Bird After Bird (15 page)

And then he was gone. That handsome, gorgeous, sweet and beautiful man was gone.

I wheeled on Troy and smacked him in the face.

“Damn it, what was that for?” His eyes sparkled with rage and he started to reach for me. I wasn’t sure I was going to like whatever he planned to do in response. I backed away, barely avoiding his reach.

All I could think about was Laurie and the disappointed look on his face when Troy entered the room calling me “Baby.”

“That’s for everything, Troy,” I said, slurring my words a little. Wow, I was a lot more drunk than I realized. “It’s for work and for everything. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

It might cost me my job, but to hell with that. I was talented. I could work anywhere. He rubbed his cheek, his eyes flaring.

Then Harold was at the door, asking if everything was okay. “Wren?”

Before I could answer that yes, everything was just fine, Troy grabbed me and kissed me, thrusting his tongue down my throat. He tasted like bourbon and cigars, the flavors of greed and ambition. I didn’t want to make a scene, so I let him kiss me, and when I pulled away, Harold was gone. I felt like a drowning woman ten yards away from a fleeing lifeboat.

I turned away from Troy and dialed my phone.

“Who you calling, baby?” he asked, his fingers gripping my ass. Just my luck—the smack in the face had turned him on.

“I’m calling you a cab, Troy. You’re drunk and it’s time you went home.”

It was going to be tough at work from here on out, but I vowed in that moment that I would never again date Troy Parker. Job, schmob. I wasn’t for sale.

Thankfully Harold hadn’t gone far, and at the sound of the word “cab,” he entered the study, as though on cue. Troy straightened his posture, pecked me on the cheek, and shook Harold’s hand before collecting his coat. He might be drunk, but he wasn’t stupid.

That night I crashed on Janice’s couch. I dreamed of birds and dogs, of little paper cranes that came to life and flew above an endless marsh. I dreamed of Laurie’s photo pasted in Dad’s bird book. I dreamed I was on the Whooper’s nest again, but this time the bird book was in the middle of the reeds, soaking wet.

Chapter Twenty-four

Laurie

When Wren and I got disconnected, I understood. Of course she hung up on me. She was with someone.

Still, she’d answered when I called, hadn’t she?

I smiled at the memory of her sweet face, how she’d lit up up at the sight of my ugly mug.

Closing my eyes, I could smell her. Or, hell, maybe it was the muddy clothes in the hamper I could smell. Either way, it worked.

I got out my sketch pad and my drawing pencils, and started another bird. This time a crane, followed by another. A mated pair.

Dear Sylvia,

This is going to be my last letter to you. It has to be. I’ve screwed up, holding on so long.

See, I met someone, Syl. She’s not like you, and she’s not like anyone I thought I could fall in love with, but it’s happened. And I may have ruined it.

I crossed out the words, crumpled the paper, and threw it in the trash. I sketched the birds again, this time in half the time and with more definition.

Dear Sylvia,

I’ll never stop loving you. You know that, right? But I’ve got to move on.

Wherever you are, whatever form you’re in, I have to believe that if you’re watching over me, that you want me to be happy.

I met someone that could make me happy. The thing is, Syl, she’s far away. In Chicago. Remember how I wanted to go to Chicago to go to art school? Remember how pissed off I was when I didn’t get in? They told me to keep working on my art and reapply, but I rushed to enlist. What if I had taken their advice and tried again? Would Rodriguez still be alive? Would you?

The headline LOCAL SEARCH AND RESCUE TEAM DIES was forever burned into my mind. My mother had sent me the paper, but it crossed paths with me on my way home to the funeral, and it was the first thing I’d seen when I opened my mail upon my return to the front.

That was the day I let Rod down. I just couldn’t get that headline out of my mind. What if I’d been there? What if I’d been by Sylvia’s side to help with Boomer? Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten in trouble in that burned out building in the first place.

Sylvia had been so proud of being part of the national FEMA team, of being called up to do search and rescue around the region. Half her letters while I was deployed were about Boomer and their training, about who they’d searched for, about the few survivors and the many corpses.

In some ways it was a lot like Iraq, from the sounds of it. It scared me. I was proud of her courage, but I worried she’d get hurt.

When my worst fears came true, it was too much. Too much being shot at every day and too much to go back to after what I was working to defend was taken from me.

But I was starting to understand now that the person I had gone to war to defend would never want me to live like this. Alone. I felt better once I’d adopted Hap, but something was still missing.

That something was Wren.

The thing is, Syl, I’ve pussy-footed around this long enough. You never should have gone to that last search. When we Skyped and you were so excited about being asked, I told you I didn’t like it, and you took it all wrong. You said you had every right to be a hero, just like me.

I’ll never say this publicly, never tell anyone how pissed I was that you didn’t keep yourself safe at home, waiting for me, but I’ll say it now. When you got yourself killed, a part of me died with you, Sylvia. When I returned to the field I was so fucking distracted that I didn’t follow orders, and my friend died.

Tell me how that’s fair. Tell me how that’s heroic.

So much waste.

And I’ve let it waste me ever since.

But, good Lord, Sylvia, I’m tired of shrinking, waiting for things to be safe enough. I want to live, Syl.

