Bird After Bird (2 page)

You took my breath away. Take it from a guy with lung cancer, honey. You still take my breath away.

You're so special, baby. No matter what, that’s you, Wren. No matter if you stay single forever, if you marry that skinny nerd Martin or another one like him, I know you're going to be alright. You brought so much joy to your mother and me, and you've got so much to give the world
. I believe in you, kid.
I know you'll be happy. All I'm saying is when you get a hunch, girl, follow it. Don't forget our adventures, sweetheart. There are a lot of things in life I’ve considered regrets, but that summer with you on the road and in the woods, spotting birds? I’ll never regret that. It might have been the best summer of my life, in a lot of ways.

“Mine, too, Dad.” I hoped he’d known that when he died. We’d talked about it often enough in the years that followed Mom’s death. We’d become the Two Birditos, chasing our bird list whenever grief threatened to overcome us. Exploring new towns, new parks, and letting nature inside our souls. “Best summer ever, right?”

Your mother's heart was always my home, from the first time I lay eyes on her to the day she closed hers forever. You were the greatest gift she ever gave me except for one thing—and forgive me, I know I’m rattling on and on, but I’m a dying man so sue me! Ha!

Anyway, listen—beyond the weekend pancakes and the hugs and kisses, your mom gave me something that’s kept me going all this time without her. She gave me the kind of love that made me feel deep down in my gut that
I am more than okay
. As long as your mom loved me, I was fine no matter what. Your mother was no saint by any means, but her love gave me a center, and I hope you felt that growing up, even after she was gone. Didn't we do okay, you and me, Wren? I think we did. I know we did.

Follow your instincts, sweetheart. Find your center, your peace, your home. Fly after your heart and be happy, sweet daughter of mine.

Your father blesses you and loves you, forever and ever. More than words can say.

Love,

Dad

Chapter Two

Wren

My dad had been gone for exactly a year and a day, and I missed him so much. Reading the letter brought him back so powerfully, it was almost like being in his presence again, and I wasn’t prepared. I couldn't go back to his house, not after that. I’d end up in a grief hole and have to call in sick to work on Monday, and no way was that going to happen. I had meetings to run, clients to win. Depression is something moody teen girls deal with, not junior partners at Parker & Bash. I’d been there five years and not since my first day as part of my Northwestern undergrad internship had I backed off from the shrewd and smiling shield that was Wren Riley, Super Economist.

I was a different person there than I was here. The more I lived in that world, the harder it was to come back to this one.

I lay on the banks on the lake and cried about my Dad for the first time in a long time. It was easier to deal with the loss in Chicago. Down here, on his turf, he was everywhere I turned. I’d even come to his spot by the lake out of some need for comfort. I knew he wouldn’t physically be here but if I closed my eyes I could smell the mossy scents of nature and pine, and that was so close.

I cried until a coyote started baying along with me from the nearby woods. I wasn’t sure how dangerous it was, but it was too close for
my
comfort.

With the realtor and buyers at Dad’s house, I hit the road with no firm goal in mind. There was a combination bait shop/bar about a mile from the lake, and I pulled in to use the restroom. The two Arnold Palmers had filled my bladder and I'd cried the rest of my bodily fluids out reading the letter. I had no aunt, no grandmother, no friends from high school I was still talking to, so the bait shop and bar restroom would have to do as a comfort station. Any port in a storm, right?

If I hadn't been so focused on the size of my swelling nose and red rings around my eyes, I might have noticed how good looking the guy was leaning in the doorway between the bar and the bait shop.

I
did
catch a whiff of denim mingled with soap and musk as I passed him, but I just thanked God my nose was working, and disappeared into the bathroom without making eye contact. I’d come to believe a long time ago that if you can’t look pretty crying, you should just never let it happen.

Inside the bathroom, I wasn't as grateful for the intact nature of my olfactory functions. Someone in there was sick, and from the sounds of it, it was coming from both ends.

“For the love of all that’s holy!” I gasped, covering my face with a paper towel as I ran some cold water in the sink. As the door closed behind me, I heard someone laughing softly.

Chapter Three

Wren

“You might as well come on out,” a voice said. He was young. His tone was soft, but he sounded highly amused. When I turned to face him, I didn’t recognize him, and that was a relief.

He had pretty eyes. Almost too pretty, with long lashes that curled at the end. If the set of his jaw hadn’t been so square and covered with five o’clock shadow, if his grown-out high and tight haircut hadn’t screamed “Army Reservist,” I would have sworn those eyes were mascaraed and lined.

“You talking to me?” I dabbed at my face with the wet paper towels. My skin was blotchy beneath my makeup, but I’d managed to wipe up most of the mascara from my cheeks. Even with false eyelashes I couldn’t duplicate the kind of eyes the man in the doorway had. Now that my makeup was wrecked, they were like short spindly spider legs. Ugh.

“Yeah, you,” he said. He had short brown hair and a friendly face, and he extended his hand to me like he was ready to fish me out of the water instead of a restroom. “No use herding Billy outta here. He hit up the men’s room first and it was locked—I was supposed to stand guard and keep anyone from going in after him, but you moved so fast I couldn’t stop ya.”

