Bird After Bird (37 page)
Authors: Leslea Tash
I thought for sure it was dead. It would have to be, right?
As the ambulance rounded the bend in the road, sirens blaring, the bird sat up, stretched its wings, and flew away.
We watched the Bird Aid concert from the emergency room of the Dubois County Hospital. Hap was technically not allowed inside, but since we had nowhere else to put him, the charge nurse allowed him as long as he stayed quiet. “We’ll call him a service animal on the chart,” she said.
He curled next to Laurie, unwilling to leave his side.
Billy & the Boys did a fine rendition of “Oh, Wren” as we watched the fundraiser on television.
“I guess Fred can sing, after all,” Laurie said. He patted the spot next to him on the hospital bed. “I can’t believe you’re here. Come sit with me. I want to feel you next to me.”
I scooted onto the bed, afraid to put any weight on him.
“Closer,” he whispered, his lips in my hair. “Why’s your nose swollen? Been crying again?”
I snuggled against his body gingerly, and put my arm across his chest to give him a gentle squeeze. I was afraid to speak in case I did burst into tears. I already looked like I’d been hit in the face with the Sarah Jessica Parker stick. Not that it mattered. All that mattered was that Laurie forgave me, and that he was going to be okay.
He used his broken arm to press me tighter against him. “Never go away again,” he said. “Not without me.”
The television crews broadcast the festival on every station. All of Laurie’s family was there, even his mother. I saw Kerry Price in the front row, a Bird Aid VIP badge around his neck, playing air guitar along to one of the opening bands.
Billy fielded a lot of questions intended for Laurie. He talked about the thousand birds in Central Park, the Japanese legend, the inspiration for “Oh, Wren” and why “January Wedding” meant so much to the band.
“Not sure why he didn’t turn up today. I know he was on his way. I’m guessing a certain bird flew back into town. That’s the only reason why he wouldn’t come. He only sang because he owed me one.”
And then the story took a different turn. Question after question to Billy about the band, about his child, about how long they’d been playing, even about the Beer & Bait.
And just like that, Laurie was back out of the spotlight.
“As it should be,” he said. “Billy & the Boys. Not Laurie & the Boys.”
“Should I text him and let him know where you are?”
“No. They need to finish the gig. You can let your Rhoda know, if you want. Don’t want her to think I flaked. Just ask her to keep it quiet.”
I got up to go make the call, but he pulled me back onto the bed. “You want me to call from here?”
He nodded, pulling me close with his free arm, kissing my neck. “Call, don’t call, I don’t care. Just don’t leave.”
Chapter Seventy-five
Laurie
The day of the explosion, right as things began going wrong, time moved in slow motion. Rod and I pulled the truck over, I picked up the woman, and then
boom
—everything moved like the bullet-time scenes from the Matrix until I lost consciousness.
“Adrenaline,” the medics had said, their one-word way of letting me know they’d heard it before. The tone told me to shut up and let them work, so I had.
I’d thought about it a lot, but always pushed the memories away.
When the crane hit my windshield on the way to Linton, slow-motion time happened again. I was already pretty revved up about the show, then Wren called and my skin was tingling as I drove. As I tried to out-steer the bird, I could tell right away where my truck was headed. I knew exactly what would happen, and I knew there was nothing I could do. I reached for Hap, pressing him against the back of the seat, using my arm as his seatbelt.
In the darkness, I’d seen the explosion again. I’d seen the old woman’s face from my dreams. “Why fight it?” she said in English. “This is the way of the world.”
This time instead of waking, I spoke. “Maybe I’ve got something worth fighting for.”
And then Wren was there, waking me. Hap was shaking and whining and the EMTs were lifting me gently out of what was left of my truck.
If this were a movie, our happy ending would have been a lot more dramatic. I’d have proposed to Wren from the stage, in front of the crowd at Bird Aid. She’d have said yes, and I’d have swooped down, thrown her over my shoulder, and beat my chest like a caveman before riding off into the sunset on a motorcycle.
Instead, we sat in the emergency room together, watching all of my friends and family dance and raise money for a bird with a broken wing.