What was that thing you used to say? “I’m happier than a bird with a French fry.” Well, I’ve had my moments lately, Sylvia, and they’ve all been with this girl from Chicago.

So I have to let you go. I’ll never forget you, but I have to move on. I hope that’s what you’d want for me.

Birdy

I could barely wait for morning to hit the road. I left the letter in a rest stop halfway to Chicago, next to a duck pond.

Chapter Twenty-five

Wren

Laurie texted me from a truck stop somewhere in Indiana.

-On my way!-

“You’re coming
here
?” I called him back immediately.

“I don’t blame you for hanging up on me. You were on a date or something, right?”

“But I didn’t hang up on you! And not really. Sorta, but it’s over.”

“Oh. Well. Okay!” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Good to know. I wanted to see you, anyway.”

“Good.” I wondered if he could hear the huge grin that was hurting my cheeks.

“Text me your address? Figure I’ll make it into the city about the time you finish up with work.”

I wanted to see him, to touch him—to make that connection again. I wanted him—but I wasn’t sure I wanted a long distance fling. Too inconvenient. Too fast.

In the past I hadn’t worried about “too fast” with a man. Not since college, when I’d resolved myself to use them before they could use me.

But Laurie…if Laurie was driving all the way to Chicago to see me in his old green truck, that was some new territory, altogether.

“What about the pup? I can’t have pets in my building.”

“Billy’s babysitting,” he said.

“The guy from the Beer & Bait?” I had to laugh at the memory. “You sure he’s up for the job?”

Laurie laughed. “Oh, yeah. He’ll do fine. Good practice for fatherhood, anyway—he’s got a kid on the way. Besides, he owes me one. Or two. Or twenty.”

I laughed, I texted him my address, and then I was ruined for the rest of day.

Darcy came in, purse in hand, sometime after 3 pm. “You wanna pop downstairs for coffee with me?”

I smiled at her like a simpleton. Coffee? What was coffee?

She sat her purse on the desk and took my cell from me. She glanced at it, the text still on the screen. “So that’s why you missed your 2 o’clock.”

“I missed a meeting?” I was shocked. That never happens.

“Yep. I rang the phone in here for ten minutes when I didn’t see you in the conference room. I was stuck babysitting the copy machine guy again. You know how he likes to short us on our toner. Anyway, Tee-roy said he’d cover for you. I told him you weren’t feeling well.”

“Damn it. Now I’ll owe him.”

“Speaking of owing someone, come down to the coffee shop with me,” Darcy coaxed. “I didn’t take a lunch and you look like you need to talk. Besides, I owe you like, fifteen lattes.”

Normally I wouldn’t burden Darcy with my private life, but that never kept her from asking. I walked down with her, and we found a spot in the corner of the tiny in-house café on the first floor.

“Spill, boss.” She sipped her mocha.

I grinned like a fool, but wasn’t sure where to start.

“Wow, this must be juicy. Are you forcing Troy to quit like you did Martin?”

“No, it’s nothing like that—besides, Martin left for a better job. I wish he’d stop telling people I had any hand in his failure to launch at Parker & Bash.”

“You’re right—I’m sorry. I just enjoy the fantasy of you single-handedly removing all the bad apples from the bunch. Like my own personal warrior princess.”

“You know, Darce…sometimes I think it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Wow, maybe you really
are
sick.”

I sipped my coffee.

“Tell me this juicy scoop, boss lady.”

“You’ll be the only person I’ve told besides Janice.”

Darcy’s eyes grew wide, her face filling with pleasure.

“The short version is, I met someone when I was downhome dealing with Dad’s house. I wasn’t looking to meet anyone, but I did. Then I ran into him again at Crane Days.”

“No way.”

“Way. I wasn’t ever really crazy about Troy, but now I’m really regretting dating him. I had a little too much to drink and smacked him at Janice’s going away party and I’m afraid he’ll start sabotaging me here at work.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. And now the new guy is on his way here. I’m nervous as hell.” I tipped my empty coffee cup, as if on queue. “Damn. Probably should have gotten decaf.”

“New guy is headed here from the boonies? Really?”

I nodded. She looked at her watch. “It’s almost four,” she said. “How about if you just slip out and go home? Go get ready. I have a feeling this guy’s going to be pedal-to-the-metal all the way here, and you don’t want to have to tidy up while he’s there, do you?”

“You’re right,” I said. “Tell the partners I had to take some personal time, if they ask—shit, no. Scratch that. They’ll think it’s because of Troy.”

“Do you think they know you broke up?”

“Not sure, but they will soon enough. I don’t want them thinking I can’t work with him anymore.”

“Yeah. They’ll think you’re hormonal or something. Why don’t men ever get held to that standard?”

“I don’t know what to do. I want to go but I don’t trust Troy. And I’m useless here.”

“Leave it to me, boss. If anyone needs you I’ll tell them you had a plumbing emergency and your apartment manager needed you there.”

It would work. It would have to. My body was still here but my mind was already gone for the day.

“You’re a lifesaver, Darce.”

“Don’t sweat it. The last thing you need is Tee-roy angling the partners against you because he got his feelings hurt.”