Be Light Like a Bird

by Monika Schröder

  “I don’t believe you. Why would they write letters? Everyone sends emails now.”

  “I couldn’t believe it either. I still can’t. But I read the letters. He kept them all.” Ma paused. “I also found a receipt. Last Thanksgiving, when he told us he was going to his pilot training seminar, he went to a spa with her.”

  “What’s the woman’s name?”

  “Wren,” Ma said, wringing her hands. “I don’t think that’s important. I didn’t want to tell you any of this. I knew it would upset you and —”

  “What is the woman’s name?” I demanded.

  Ma sighed. “Carolyn Ondra — same last name as my first-grade teacher’s. She lived in Brookhaven. Her address was on the envelopes I found.”

  There was a gushing in my ear, like I was standing next to a very loud stream. “It can’t be true!” I cried. “You’re making this up so that I’ll stop loving him. But it won’t work. I’ll never stop loving Dad, and he would never do something like that.”

  I got up from the table, pushing my chair back with a loud, angry scrape.

  “Hear me out, Wren,” Ma said. “He did do it. In several of the most recent letters, she mentioned their plans to live together. He was planning to leave me… us. That’s why I burned everything.”

  “None of this is true!” I yelled. “I thought we were going to share our memories of him, talk about the things we did together. Instead, you’re making up this big fat lie!”

  “Wren, please,” Ma begged. “Why would I lie to you?”

  “He wouldn’t have left us,” I said as I hurried toward the door. “How can you even say something like that?”

  “Wren!” Ma called after me. “Don’t run off. Please! Let’s talk about what happened.”

  “I’ve wanted to talk for a long time!” I yelled. “But not like this.”

  39

  I jumped on my bike and pedaled to the library. Icy rain pelted down, but I felt hot, like I was drowning in a bubbling mass, boiling in a witch’s cauldron. From the public phone in the library lobby, I called the operator. I needed to know if Carolyn Ondra in Brookhaven was a real person. If she had a landline, I would be able to get her number.

  As I spoke to the automated operator, I hoped that I wouldn’t find a listing in Brookhaven for a woman of that name. That Ma had made it all up. But the mechanical voice announced a number, and with cold hands I wrote it down.

  Through the glass doors, I could see Mrs. Russo helping someone at the circulation desk, but I didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. My jacket was soaked, and I hadn’t put on my rain boots when I’d stormed out of the house, so now my feet were wet. I went to the bathroom and dried my hair under the hand dryer. It was raining too hard to go to the pond, so when I was finished, I sat on the bench in the hallway, trying to calm down.

  I just could not believe what Ma had told me. I knew about people having affairs. Mr. Leroy’s wife had left him for another man. It happened. But before people split up, they fought a lot and things got ugly. That hadn’t happened with Ma and Dad. There hadn’t been any sign of trouble — none whatsoever. And even if there had been, when a man left his wife, he also left his child. Dad would never, ever, ever have done that.

  I found several quarters in my bag. My hands were shivering as I dialed the number I’d written down. It took three rings before a man answered.

  “Could I please speak to Carolyn Ondra?” I said.

  “Ms. Ondra doesn’t live here anymore,” he told me. “But she left a forwarding address. Do you have a pen?”

  I said yes, and the man rattled off an address in Chicago. This time the operator had no listing. Ms. Ondra probably only used a cell phone now. If I wanted to talk to her, I’d have to go to Chicago.

  * * *

  After leaving the library, I decided to stop at Theo’s. I couldn’t go home. His father wasn’t home, and Theo invited me into the kitchen. “You should put your jacket over the radiator to dry,” he said as we sat down. “You look upset. What’s wrong?”

  “I finally talked to my mother. She claims my father had a girlfriend,” I began. “But there is no way this is true. She’s lying.” I had to steady my voice.

  “Tell me everything, one thing at a time,” Theo said. “And don’t forget to breathe.”

