast reservation was going to be a surprise, as well as the special entertainment I’d lined up. Oh, and the proposal.

  Why not? If she could meet my family and still want to be a part of my life, I wasn’t going to let her get away. “Maybe this is what it takes to show her I’m serious about being with her.” Hap groaned again.

  “I know we’ve only been dating a couple of months, but she’s the one, Hap. I don’t want to wait for the rest of my life to begin.”

  Everything changed when I met Wren. She might have been acting a little distant lately, but I knew my heart was safe in her hands. Hers was the first face I wanted to see every morning and the last voice I wanted to hear before I fell asleep. I didn’t care if she wanted to live in Chicago or Katmandu. I was up for anything as long as Wren was a part of it.

  Chapter Forty-three

  Laurie

  “You know after we do this for you, you’re going to have to perform at a gig once in awhile,” Billy explained.

  I’d been practicing the song January Wedding by the Avett Brothers for the proposal, and the guys were doing me a solid by backing me. I gave them money for gas and the B&B gave us permission to set up in their vineyard for a special two-person show.

  If I’d had to sing in front of anyone else but the Boys and Wren, I wasn’t sure I could do it, but for a week after work we’d filled the garage with the sounds of banjo, fiddle, and the singing voice I’d long ago written off as a waste of time.

  “He’s not kidding, man,” Hank said. Hank played guitar for the band and spent most of his garage duty fixing electrical problems in cars. “I haven’t heard you sing since junior high, but you got it.”

  “I ain’t too proud to give ya the mic,” Billy said. “I get hoarse singing all night and I can’t hit some of the notes. Seriously. You’re on the hook for this.”

  “Whatever you say, guys.”

  Eagle Creek lived up to its name. Whole families of bald eagles roosted and soared, and a zillion other species flitted about if you just waited long enough for them to show themselves. Wren and I were in heaven.

  It was the kind of perfect May day where the sun warms you enough for a T-shirt and jeans, and you can finally ditch the winter jacket. We lay in the shade of an ancient poplar, passing binoculars back and forth as the warblers chased invisible insects through the tree limbs.

  I sketched her for a while as she watched them, nibbling a picnic lunch.

  “I wish things could stay like this forever,” she said.

  I thought about proposing right then. The ring in my pocket felt as big as a walnut shell. It was a simple gold band stamped with the stylized silhouette of a bird. One of my artist friends from the community center had made it for me, and I knew Wren was going to love it.

  If she wanted a diamond, Wren seemed like the type of girl who would pick that for herself, anyway. I wasn’t going to offer her an engagement ring. I was going to propose to her that night and give her a wedding ring, instead.

  The art fair was all it was billed to be, as well. Between the birds and the fair and the night to come, I wondered if we’d ever have a day like this again. Maybe our wedding. Maybe when we had a child—if we had a child. We had a lot to talk about, still.

  Hundreds of white-tented booths lined the edge of a meadow. Hand-blown glass baubles caught the sunlight, and wind chimes provided pleasant freeform music you could hear from all over.

  As was to be expected, every booth in the show had some sort of bird-themed art for sale. A fellow hand-carved common birds, and Wren couldn’t help but buy one of each. She nearly cleaned the poor guy out and sent him back to the studio for more. Hand-knitted sweaters with embroidered birds were another find. It was awesome just watching her take it all in, then buying everything she loved. My arms were getting tired from carrying it all when she stopped to buy us each a pineapple whip at the refreshments booth.

  “Best date ever,” she said.

  “Just you wait.”

  She gave me a flirty wink.

  “I should have brought a wagon for carrying all your stuff,” I said. “Should I just back my truck up to one end of the show, and you can have everyone put their finest piece in the back?”

  She punched me, and I dropped my whip.

  “Aw, damn,” she said. “Here, share mine.”

  After a couple of licks, she asked, “Do you think I spend too much money?”

  I shrugged. The truth was, she earned quite a bit more money than I did, and I wasn’t sure I could guess what “too much” might be for her.

  “I don’t know, Wren. All these people need the support, and you love the stuff they’ve made…how can that be wrong?”

  “Opportunity cost,” she said. “I’m blowing my spending budget today, and that might mean I give less this year.”

  “Give…to charity?”

  She nodded.

  I thought about it. “I’m sure I’m biased, but sometimes giving an ar
tist a fair price for his work is a kind of charity. Just enjoy it.”

  She threw the rest of the pineapple whip into the trash. “C’mon then! Go get that truck of yours!”

  She was joking, of course, but she did slow down with her purchases as we perused the final row of the art show.

  The only place she lingered was in the jewelry booth. The exact same craftsman that had made the ring I held in my pocket, in fact. I could hardly breathe as she leaned over his display of gold on black velvet, carefully scrutinizing the work inside.

  “Laurie, come here,” she said. She pointed inside a case at a gold pendant, hammered into the shape of a diamond. It was on a chunky chain, and the pendant bore the imprint of a bird—the same stamp as the one on her ring, but larger. “Would it be horrible of me to buy this one last thing?”

  The artist smiled from behind the case. He knew what the ring was for, and didn’t see it on her finger. I was grateful he didn’t spoil the surprise.

  “Let me,” I said, and handed my friend some cash. When she exited the booth a few minutes later wearing the pendant, all I could do was smile. It was a sign, I thought.

  Daylight was beginning to fade. The sky was trimmed with puffy clouds and I hoped for a spectacular sunset.

  “I’m famished!” she said. “What should we do for dinner?”

  “I thought you’d never ask. I made us a reservation at a local winery.”

  “A winery? Yum!” I’d never seen her so happy. Maybe she hadn’t been available for a couple of weeks because of work, but today was so easy, I was sure we were through the rough patch.

  As afternoon turned to evening, we strolled through the vineyard, hand-in-hand. We’d barely been able to fit all of Wren’s purchases in the truck between us, and we were still joking about her bout of insane retail therapy when we heard banjo music.