Fly by Night (42 page)

She pushed open the vinyl accordion door of the closet. It was empty except for a stack of towels, a few wire hangers, and a white train case placed on the top shelf. She hadn't seen a train case since Penelope's, which had been part of a luggage set they'd purchased for their trip to Greece. She remembered the blue color of their luggage.

Amelia stretched to reach the case but couldn't.

“Shit.” In the corner was a wooden chair. Amelia dragged it over and climbed up, pulling down the train case and setting it onto the bed.

Flipping open the latches, she cracked open the lid. The scent of women's face powder, something she'd not smelled since being a girl when Penelope would powder her face on Sunday mornings before church. There was nothing inside except for a few bobby pins. How disappointing, but why? What was she looking for?

Amelia shut and latched the case, climbed back up, and slid it back where it had been on the shelf.

What right had she to even be in the house? Maybe that's why the will hadn't been changed after her father's death; to see what Penelope had done. Maybe that was Gloria's revenge. Amelia shook out the thought. Being in this house was doing something to her.

She noticed a night table on one side of the bed with a small fussy-looking lampshade, ruched organdy that was discolored with a heavy coating of dust. Across from the bed was a wooden dresser with an attached mirror. She looked at her face, surprised by how it looked as if belonging to an older woman. Two windows with blinds, she pulled the drawstring and looked outside.

Placing the chair back in the exact spot, she headed across to the smaller bedroom.

On one wall a poster of a man in full Indian regalia with an eagle superimposed over his face hung at an angle by one flat metal thumbtack. Two small bookshelves were empty except for a set of field guides to North American birds, weather, trees, and wildflowers. She pulled out the weather guide; the top pages had a thick coating of dust.

Then she spotted the blue desk.

Amelia stopped. She'd had the exact one, only hers was pink. She'd spent the better part of her childhood there. She'd had a Cinderella desk lamp. TJ's had a plain gooseneck desk lamp, the cord unplugged and set on top.

Pulling out the desk chair, Amelia sat, feeling the familiar contours of the seat and looked out the window just above. So much living had happened in this parallel universe. Why had they keep it hidden? What had been so shameful?

Snow-covered frozen Lake Superior turned blindingly white in seconds as sun rays poked through the thick cloud cover. Amelia squinted and rested her elbows on the desk, leaning over. What had TJ thought about all those years while doing his homework as she was doing hers? He'd known all about her, but she hadn't known about him. He'd had photos of her, but she hadn't any of him. A calendar on the wall was dated June 1972. She stood and walked over, trying to decipher his scribbles in some of the squares, the top printed with a Washburn, Wisconsin, hardware store's insignia.

Lifting the top sheet, she paged back to January, but nothing was written down except for strategically placed
D
s.

She turned back to watch the lake a few moments and then sat back down at TJ's desk. Maybe he'd been counting down the months before his father would come back to visit, perhaps hating her for keeping him away. She would have hated her too. Or else just a brokenhearted boy imagining someone else was enjoying the sheltering care of a father who'd given it so freely to another during the short span of his life. She stood indicted and thought of Alex. She'd done the same thing to him, only he hadn't known a father to miss, to long for. And while Alex would ask from time to time and she'd make the offer to search for the man, he'd back off as quickly as he'd brought it up. As if her willingness had been enough rather than any sort of father quest.

The pups raced back and dive-bombed her as they squealed in excitement at discovering her in TJ's bedroom. Jumping up, each vied to get up into her lap first, their nails made rustling noises against the fabric of her jeans as they tried to gain traction.

Lacey then stopped.

“Oh no!” Amelia said. A stream of pee flooded TJ's boyhood rug. “Great.” Amelia shook her head, wondering how to clean it up, thinking she'd better set up a system for a latrine.

Amelia moved onto the bed and rolled over. The room was cold. She'd better bring in wood, start a fire. Maybe air the place out another day. She lifted each pup up onto the bed as they dropped down beside her.