  When I was done telling him what had happened, Theo said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to go to Chicago. It’ll hurt you to talk to that woman.”

  “But she might tell me something new about my dad.”

  “You just learned something new about him. You learned that he wasn’t as perfect as you thought he was. I don’t think you need to go to Chicago to find out more.”

  I shook my head. “You don’t understand.”

  “I do understand,” Theo said. “But what about your mother? She’ll be worried if you don’t come home.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “It’s not her fault that your dad had a girlfriend. She’s probably hurt too.”

  “Why didn’t she tell me about it before?”

  “She tried to tell you now,” Theo pointed out. “You ran off.”

  “Because it can’t be true!” I exclaimed. “There’s no way he wanted to leave us.”

  “Why would she make it up?” he asked.

  “To hurt me,” I said. “To make me stop loving him.”

  Theo shook his head. “If you’re honest with yourself, you can’t actually deny the woman’s existence. By wanting to go to Chicago, you’ve already acknowledged that she’s real. Therefore, you’re acting illogically.”

  “You don’t understand,” I said again. “It’s not a logic problem.”

  “No, it’s a problem of being hurt. Still, that’s not a good base for decision making.”

  I looked at my hands, avoiding Theo’s gaze and his advice. “There must be a bus to Chicago.”

  40

  The Indian Trail Motorcoach terminal was near the Studebaker Restaurant. After the rain had stopped, I tried to stay warm by pedaling fast and working up a sweat. Theo hadn’t been happy when he couldn’t convince me not to look for the woman, but at least he’d agreed to keep quiet.

  At the terminal’s ticket booth, I learned that the overnight bus to Chicago was leaving that evening at seven o’clock. Ma would be at work, and I would have enough time to go home, change my clothes, and get some money. By the time she realized I was gone, I would be already in Chicago.

  On my way back to the apartment, the sun burned through the cloud cover, and a few big puffy clouds sailed high against a deep blue sky. In the sudden sunlight, everything was sparkling, and I felt better now that I had a plan.

  I’d just turned onto Easterday Avenue when I saw a dead animal by the side of the road. At first I thought it was a raccoon, but as I came closer, it turned out to be a dog — a small black-and-white terrier, his head resting on the asphalt in a small puddle of blood.

  I got off the bike and took my gloves and trowel out of my bag. There were too many houses along the street, so I wouldn’t be able to bury the dog right here. When I bent down to pick it up, I saw that it wore a collar with a tin name tag. Engraved on it was the name Cory and an address.

  My heart sank. Now I would have to bring him to his owner and deliver the terrible news. I imagined myself knocking on the door, holding Cory in my arms. A woman would answer the door, and when she saw him, she would let out a small yelp of pain.

  I started shivering. I didn’t know if it was from having gotten cold and wet on the bike earlier or if it was the prospect of telling Cory’s family their dog had died. They probably had a child. I thought of the kid crying and how his mother would dry his tears while the dad went down to the basement to look for a box to bury Cory in. All three of them would be sad together. They’d have a quiet dinner, interrupted by the child’s outbursts of crying. They would talk a
bout what a good life Cory had had and how they would love him forever. I imagined the dad digging a hole in the backyard. Once they put Cory in the box, they’d all bury him together.

  If I wanted to be at the bus station on time, I’d have to bring Cory to his family right away. But I couldn’t stop shivering. I looked up and down the road, hoping someone would come out of a house and help me. I suddenly felt weak and had to sit down on the curb.

  A few minutes later, a car approached slowly. I didn’t look up until the motor stopped right next to me, and the door opened. It was Ma.

  “Wren!” she cried. “Are you all right? Did you have an accident?” She pulled me up. “You’re bleeding! There’s blood on your jacket.”

  “It’s not my blood,” I said. “It’s from the dead dog. I found him by the side of the road.” I pointed to Cory. “He has a tag. I think his owners live right around the corner.”

  “Oh, baby,” Ma said. “I’m so glad I found you.”

