What the hell? Myna yanked the cell phone from her pocket. It had to be the reason why Linnet had tried calling earlier. She’d forgotten all about it, so upset with the disagreement between her and Ben. She checked her messages. There was a missed text message from Hank received ten minutes ago. Did you hear what happened?
She walked into the kitchen, texting him back. I caught a little bit on the news. What’s going on? Are you guys okay?
She sat at the kitchen table waiting for Hank’s reply, her leg bouncing up and down. Maybe she shouldn’t wait for Hank. Maybe she should just call Linnet and find out what the hell was going on. Why was Pop on the news saying their mother’s name as though she were still alive? Why had he looked, what was the word—confused? She was about to dial when her phone buzzed.
No, I’m not okay, Hank replied.
Skype me, she typed back.
She pulled the laptop from her bag. Hank had all the technology skills of young kids today. She’d watched him grow up mostly online through instant messages, Instagram, and Skype. It was times like this that she wished she would’ve gotten home more often than she did so that she could be in the same room with him and see for herself just how much he’d grown. Although she hadn’t talked to Linnet much in the last few years, she and Hank had chatted regularly. Whether or not Linnet knew this, Myna couldn’t say. Her leg continued to bounce as she waited for her nephew’s face to appear on her screen.
“Hey kiddo, what’s going on up there?” she asked. He looked so much like Ian, his white-blond hair and splattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. She remembered Linnet’s early complaints about how when Hank had been a toddler her guests at the B&B had thought she was his babysitter rather than his mother. Myna caught herself searching her nephew’s face. There had to be some resemblance to her sister in there somewhere, some resemblance to Myna. But nothing about him had changed since the last time they’d Skyped.
“There are, like, dead birds everywhere,” Hank said. “In the dam. In the yard. Dad and I even saw one on the street on the way to school this morning. But mostly they’re in the dam.” He was excited and anxious and scared. He was moving around so much it was making her nauseous.
“Slow down,” she said. “What birds? The snow geese?” She found she was just as anxious as he was.
“Yeah, like a hundred of them all floating facedown in the dam. Did you know they don’t sink when they’re dead? They’re, like, floating on top of the water. It’s really sad.”
“It is,” she said, trying to keep her face neutral and not show how upset she was to hear this about her father’s birds. “How’s Pop?” she asked. This had to be killing him.
“He’s not good. It’s like he doesn’t understand what’s going on. He gets all confused, and he acts weird. I can tell Mom’s really worried about him.” Hank wiped his nose with the back of his arm.
“Confused? How do you mean?” But she’d seen it for herself in that one minute he was on the TV.
“It’s like he forgets stuff. Or he’s forgetting more stuff. Stuff that just happened, or, I don’t know. He eats all his meals with us now. I think Mom’s afraid he’ll burn the guesthouse down if he tries to cook anything on his own.”
“Why didn’t you say anything to me about this before?”
“What do you mean? The birds just died.”
“I mean about Pop.”
He shrugged.
She shouldn’t be asking him these things. It wasn’t Hank’s responsibility to report back to her about her own father and his mental state. She had always been careful about not asking Hank a lot of questions, not wanting it to seem as though she were pumping him for information. Besides, Linnet should’ve been the one to tell her if Pop had gotten worse. Why hadn’t she? But she knew why. It was because Linnet still saw her as a child and not a grown, capable woman.
“Aunt Myna,” Hank said, and wiped his eyes. “Can you come here?”
Maybe it was hearing about the birds or Pop’s condition, or maybe it was seeing her nephew upset. Maybe it was all of those things separately and combined that made her say, “I’ll book the next flight out.”
* * *
After Skyping with Hank and buying an airline ticket, Myna returned to the bedroom. She stood on her tiptoes, reaching for the shoe box on the back shelf of the walk-in closet. The tile was cold and hard beneath her feet. Her fingertips grazed the bottom of the box just enough to push it askew. She stretched another centimeter, touching her pointer finger to the lid, inching it toward her until she was able to pull it down.
The box itself was light, and anyone else might’ve assumed it was empty. As light as a feather, she mused. She removed the lid and took out the one item inside: a snow goose feather. She sat on the floor, spinning the quill slowly, thoughtfully, between her thumb and finger. It was a feather from a wing, mostly white but for the tip where it was stained black.
She couldn’t shake the thought of all those dead birds, her poor father. And she couldn’t help but think of her mother.
“Myna?” Ben emerged from the shower. He was wearing boxer shorts. The bath towel was hanging around his neck. He motioned to her suitcase on the bed. “Where are you going?” he asked.
“Home,” she said, and stood. She left the empty shoe box on the floor in the closet and carried the feather over to the bed. She laid it carefully on top of the sweater she’d packed. She touched the silky barbules.
She turned to the dresser and pulled out a couple pairs of jeans from the bottom drawer.
“Look, if it’s the way I did it, I can do it again, better.” He tossed the wet towel on the floor. “I can do it in a more romantic way if that’s what you want.”
She pulled open another drawer, searching for socks. She’d have to bring her old sneakers. It was always so muddy in springtime around the dam. “It’s not that,” she said. “It’s not how you did it.”