She breathed in Junior's fur, thinking that she should get up, unload groceries too but instead she drifted off.

*   *   *

She didn't know why she was so afraid that night. Tucked into her sleeping bag on the couch, the lights were on. The woodstove had warmed the house.

And while the weather had turned rough like Charlotte had said, Amelia had been out on the ocean in far worse in all manner of rickety watercraft.

Just after dark the wind had picked up, howling like a grief-stricken animal.

The lights flickered a few times before blinking on and off. The off intervals became longer than the on. She toyed with the idea of running out to grab the flashlight from the glove compartment before settling in for the night, but wasn't sure the effort would be rewarded. She couldn't remember the last time she'd changed the batteries.

The house shuddered as winds burst against it like microexplosions as Amelia imagined isobars on marine radar. The house squeaked and creaked like the sounds of a ship rolling in high seas and the roof sounded as if parts of it were loose and might lift off and blow away.

Settling on the couch in her sleeping bag, Amelia had ruled out sleeping in either bed, thinking it might be an invitation to unwelcome dreams.

Amelia picked up her cell phone to call Bryce. There was no service. Then she spotted a wall phone. Wriggling out of her sleeping bag, she lifted it but it was dead.

Hell, she'd have called Charlotte and even TJ if it weren't for his sharp corners that still poked.

“Damn,” she said and looked at the window. She'd closed the blinds after dark, though they swayed in the drafts. Maybe go find a hotel or something but good luck with two dogs on a Tuesday night at eleven thirty in the middle of a moonless, black winter night in a town of 480 people.

Snow pelted the windows and sounded more like sand, blowing in straight-line winds. Hail began falling, hitting the metal roof as if it had become a percussion instrument.

Then everything stopped. Nature had switched off. It all went silent.

Amelia sat up.

Neither pup seemed fazed, both were asleep, one along each of her arms. Maybe because they were home and she wasn't.

Or perhaps their mother's scent was the calming agent. So many things she didn't know.

Just as she lay back down to doze, a tapping sound on the window made her sit up. It sounded like a branch or a stick. She hadn't recalled any shrubs or trees touching the house.

Amelia listened and then turned toward the window.

Junior sat up and looked. Amelia waited for the tapping to stop. It did. She lay back down and turned onto her side.

Then it started again.

“Oh shit.” She sat up.

Standing, she set Junior down and tried to imagine what it might be. The rhythm was steady like Morse code, not a branch. She crept toward the window.

The sound came from the bottom right-hand corner.

Crouching down, she winced as she lifted the blind.

On the outside ledge was a small bird, maybe a chickadee or a pine grosbeak looking at her, imploring. She looked into the shiny blackness of its eyes—unheard of for a bird to be out at almost midnight in such a storm and not sheltered or roosting in the arms of a tree.

The oddity was frightening, otherworldly, and personal in a way she couldn't deny.

She let the blind drop and stepped back.

The bird continued tapping its code.

It'll go way.
She climbed back onto the couch and into her sleeping bag, pulling it up to her chin. Junior looked at her.

“What?” she said as he looked back to the window.

The image of the bird was a weight on her conscience, like she didn't have enough.

Then it stopped.

“Oh, thank God.” She relaxed. Maybe it flew off.

But then it started again.

“Shit.” Amelia got up. One hand on her forehead, the tapping persisted. She pressed her stomach and paced as if waiting for someone or something to die.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The tapping was on and off, her insides tensed with urgency. She squeezed her heart shut. What could she do, she couldn't just open the window and let the bird fly in. Yet why not?

The tapping stopped. Maybe it was gone.

Creeping over to the window, she pulled up the blind's corner.

The little bird looked at her.

“Shit, that's it.” She pulled the blind up and fiddled with the window latches. “How do I open—” She turned the latches and pulled but it didn't budge. She felt like breaking the glass but that would've been hysterical.

The bird tapped again.

“Alright, alright, alright, hold your horses,” she said.

Gripping the bottom handle she yanked. It budged up enough, the bird flew in.