Guess it wasn’t much of a surprise when the doctor came with my x-rays, and said my arm was fractured, too. “Poetic,” I said.
“No stage dives for you,” the doctor said on her way out. It was her only acknowledgement that she knew who I was.
“So famous,” Wren said.
“You know that doesn’t last.” I held her close, and breathed in the scent of her hair. “We will, though.”
“Laurie, I can’t promise you I’ll never hurt you again, but I can promise I won’t leave. Can you forgive me?” she asked.
“Oh, Wren. I’ve already forgiven you. Can’t you see that?”
“Sure, but…”
“No buts about it. I get it.” I pulled her in for a kiss. “Just don’t do it again. Can you promise me that?”
She kissed me, tears flowing from her eyes. She fumbled for a tissue on the side table, and as she cuddled against me again, she asked, “How can you be so understanding? So forgiving?”
“Because life’s too short for regrets. Because you came back. And because birds of a feather flock together, maybe. You ever heard of that?”
“Oh, Laurie.”
“Oh, what, baby?”
“You know I brought you my Hartt? I know it’s cheesy, but I wanted to give it to you as a show of good faith. I won’t leave you again. Not ever.”
I thought about the bird ring. I’d stowed it in the drawer next to my bed at home. I did have something I could give her now, though.
I lifted the hospital gown and watched as her eyes took in the swallow, inked over my heart.
“Whenever you’re ready, I will gladly be the man who holds your heart.”
She smiled, wrapped her arms around my neck, and pressed herself against me. Then she sat back, straddling me on the hospital bed.
“You getting ideas or something? The tattoo turn you on?”
“I was just thinking.”
“Thinking what?’
She rose up on her knees, her arms outstretched. Her long curly hair hung in cascades, flowing beautifully over her tee. She looked like a goddess, an infinite creature, a beautiful, powerful bird.
Then her eyes met mine, and she smiled as she leaned in. “Laurie, when you get better, I’m going to love you so hard. I’m going to cherish you for the rest of your life. I’m going to worship the stuffings out of you and give you ten babies. I’m going to grow old with you until you scream for mercy. I’m going to adore you in every room of the house and when I’m done I’m going to love you again and again and again, until you’re too sore for work.”
“And then?”
“And then I’m going to do it all over again.”
“Now that’s more like it,” I said. “That’s more like it, indeed.”
THE END
Thank you for reading
Bird After Bird
.
Authors depend on reader recommendations. If you enjoyed this book, please share a review on Goodreads &/or the ebook retailer of your choice.
For updates on new releases,
please subscribe to my mailing list
.
To keep up with birds that catch my eye or other unpredictable posts,
follow my Facebook page
.
Acknowledgements
This should be the easiest section to write, but the truth is, I’m afraid I’ll forget someone. Crossing my fingers that if I do, you will forgive me.
Bird After Bird
would not have been written without the crucial input and support of my husband Timothy. He is a gifted storyteller and the only reason his name isn’t on the cover of this book right next to mine is that he seems content to sit and make up stories aloud instead of typing them. He is more than an inspiration for every loving, strong, creative Army vet I’ll ever write. He is truly my partner in all things, and without him I would not know
love
well enough to write about it at all. He is my prince.
My darling children did not help with this book at all, but they keep me young and forgive me for posting photos of “kissing books” on Instagram. Thanks, kids.
I will never be able to repay my beta readers for their input. Tara West, CD Reiss, Emma Jameson, Karin Cox, Sarah Woodbury, Shéa MacLeod, and Amy Harmon are all terrific writers worth reading, and I consider myself blessed to call them friends. The kind of friend who will tell you you’ve got spinach in your teeth is the best sort.
Thanks to Jenx, Shanyn, and the Birders of the ARC team for giving me wings.
Thanks to Paula Lomax & Louie the Border Collie for all they do for the community and for inspiring the Search & Rescue backstory.
For the folks at Goose Pond Fish & Wildlife, whether Friends or DNR, thank you for that one moment in 2011 when a happy interest in birds turned into a full-fledged love of all things feathered as you casually pointed out two Whoopers to this tired mom and her family in the back of a tour bus. I support and applaud your efforts and I hope to join you in Linton again soon.
Table of Contents