“Then what is it? Help me out here. I’m trying to understand.” He slipped on a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt. His bangs, damp from the shower, fell into his eyes. The tops of his cheeks were pink, the rest of him was more or less tan—the kind of tan you get when you’re out on a boat all day.
“I’m not leaving because of the whole marriage thing.” She decided to put the feather inside the sweater as a way to protect it so it wouldn’t get smashed. Then she placed the jeans on top. She never was any good at packing, stuffing her suitcases with whatever clothes would fit and then dashing away. She turned to Ben, hands on hips. “My father and sister were interviewed on the news. It has something to do with a bunch of snow geese turning up dead in the dam.”
“Your father’s birds?”
“Well, technically, they’re not his birds, but yes.” She touched her forehead. “It’s more than just the birds. Hank said something about Pop. It sounds like he’s getting worse. And Hank, well, he was just so upset.”
Normally, whenever she was distressed, Ben would cross the room and pull her into his arms, comfort her, and do all those things only he could do to put her mind at ease. But he stayed where he was across the room, eying her.
“Do you want me to go with you?” he asked.
“No, it’s okay. Maybe it’s better if we spend some time apart,” she said. If she gave him some space, gave him the opportunity to miss her, maybe he’d realize he’d want her in his life no matter what. “I know you have a bunch of tours scheduled. And I’m on spring break, so I really can’t think of any reason why I shouldn’t go.”
“Or you can’t think of any reason why you should stay,” he said.
She looked away from him. She’d never seen this side of him before, but then again she’d never hurt him before. She was sorry. So, so sorry. But she didn’t think she could give him what he was asking of her.
“I’d better get going if I’m going to make my flight.” She zipped up the suitcase. He followed her out of the bedroom. She slung her big purse and computer bag over her shoulder.
She stopped at the door and turned around. “Let’s not make any decisions right now.”
“I already know what I want,” he said. “You’re the one who needs to decide what you want.”
She lingered in the entranceway, looking back at him over her shoulder. He was always so sure of who he was and what he wanted. It was one of the reasons she’d fallen in love with him.
And yet all she could do in that moment was jump on a plane and fly away.
CHAPTER SIX
Linnet was in the kitchen with Cora, her part-time cook, when she heard a car pull into the driveway. “What am I going to tell them?”
“Tell them the truth. You can’t control nature,” Cora said. She was stout, with thick nimble fingers. A green apron was tied securely around her waist. She’d been working for Linnet the last eight years, taking over the breakfast and lunch menus, preparing hors d’oeuvres for happy hours. Cora had been a godsend, her cooking to die for. Business couldn’t have been better.
“The truth it is,” Linnet said, and pushed off the counter where she was leaning. Although she didn’t know what the truth was at this point, whether the geese perished from a natural phenomenon or something much worse.
She stepped outside.
“Welcome back.” She extended her hand to Mr. Rapp. He shook it hard. He was getting up there in age although his grip was strong. She guessed he must be pushing sixty.
“You’re just in time for happy hour.” Her plan was to get them settled in their room, drinks in their hands, food in their stomachs, before she told them not to go to the dam and see the birds.
Mr. Rapp helped his wife from the car. Linnet noticed Mrs. Rapp held a cane.
She lifted the silver stick to show Linnet. “I turned my ankle,” she said. “It’s just a sprain, but I’m afraid we won’t be doing much hiking this year.” She was referring to the Appalachian Trail and the smaller trails that led to the various waterfalls and mountain views.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Linnet said, sorrier than Mrs. Rapp could know. The Rapps had been staying at The Snow Goose for the last four years. Mr. Rapp was fascinated with the geese, while Mrs. Rapp loved the hiking. And now they were both going to be disappointed this trip. And Linnet didn’t like her guests to be dissatisfied. “Let’s get you settled in your room then.”
“How many geese do we have on the dam?” Mr. Rapp asked. “I bought a new camera, and I’m eager to try it out.”
Before Linnet could answer, another car pulled into the driveway. They all turned to stare. A man jumped out from the driver’s seat. He was young and thin. His nose was narrow and sharp like a beak.
“I’m looking for Dr. Jenkins,” he said in a rush. “It’s about the dead birds.” He wasn’t making eye contact with anyone. He was looking over their shoulders into the backyard.
“I’ll be with you in a moment,” Linnet said, trying to usher the Rapps into the house. She noticed the university’s parking permit hanging from the car’s rearview mirror. He had to be the young professor Pop was expecting.
“What’s this about dead birds?” Mr. Rapp asked.
She let out a slow breath. She didn’t want to lose her regulars over this. Truth. “There are some dead geese on the dam,” she said. “Quite a lot of them, actually. We’re not sure yet what happened.” She turned toward the young man. “I’m assuming you’re from the university?”
“Professor Coyle.” He extended his hand, and she took it. He continued pumping her arm up and down excitedly. He was jumpy, wiry, and full of energy. The opposite of what she’d expected. She couldn’t say why, but she’d expected a soft-spoken, gentle kind of man. Someone more like her father.
