“You know, I still don’t even know your last name,” I said as the thought dawned on me. I couldn’t believe I had even waited this long to ask. That was a remnant of the old me, the one who was afraid to rock the boat or ask for anything more than what was handed to me.
“It’s Wilkins,” he said after a long pause. “Any other burning questions you want to get off your chest?”
Now that I knew his full name, there were all sorts of things I’d be able to find out online, photos I’d be able to look at for as long as I wanted. But there was one thing, one question, that had long been lurking, and I didn’t think Google could answer it. Even if it could, I wanted to hear it from him. “How did you die?”
The second the words came out of my mouth, Nick’s expression darkened. He stood abruptly and went over to the other side of the tower. “If I wanted to talk about it, I’d still be going to those pathetic meetings.”
I pulled my knees into my chest. His tone was stern and unwavering, and it made me wish I could take the question back. What was worse was watching him disappear, even while he was still standing right in front of me. Because it meant that our connection was gone too, that the invisible tether that linked us had been severed. And that’s when all my fears flooded back, filling the gap. My fear that I couldn’t compete with the world of mystery and adventure that he was used to, that I was just a boring suburban girl with no real life experience. And above all, my fear that getting closer to Nick would eventually break my heart all over again.
“Shhh.” Nick pressed his finger to his lips and tilted his head back. “Can you see them?”
“See who?” I asked, looking up into the cavern of the dark tower.
Nick was back. The edge and distance in his voice were gone and I felt my whole body relax, every cell release a collective sigh of relief. I realized I couldn’t really blame Nick for his reaction. I wouldn’t talk about my accident with anyone either—not even him. It wasn’t just the question of how I died that I wanted to avoid, but all the things that brought me to that point. I wanted to apologize, to let him know that I understood, but I feared I’d already said too much. It was enough to recognize that he was also haunted, that there was something unresolved about his experience too. And maybe most importantly, that he wasn’t put off by my pain, like everyone else in my life. The least I could do was let him be.
“Take another look.” He was still whispering.
I craned my neck up again. Once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, a smile spread across my face. At least a dozen green parrots were perched on a branch of a nearby tree that jutted through a gaping hole in the tower.
“They’re sleeping,” he said.
They were so still, they almost seemed fake. “What are they doing here? They look like lost pets.”
“Some of them probably were, originally. Legend has it they escaped a fire at a pet shop a few decades back. Or that smugglers from Mexico released them into the sky when they got caught crossing the border.”
“Which one do you believe?”
“It doesn’t really matter,” he said, staring up into the tower. “They’re wild now.” It reinforced the fact that it didn’t matter where we had been before. What mattered was how it had changed us, how it had brought us together, and what happened next.
Hints of the birds’ green feathers reflected off the bell’s dulled brass surface. A smaller parrot was perched just a few feet above our heads on a protruding stone ledge.
“He looks so young,” I said, taking in his majestic red beak. His tiny heart was beating so fast I could see it thumping in his chest. “Look at his heart. Do you think he’s having a nightmare?”
Nick shook his head. “Their hearts just beat much faster than ours. Especially the chicks’. Almost five hundred beats a minute.” How did he know so much about everything? It seemed to come to him naturally. Not like Derek, who worked hard to be a know-it-all. “Most animals end up having the same number of heartbeats throughout their lifetimes. When all is said and done.”
“How many?”
“About a billion, give or take.”
I stared up at the small parrot, its bright green feathers fluttering with every breath. I wondered how many beats he had left. “And what about humans, how many heartbeats are we supposed to have?”
“Many more. Around three billion.” His voice lowered. “In an ideal world.”
I brushed my arm across my chest. It was pounding as fast as the bird’s. Did Nick and I die because our hearts were speeding out of control? And did coming back mean the count started over from zero again? I started to wonder how you really measured a life. “Maybe time doesn’t even matter,” I said. “Maybe it’s what you do with that time.”
Nick sat up and leaned forward on his knees. Beneath the stubble, which was growing into a beard, and his feathery bangs, which hung almost to his nose, I saw something open up in his face. It was as if he wanted me to see it.
“I…” Nick started to say something but stopped.
My breath caught, suspended by the silence, waiting for him to tell me whatever it was he’d been holding back. Was he finally ready to confide in me?
“The parrots aren’t always here,” he finally said, regaining his voice. He sat up against the wall. “They migrate north every spring and find enclaves all around the city like this one before moving on. They only just recently came back.”
“Oh yeah?” I let out a deep sigh. I couldn’t tell if I was relieved or disappointed that he changed his mind. Or both. “When?”
“The same night I met you. This is where I came when I left the meeting. It’s…” His voice trailed off, like he was finishing the thought in his head.
I had the urge to lean in closer, to touch him, when my shoulder began to strain under the weight of my messenger bag. If it hadn’t, I didn’t know what I would have done. “Don’t move.”
I took out the camera and began to unscrew the lens cap when Nick snatched it from me.
“Here, let me have a go.” The way he said things, with his sexy accent and his funny English expressions, made my insides turn to liquid. “Quick, don’t smile.”