Its wing brushed her cheek.

Amelia then shut out the storm.

The bird made one pass around the room and landed on the crocheted blanket on the back of the sofa.

The pups didn't seem to care.

“So?” she said to the bird as if it would answer.

The bird puffed up its feathers, round like a ball, and was instantly asleep.

*   *   *

About an hour later there was a loud scrape at the front door.

Amelia startled awake.

She sat up.

Both pups had climbed down and were sniffing at the bottom of the door, tails wagging. Lacey then barked and pawed back.

“Bryce?” She jumped up and scurried over to the door. “Oh, please be you.”

No answer. Then the lights flickered on and off a few times, powering out long enough for the refrigerator to shut off.

“Shit.” She looked around. The whiteness of the snow cast a blue glow that lit the room.

Everything was quiet again. Damn, she should have gone to get that flashlight.

“Bet ya got candles somewhere, Gloria.” She tried to imagine where such an organized person would keep them. Just as she was opening and shutting kitchen drawers the lights went on again.

Another scrape at the door.

She turned to look. Junior began whimpering and sat down while Lacey scratched back.

Just then a gust of wind hit the front of the house like an explosion, startling her.

“I can't take this.” Her voice was shaky, she felt unstable, like a frightened girl. Her skin prickled as the hair stood up.

“Hello?” she called through the door and knocked from the inside. Her chest quivered. “Bryce?”

She flipped on two light switches and an outdoor light flipped on. Looking out the window, there was no view of the top steps.

Junior sniffed at the bottom of the doorjamb and then looked up at her.

Another scrape. This one more insistent.

Amelia picked up both pups and set them into the wire crate in the kitchen and latched the door.

“Stay there for now.”

She looked back at the roosting bird who was unconcerned.

Amelia walked up to the door and crouched down, listening. Something was there; she heard movement.

Standing up, she turned the doorknob and opened the door a few inches. Her eyes were met with the yellow eyes of a black wolf-looking dog wearing a red collar.

“Jethro?”

His face softened at hearing his name—his ears twitched. He looked curious, as if to ask,
Who are you?
He then looked inside with such yearning that Amelia opened the door wider for him to come in.

He lowered his head and looked at her.

“Come on.” She stepped out of his way. His size was frightening as he passed by. His head was almost to her waist. Panic set in. She froze. Shallow breathing as she looked to locate her boots, her coat if she needed to make a run for it. Afraid to shut the door, afraid to be trapped with such a large animal in an enclosed space, but then she remembered Charlotte telling her how gentle he and Lacey were.

“Please don't kill me,” she said and gradually lowered her arms. Her hands were curled up into her armpits like bird feet. She took a breath, watched Jethro walk into the house, and then gently closed the door.

The dog made one pass around the living room. He stopped at the wire cage and lowered his head. Lacey sniffed Jethro's teeth and then backed away. Junior rolled over, showing his belly. Jethro sniffed the puppy's undercarriage through the metal grated door and then turned away.

The dog walked up to the woodstove, stepped away and circled once, settling down onto the oval rug by the front door. He curled up and covered his nose with his tail.

Amelia walked backward to the couch, not wanting to turn her back or make any sudden moves. She climbed into the sleeping bag, keeping an eye on Jethro as she saw the shine of his eye watching her back through the fur of his tail.

Amelia was wide awake, listening to Jethro's breathing. Half terrified, half amazed, she was no longer sleepy.

Each time Lacey or Junior shifted in the crate, she spotted the gleam of Jethro's eyes in the light of the fire. He lifted his head a few times to look at her and that was it.

*   *   *

Amelia didn't remember falling asleep yet awoke to the sound of Jethro's paw scrape inside the door the next morning. He turned to look at her after each scratch.

“Jethro,” she acknowledged.

She loved it when his eyes softened and his dark bushy tail swished once.

She reached to touch his head but he shied away.

“Okay,” she said and then squatted, holding out her hand. He was taller at that angle. “Don't gotta touch you.”