By the time Linnet turned back around to see about getting the Rapps into their room, Mr. Rapp had already crossed the backyard on the way to the path that would lead him through the woods. He didn’t wait for his wife, who hobbled along several steps behind.
“Come on,” Linnet said to the professor. They both jogged to catch up.
They reached the dam in no time, poor Mrs. Rapp struggling to keep up. Linnet stood shoulder to shoulder with her guests and the professor on the grassy bank overlooking the water. Her sneakers sunk in the wet soft earth. The current had pushed most of the geese against the shoreline, a hundred birds floating facedown. The sight was still shocking and devastating all at once. She looked away, up at the blue sky, the clouds like wisps of white ribbon. There she saw a hawk circling. But where were the geese in their V formations? Why weren’t they flying overhead?
The Rapps were silent. Perhaps they couldn’t think of what to say. Professor Coyle crouched at the water’s edge. “I’m going to need to see Dr. Jenkins,” he said. “And then we need to get a couple of these birds on ice so I can transport them back to the lab.”
“I’ve already got two geese in a cooler for you,” she said.
The Rapps gave her an accusing look, one that asked why she hadn’t contacted them before now about what had happened.
“Excellent. I’ll just need a couple more.” Professor Coyle stood and pointed to the trees. “Do you hear the robins?” He paused and turned his head as though he were listening hard for something else. “Blackbirds.” He closed his eyes. “And maybe a cardinal or two.”
Linnet hadn’t noticed the sounds of the other birds in the woods. She’d been listening for the geese and nothing else. But now that she paid attention she could hear their songs as well as the faint breeze rustling the leaves.
“My guess is that whatever happened here is contained to the flock.”
“How do you know?” Mr. Rapp asked.
“I don’t know for sure,” Professor Coyle said. “But the other bird species in the area don’t seem to be affected, or we’d see them on the ground, too.” He motioned to the dam. “And I’m not seeing any fish belly-up, so that’s another good sign that it’s probably not the water. Now, I’ll have to run some tests, of course, to confirm anything.”
“Of course,” Linnet said. Pop should’ve been able to make the same observations. He should’ve told the reporter, the townspeople, what the young professor was telling them now. It could’ve reestablished their confidence in him. Or rather was it her faith in him that needed to be restored?
Professor Coyle picked up a stick and moved closer to the water’s edge. His left foot sunk in the mud, but he didn’t seem to notice. He used the stick and lifted the head of one of the geese, bending over to take a closer look.
From across the dam someone yelled, “Hello, there!” He was waving his arms in their direction. A bag was slung across his shoulder and chest.
Linnet looked behind her to check if there was anyone else around, but there wasn’t. Apparently, he was talking to them.
“How can I get across?” the man yelled.
“Who is that?” Mrs. Rapp asked.
“He’s a journalist,” Professor Coyle said, and dropped the stick. He wiped his hands on his pants. “He was in town asking questions about the birds.”
“You stopped in town?” Linnet asked, but either Professor Coyle didn’t hear her or he didn’t want to answer.
“Wait right there,” the journalist hollered, holding up his pointer finger.
“We have nothing to say to you,” Linnet shouted back. She took Professor Coyle by the arm and helped him up the muddy bank. “I’ll take you to see my father,” she said to him. “But first, let’s get you two settled,” she said to the Rapps.
She directed her guests and the professor toward the path through the woods, pausing once to look over her shoulder at the journalist standing on the public dock. The crowd that was there earlier had dispersed, and he was alone. He looked to be from out of town. Christ, news traveled fast.
* * *
After Linnet had gotten the Rapps checked into their room and drinks in their hands, she helped the professor unload his gear. He came prepared to transport several birds back to the university’s lab. The box in Linnet’s arms was ful
l of test tubes, plastic bags, and a small carton of latex gloves.
She pushed the front door of the guesthouse open with her foot, balancing the box in her arms. “Pop,” she called. “Professor Coyle is here.”
Pop stood from his chair when they entered the living room. Professor Coyle shook his hand and pumped his arm, saying over and over again what a pleasure it was to meet him although he wished it was under better circumstances.
“I came as soon as I could,” Professor Coyle said. “My students were taking their exams today before spring break, and then I had to run a few errands. I couldn’t get here until now.” He continued to explain his late arrival, his voice falling away when they disappeared into the study, where they’d both feel at home surrounded by books and journals and maps.
“I’m going back up to the house,” Linnet called. Neither man answered her. It was just as well. She set the box down on the floor and closed the door behind her. She took the stone path to the main house, trying to remember the names of the young newlyweds who were expected to arrive anytime. Maybe she should’ve phoned all of her guests that morning when she’d first learned about the birds and given the couples the option of canceling their reservations. She walked with purpose, taking long strides, trying to figure out if she’d really messed up or not when a man stepped onto the path in front of her, sending her reeling backward.
“Shoot,” she said. “You startled me.”
“I didn’t mean to. I was looking for a way to get to the dam.”
The way he was staring at her made her uncomfortable. He was tall and his shoulders were broad. He blocked her way. “This is private property,” she said. “You have to go around the other side for public access.”
The Sisters of Blue Mountain Page 5