He turned the camera around and extended his arm so he could snap a picture of us. There was a clicking sound as the roll started to automatically wind back to the beginning. “Is this actual film?”
I nodded. “Black and white.”
“Like a true artist. I’m not surprised.”
I shrugged and looked up at the parrots again. I had never thought of myself that way, as an artist. Before, I would have been embarrassed or felt like a fraud. But when I was with Nick I felt like I could be or do anything.
“Do I ever get to see these?” he asked, handing me back the camera.
Before I had a chance to answer, the clock struck eleven. The bell clanged overhead, awakening the sleeping flock of parrots. They took flight through the tower’s vaulted archways. The rapid fluttering of their wings was just like the flapping I’d been hearing in my head since the accident. Only now it didn’t sound remotely terrifying. It sounded otherworldly.
Their red beaks let out what sounded like a distress call, a discordant, screaming cacophony, as if they were at war with the swaggering hunk of brass. But as they dispersed into the open sky, their squawks became less urgent, blending into a harmonious song they belted out in unison. With their bright green wings, they glided through the clouds as one, singing at a pitch I’d never heard before.
Nick leaned in so that our arms were touching. A sizzling sensation shot through me, taking hold of my entire body. It started in my fingers, spreading up my arms, across my chest, and down my legs, to the very tips of my toes. It reminded me of the way I felt the first time I saw him. Struck by lightning.
“You know what that is,” Nick said, looking up at the sky. “That’s the sound of freedom.”
CHAPTER 19
THE RISING SUN was just starting to poke through the leaves of the willow tree when I sat up with a s
tart.
Annie. I had completely forgotten about Annie. I promised I’d help her get the school gym ready for senior portraits, which were happening today. The assistant photo editor, Jason Gaits, canceled at the last minute, again. Something about needing to stand in line all night for the release of some new video game. Nerds, it turned out, were even less reliable than the general population. Apparently, now I was too.
I pulled my phone from my bag. There wasn’t a single missed call or text from Annie, which made me feel terrible. It was so unlike her. Annie was never one to hold back feelings or bottle her frustration. Her silence spoke volumes. It meant she was really mad. Or worse, that she had given up on me.
I gathered my things and headed toward the house. It was only six o’clock, but the kitchen light was already on, which signaled my mother was up half an hour earlier than normal. I usually made it to my room with a few minutes to spare before I heard her stirring.
I hesitated before opening the door as a sinking thought occurred to me. The reason I didn’t hear from Annie was that she must have come over to pick me up, only to discover that I was gone. My heart rate quickened. Did she ring the bell? Did my mother now know that I had lied to her about where I was going? But then I remembered that there weren’t any missed calls from my mom either; nor had she waited up for me, so she mustn’t have had any idea.
I crouched down and peered through the window. The kitchen was empty. This was my chance. The scent of baking banana muffins hit me the second I walked in the door, and it didn’t turn my stomach. If anything, it made me hungry. I glanced at the timer on the stove to see how long I had before my mother would appear. Two minutes and thirty-eight seconds. I stopped in my tracks. Exactly the amount of time I was dead. I took it as a symbol that everything was turning around. Maybe there really is such a thing as fate after all, I thought as I hurried to my room to get dressed.
My mother was in the kitchen when I appeared a few minutes later, showered and dressed for the day.
“You’re ready early,” she remarked, glancing at the clock.
I breathed a sigh of relief, now fully convinced that Annie hadn’t blown my cover. “Having a bake sale?” I asked as she placed a set of muffins in a tin. There were five identical tins waiting on the counter.
I already knew that she wasn’t going to bring up my explosion in the greenhouse last night. I could always detect her mood within the first three seconds of a conversation. If her tone was clipped, then she was still harboring resentment. If it was warm, it meant all was forgiven. And if it was breezy, like it was this morning, then I knew that whatever residual frustrations she may have felt had all been channeled into the muffins. Baking was my mother’s version of meditation. It was how she was able to sweep almost anything under the rug, no matter how lumpy the rug got.
She shook her head. “Just trying to salvage some rotten bananas. I can freeze whatever doesn’t get eaten.”
She was the perfect suburban housewife. The American Mrs. Dalloway. Watching her flit around the kitchen, I knew for certain that I would never be like her. It wasn’t just because we were different, but because I didn’t want to be like her. A sudden wave of compassion overcame me. I felt sorry for her—and for what I’d done to her plants. I reached for a piece of broken muffin that had fallen on the counter. It was still warm. “These are great,” I said, taking a bite.
“Oh good!” My mother’s face lit up. “So, what are you doing up so early?”
The funny thing was, I was up this early every day. She just didn’t know it. “I’m helping Annie with senior portraits.” At least that was my plan, to try to make it up to her. But first, I needed to apologize. In person. If she was ignoring me, a text or phone call just wouldn’t cut it. “Mind if I take some with me?” It was the closest thing to a peace offering I could come up with at six thirty in the morning.
Now my mother was really beaming. She got out her Tupperware and loaded up a container. “One bin’s good,” I said as she reached for a second one.
“How did studying go last night? I didn’t hear you come in.”