  “I was going to Chicago,” I said. “I wanted to talk to that woman. I don’t believe what you said about her. I don’t want to think of Dad having done something like that. I just don’t want to.” Suddenly there wasn’t enough space inside my chest, and I could only take small breaths. “And now… now I have to tell these people that their dog died. But I can’t do it. I can’t. It’s too sad.”

  “You don’t have to go to Chicago,” Ma said, holding my shoulders. “And I’ll go with you to meet Cory’s owner.”

  I took enough air to ask the question I needed to ask. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner that you were so mad at Dad because he had a girlfriend?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Ma said, and I could tell she was holding back tears. “It hurt me so much that he’d do that. That he’d leave me for another woman. I couldn’t even believe they were sending each other real letters on fancy stationary. That’s what we did when we first met. He was such a romantic.” Her voice quivered, but she continued. “It was like I was on fire with pain and anger and rage and more pain. I tried to get away from it all by taking us on the road. You were already so hurt. I didn’t want to destroy your memories of him too.”

  “But…”

  “I know it was wrong,” she said. “In the end, I hurt you more, and we didn’t talk at all. And, after a while, I didn’t know how to tell you anymore.”

  “What about those other men?” I asked.

  Ma shook her head. “I feel so stupid now. I wanted to know what it felt like. What it was like for him to be with somebody else. But it didn’t work. I only hurt myself — and you — more. Oh, Wren, I’ve made so many mistakes. I hope you can forgive me.”

  I was startled for a moment. No one had ever asked me for forgiveness. I looked up at her. “Of course I’ll forgive you. But it’s still so hard to believe that Dad did this. I don’t know how to… how to…”

  “I know,” Ma said. “It means we have to forgive him for what he did and mourn him. I don’t know how to do that by myself either. But maybe we can do it together.”

  I fell into her arms, and Ma held me tight as I buried myself in her jacket. I could feel her lips on my hair. We stayed like that for a while, and I felt good and warm.

  When I looked up at her, Ma gently pushed a strand of hair from my forehead. “Come on, baby. We’ll bring Cory home.”

  41

  Ma parked the car in front of a rundown house, and we walked up the stairs to the front door. The house was in bad shape. Shingles were missing from the siding, and the windows were so dirty I couldn’t even tell if there were curtains inside or not. We had wrapped Cory in an old blanket that Ma had found in the trunk of her car. I held him in my arms while Ma knocked on the door.

  “Hello,” she called. But no one answered.

  “I wonder if that’s where they kept Cory,” I said, pointing to a small cage on the far side of the porch. There was a filthy-looking rag inside, and when I stepped closer, I could see dog poop in the corner.

  “It’s gross,” Ma said. “Look at the poop. They shouldn’t lock him in there all day.”

  “He’s not home yet,” a woman’s voice called. I turned. On the front porch of the neighboring house, a woman wearing a dark red housecoat and rollers in her hair stood smoking a cigarette.

  “Do you know the family who lives in this house?” Ma asked.

  “I sure do,” the woman said. “But it’s no family, just one guy. His name is Jeb Hamsun. He works at the casino. Won’t be home until midnight.”

  “We found his dog,” Ma said.

  “Oh, that poor creature,” the woman said, shaking her head. “Did that pooch finally run away?”

  “I think so,” Ma said. “My daughter found him on Easterday, run over by a car. He’s dead.”

  Ma turned to me and rubbed my shoulder. I was still staring at that terrible cage.

  “That poor dog might be better off dead,” the woman said. “Jeb didn’t seem to care much for him. I heard the little guy whimper in his cage day and night. I have no idea why Jeb even kept an animal.” She took a drag from her cigarette. “I guess if the dog is dead, you’ve got to leave him out on the porch. I’ll tell Jeb what happened.”

  “No, we can’t leave him here!” I burst out, looking up at Ma.

  “Don’t worry. We won’t leave him,” Ma said. “We’ll bury him.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” the woman called. “Jeb might take that the wrong way.”