The man in the stall contributed more sound effects to the situation. I will spare you the details.

“C’mon and bail,” the nice guy said.

I took his arm. There was something soothing about him. The thought briefly flickered through my mind that he could be a dog whisperer or a horse trainer—something to that effect. He had a gentle vibe about him, despite his height and the reservist look.

“Thanks,” I said. “I, uh, guess I better find some other place to freshen up.”

He smiled and looked down at his boots. They were work boots—the kind with steel toes and a buff leather finish. They disappeared beneath the frayed cuffs of faded jeans, and he scratched his forearm as I dropped it, beneath the sleeve of a light blue work shirt. I expected there would be a red oval with a name embroidered on the chest, but it was just out of sight at this angle.

Outside the ladies room, the bluegrass ensemble playing the bar side of the Beer & Bait drowned out all other sound. He leaned down and whispered into my ear, and I smelled that clean musky denim scent again. “I know it sounds kind of gross, but there’s a port-a-john out back if you really need to go.”

“Can’t be any worse than that, can it?” I pointed at the ladies room. “Thanks,” I called over my shoulder as I hit the exit door with both hands.

I found the potty booth around back, alright. It was leaning toward the lake, and a band of folks I suspected were old high school cronies of mine were loudly making drunken bets from the deck of the bar about whether or not it would fall when someone entered it.

“Well, if it ain’t Wren Riley!” one of them called. “Hop in that turd closet and ride it down the hill, girl!”

I couldn’t see who it was. The sun was starting to set over the water and they were just far enough away to be blurry strangers. Their voices carried over the lake, though.

“That ain’t no Wren Riley,” another voice answered. “You oughtta know that stuck up bitch ain’t shown her face around here since her daddy died! Shut up and leave this one alone, rude ass redneck.”

Even better reason to turn away. If they didn’t know it was me, there was no chance I’d be pressured to join them in a beer, no chance I’d be asked to relive the glory days of high school. No matter what names they were calling me behind my back, people around Birdseye always acted friendly to my face—usually too friendly.

“Hey! Where you going, Wren?” That voice, I recognized. Cindy Wiseman. At my dad’s funeral, she had spoken at length about her own recent loss—of her Chinese goldfish. Still numb from my grief, I’d patted her on the back and hugged her until her crying stopped. “Wren, come back! I know it’s you!”

I took a deep breath, put a smile on my face, and turned around. I made out Cindy’s shape next to five people I didn’t yet recognize. “Is that you, Cindy?”

There was a set of steps from the deck, and Cindy started down them, gesturing for me to join her. “Come say hello! Don’t be a stranger!”

Maybe it won’t be so bad
, I told myself.
Maybe this time will be different.

As I hit the first step, Cindy grabbed me in a bear hug. “I knew that was you. What you doing down here? Chicago finally bore you to tears?”

As she let go, I caught a whiff of beer on her breath. Her hair smelled like cigarettes and her eyes were bloodshot. The last time I’d seen Cindy drunk was our five year class reunion.

It was two years previous and Dad was doing chemo. I was in town caring for him, and he’d urged me to go.

“I don’t have anything to wear, Dad.”

He’d gestured to my old bedroom. “Got some dresses in there, I know you do,” he’d said between puffs of oxygen.

I didn’t like leaving him, but I disliked saying no to him even more, so after his third urging, I’d slipped into the nicest of my old casual dresses and gone.

The class president had made fancy nametags for everyone with their “Most Likely to” title emblazoned on them. Mine had a layer of gold tulle around it and said HOMECOMING QUEEN WREN RILEY. It was embarrassing. I felt like everyone was looking at the nametag, then looking at me, deciding whether I still deserved to be their queen.

The more they drank, the worse their faces were at hiding their decisions.

“I remember that dress,” one girl said. I knew her face but was having trouble remembering her name. “Screw you for fitting it still.”

“Cindy Wiseman,” I said, suddenly recognizing her. She’d put on so much weight, my heart went out to her. “How’ve you been?”

She’d muttered something and wandered away to refill her red party cup. It seemed like it didn’t matter how nice I was, just being away from Birdseye had put me out of a small town loop that had grown more contemptuous than it had been in high school. Cindy had been part of the homecoming court, and although we weren’t super close, I’d always thought of her as a friend.

At least she was kinder than that at Dad’s funeral. Who knew what she would say tonight?

“I’m alright, Cindy. Just down here taking care of Dad’s estate.”

She nodded, but her smile fell and she went to grab another beer. “Want one?” she called. One of the four men walked with her. I wondered if he was the one who called me a stuck up bitch when he thought it wasn’t me. Probably him or the one who’d turned away first. They whispered at the bar.

“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m driving.”

Cindy laughed at something her male friend said, making an ugly face.

Despite what anyone said, I never thought I was too good for Birdseye. It just hurt to be here. Both my parents were dead and my grandparents, too. I had distant cousins on my mom’s side in nearby towns, but we’d never really been close. All my friends were in Chicago now.

“Saw you on Facebook,” one of the remaining guys said. I recognized him, but try as I might, I could not remember his name. “Sent you a friend request. You ever going to answer it?”