For a second I forgot that’s where I said I was going last night. It was getting hard to keep the lies straight. Before I had a chance to answer, my dad walked in, scanning the room for his briefcase. I hadn’t seen him in a few days. Neither in the house nor from my perch in the garden. Noah darted in right after him, making a beeline for the fridge. Everyone knew to stay out of his way until he’d eaten his breakfast. He was never a morning person, even as a baby. As Noah poured milk into his cereal bowl, my father rummaged through his files, and my mother continued boxing muffins, I realized it was the first time all four of us were home at the same time, in the same room, since the night I came home from the hospital. That felt like a lifetime ago. I had gotten so used to our being apart that it felt strange being here together. Maybe because with each of us caught up in our own worlds, we weren’t really together, and none of us was really present, not in a way that mattered. Not in the way I felt when I was with Nick.
• • •
It was six forty-five when I finally made it out the door. I calculated that it would take me twenty minutes to get to Annie’s on foot, not that I really knew since I never walked anywhere. Nobody in Vista Valley did. But I knew someone would be up, if not Annie herself. Her parents sometimes started seeing patients as early as seven in the morning. Annie and I used to spy on them from her bedroom window, coming and going up the side path to her parents’ offices in the back house, trying to see if we recognized any of them. Vista Valley was a small community, so we often did. Like the parent of some kid from school. A shopkeeper. Or the time we saw Señora Smith, our freshman year Spanish teacher, walking up the path. I used to feel sorry for them, wondering what could be so bad that they were willing to risk public humiliation just to talk about their problems. The sessions were supposed to be strictly confidential, but these things had a way of getting out. It had been a long time, though, since Annie and I had perched together in her window. Since I had even been to her house.
A chorus of birds started singing as I got to the corner of Annie’s street. They flew out of a tree and started coasting along next to me, like they were my own personal escorts. I felt just like Amy Adams in that movie Enchanted, where animals and birds and insects fell in love with her and followed her everywhere she went. It also made me think of the night before, of standing next to Nick, our arms touching as the green parrots flew out into the moonlit sky. Breathing in the sweet morning air, everything around me seemed so vivid and alive. Not just the birds, but the way the sun cast shadows off the tree branches, the sound of a dog barking in the distance, the delicate curve of a rose petal that had fallen to the ground. All these details added up to something beautiful, something that reminded me of Nick.
Annie’s mother answered the door. She was still in her robe, clutching a mug of coffee. “Olive, hi.”
“Hi,” I said, wiping a bead of sweat off my brow. “Is Annie home?”
“Come in, honey,” she said, opening the door wider. “Annie’s still in her room. You look like you could use a glass of water.”
I followed her into the house. I’d forgotten how bohemian it was. Her parents decorated it with all sorts of eclectic things they had collected on their travels. Indian tapestries hung from the wall. African facemasks lined the mantelpiece. An old Chinese wooden door had been repurposed into a coffee table. Candid family pictures in mismatched frames were haphazardly placed in every nook and cranny, some on top of a pile of books that looked like it was on the verge of toppling over. I was also now remembering how much I used to love spending time here. How it used to make me feel like I had escaped and gone somewhere else. There was an ordered chaos to the place that made it feel lived in. Comfortable, like a real home. Just not mine.
When we got to the kitchen, Annie’s mother poured me a glass of water straight from the tap. We only drank bottled water at our house.
“Thanks, M
rs.—I mean Dr. Irving,” I said.
She gave me a look. “God, it really has been a while if you’ve forgotten that I will only answer to Nancy. Mrs. Irving is my mother-in-law. I’m not that old yet. At least, I hope not.”
“You’re not,” I laughed, breathing in the delicate floral scent of the candle burning on the counter. Its flame cast a soft, pleasant glow against the orange-painted wall behind it.
“Coffee?” she asked, refilling her mug.
I shook my head no. She was acting like my coming over at seven o’clock on a Thursday morning was the most normal thing in the world. It was one of the reasons I knew she was a good therapist, that she actually helped her patients. Unlike Dr. Green, who just wanted to remind you she was a doctor every chance she got.
“Do you mind if I go see Annie?”
“Not at all, honey. I’m glad I had a cancellation this morning so I got a chance to see you. Mitch is with a patient now, but I know he’ll be sorry he missed you.” She reached over and squeezed my arm. “You look really happy.” She said it not in the pitying, trying-to-make-me-feel-better-because-I-must-be-crazy kind of way, but like she really meant it. Probably because it was true.
Annie didn’t hear me approaching. She was too busy talking to her computer screen, which I couldn’t see from the door.
“Hey,” I said.
She turned with a start and immediately slammed her laptop shut. It reminded me of how I reacted when my mom came barging in unannounced, especially when I had something I wanted to hide. But I was surprised and a little bit hurt to see Annie react that way with me; I was supposed to be her best friend. “What are you doing here?”
“Sorry. I was going to call but I was worried you wouldn’t pick up.”
“You were right.” She got up and started collecting things off the floor.
It stung, but it’s what I deserved. “Were you talking to Jessica?” She was already dressed and was even wearing makeup.
“Yes.”
“How’s it going?”
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