  “Well, that’s too bad for Jeb,” Ma said. “We wouldn’t want to bother the man with the chore of giving his dog a proper burial if he didn’t even care for him while he was alive.”

  * * *

  “We should bury Cory at the pond,” I said when we were back in the car.

  “That’s a good idea,” Ma agreed, “but we need to get a shovel.”

  I didn’t want to tell her that I had the trowel in my bag, so I let her stop and run into the tractor supply store while I waited in the car.

  When we got to Pete’s Pond, I gently lifted Cory out of the car. We found a clearing with a nice grassy spot under a pine tree. The ground was soft after the rain, and it didn’t take Ma long until the hole was deep enough for me to put Cory inside it.

  “It’s sad what the woman said about Cory’s life,” I said.

  “It sure is,” Ma agreed. “But I’m glad we’re doing this together.”

  We took turns shoveling the earth onto the blanket.

  “Goodbye, Cory,” I said when we were done.

  “Goodbye, Cory,” Ma echoed, putting her arm around my shoulder.

  We stood there quietly for a while, and then I said, “I wish we could have buried Dad at least.”

  Ma nodded. “I didn’t care about that for a long time.” She pulled out a folded sheet of paper from her back pocket. “You asked me to send out the forms with our mailing address, and I never did. But I drafted a letter to the FAA. I was going to show it to you before you ran off.”

  The letter read:

  Dear Sir or Madam,

  I am the widow of Mr. Derek Kaiser, the passenger who died in the crash of Flight D8107 over the Atlantic near the North Carolina coast last February.

  I have moved since the accident occurred, and I am sending you my forwarding address. I wanted to make sure you could contact me in the event that you were able to find my late husband’s remains. My new address is…

  “So you don’t mind if they send us something of Dad’s?” I asked.

  “No,” Ma said. “It wasn’t right of me to just throw all his things out and drag you away. I’m sorry.”

  “I really hope they find something,” I said. “Maybe his shoe or something from his briefcase. It’ll be kind of corroded from the saltwater.” For a moment I thought of the article I’d read about the decomposition of bodies immersed in the ocean. But I pushed those images away.

/>   “That doesn’t matter,” Ma said. “It’ll mean something to us.”

  42

  That Friday, the township meeting room was crowded. I could tell that the township board hadn’t expected so many local citizens to attend the meeting. There weren’t nearly enough chairs in the town hall for all of them, and the room filled up quickly. In addition to Randle, Ma, and Mr. Leroy, I counted twenty people who had signed the petition and were now looking for a place to sit.

  “Where’s Mrs. Russo?” I asked Theo. “I thought she’d be here.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, but I sure hope she comes.”

  Mr. Leroy leaned over to us. “The skinny man in the red tie who looks so nervous is the township supervisor, Mr. Kondrick,” he said, pointing to the stage. “The others are the clerk, the treasurer, and the four trustees.”

  Mr. Zusack was one of the trustees, and he arrived with Carrie in tow. She looked lost standing there by herself near the windows. When the janitor had brought in enough chairs for the audience, the trustees took their seats, and the supervisor tapped on the table to open the meeting. We all got up to pledge allegiance to the flag, and then Mr. Kondrick approved the agenda.

  At first it was very boring. They talked about a new stoplight and someone who needed permission to build a cell tower on 9 Mile Road. Then the supervisor called agenda item number six: “Rezone approximately eight acres near Pete’s Pond to expand Pyramid’s landfill.”

  The clerk read a short description of the project, and Mr. Kondrick asked the board members for their opinions.

  Mr. Zusack said, “The landfill expansion is necessary and will benefit the community. The motion should be approved.”

  There was an unhappy murmur in the audience, and I was glad I had called the people who had signed the petition. The supervisor called the room to order, and the clerk announced that a petition had been submitted regarding the case. Then the supervisor asked if someone in the audience would like to speak.