My Name Is River (13 page)

Uncle Jay's Visit

T
he next morning I wake up before the sun and eat a quick bowl of Frosted Wheat Flakes. I don't waste time with a second because I need to get to Billy's. Gram's still sleeping (I know because I hear her snoring away down the hall). I set out a bowl, a spoon, and a coffee mug for her and then write a note reminding her where I'll be.

As soon as I reach Billy's house, warm smells of coffee and cinnamon rolls greet me at the screen door. It smells like a family. Pastor Henry, Billy, and his uncle are sitting at the table talking and laughing.

When Billy introduces me, his uncle looks at Pastor Henry and then back at me. “Your name is River?” he says. “I've heard that name only once before. How did your parents decide on River?”

There's no question that Pastor Henry and Uncle Jay are brothers—they look alike and even ask the same questions. Thank goodness Billy recues me before my stomach turns to tangled knots. “Here, Uncle Jay,” he says and slides the plate of cinnamon rolls to him. “Have another one.” Then Billy leans toward me and whispers, “You know, River, we need to come up with something you can tell people when they ask about your name.”

I nod my head at Billy.

“Anyway, River,” Billy's uncle says, “if you'd like, you can call me Uncle Jay too.” He smiles and then slides the plate of cinnamon rolls toward me. I take the one loaded with the most frosting.
And then I can't believe it—Uncle Jay pours me a mug of coffee (I think I'm going to like having an uncle).

Me and Billy and Uncle Jay each grab another cinnamon roll and head out for the birding place. Pastor Henry stays back to work on his Sunday message while the little Whippoorwills are still asleep and the house is quiet.

Uncle Jay brings his fancy camera that has at least six different lenses. Plus he has an amazing tripod (God sure didn't mess around when he answered Billy's prayer).

We let Uncle Jay lead the way through the woods, but me and Billy make sure we come out first. We want to make sure everything's safe. And it is. There are birds all over the place. And this morning they're moving.

While we sit on the log, Uncle Jay takes a few minutes to look around. “Your birding place is magnificent. Everywhere you look, there's color, texture, shading, form. It's a photographer's paradise.” Then he glances at the sun coming over the horizon. “And with the soft morning light, I think you'll get some outstanding photos.” He attaches his camera to the tripod and looks through the lens. He adjusts the height and then tells me and Billy what to do.

I have to catch my breath before I say, “You're letting us take pictures?”

Uncle Jay smiles, and when he does, I can't believe it. His is crooked too. He looks at me and says, “This is your project, isn't it?”

This might be the best day of my life.

I sit behind the tripod and get comfortable. First I focus the camera on the bird feeder and spot a black-capped chickadee eating seeds. I take its picture. Then I point the camera toward the suet feeder and focus on a woodpecker. I take its picture too. I even get pictures of two monarch butterflies sipping nectar from the Carolina phlox.

All of a sudden, we see a hummingbird near the bee balm. Uncle Jay quickly removes the lens and exchanges it with one that's super long. “Here, River. Try this.”

I place my eye against the camera and see a beautiful ruby-throated hummingbird hovering in midair. It looks like a shimmering scoop of key-lime sherbet with a raspberry tucked under its chin.

Uncle Jay says to take as many pictures as we want. I think I've taken ten.

When it's Billy's turn, he focuses on the birdbath. Then he waits. And waits some more. He's hoping to see a thirsty bird or one that needs a bath (Billy's more patient than I could ever be). Pretty soon a cardinal lands on the edge and takes a drink. Billy clicks the camera. I bet it'll be an awesome picture. Then we see two mourning doves feeding on the ground, and Billy takes their picture too.

All of a sudden, Billy whispers, “Wow, look!” He turns the camera toward two bluebirds. Their feathers are beautiful. As we watch, the male raises and quivers one of his wings and feeds his mate a morsel of food (maybe that is my idea of romance, after all). Billy clicks the camera sixteen times.

Next we see a goldfinch land on the tallest sunflower, making it sway back and forth. The finch's yellow feathers blend in with the sunflower so at first it's hard to see. It pecks at the seeds, looks around, and chirps
po-ta-to-chip
.

I just about die laughing. “Did you hear that? It sounded like it said potato chip!”

Billy grins. “Amazing, isn't it? That's actually its contact call. Goldfinches use it to keep in touch with their friends.”

Uncle Jay laughs and shakes his head. “Unbelievable!”

But what I can't believe is that now I have an uncle.

17

Saving Gram

A
fter school on Thursday, me and Billy race to his mailbox. He beats me, opens the lid, and shouts, “I knew it! Uncle Jay mailed them right away, just like he promised!”

I jump up and down like a little kid. “And it's perfect timing! We've got four days 'til our project's due, so we've got just enough time.”

We run toward Billy's house, when all of a sudden, he stops. “Can we go to your house and look at them? If we stay here, my brothers and sisters will climb all over them.”

“Sure,” I say, “we can go to my house if you want.” But inside I whisper, “God, please make sure Gram isn't doing something strange.”

In ten minutes we're at my house, spreading our pictures across the kitchen table. Gram's in the living room practicing her banjo (which is better than exercising with our milk jug), but I'm still relieved when she stops twanging “Oh! Susanna” and waddles over to see our pictures.

Gram's face beams while she looks at the pictures. She tells us how she's had a love for birds since the day Gramp proposed to her (even though I've heard this story a thousand times, I still like listening). “It's gotta be a good forty-eight years since River's granddaddy proposed to me. Course River wasn't even around back then. Well, he'd gone out and bought an African gray parrot without
saying a word about it to me, and he taught that bird to say, ‘Will you marry me?' ” Gram chuckles and grabs hold of her belly. “That man was more fun than a fox in a henhouse. I have no idea how a girl could've said no!”

I think that's probably why she found room in her big old heart for Paddles, even though that crazy duck couldn't talk or do a trick to save its life. But I guess when it comes right down to it, a bird's a bird.

Billy can't take his eyes off the pictures. “These are incredible! They look like they should be in
National Geographic
.”

“By George, you're right,” Gram says.

“You know,” Billy says, “Uncle Jay used to take pictures for that magazine. He'd travel all over the world taking pictures, and the magazine would publish them. But that was quite a while ago—around the time I was born. My parents still have a stack of them in the attic. Sometimes I go up there and look at them, imagining I was with him on those trips.”

“Why'd he stop?” Gram asks.

Billy gets a serious look on his face. “On his last trip, something terrible happened. So after that he stopped taking pictures for a long time.”

“Well, what happened?” Gram says. “The suspense is darn near killing me.”

“He was on a photo assignment, and that time he decided to bring his wife and baby along.”

“Wait a minute,” I say. “I didn't know Uncle Jay has a wife and kid.”

“Well, he used to.”

“Go on,” Gram says.

“Well, he was at the Eisenhower National Historic Site in Pennsylvania when—”

Gram interrupts Billy and looks at me. “Your mom and daddy
used to live around them parts.” Then she apologizes to Billy and tells him to go on.

“Uncle Jay was taking pictures when his wife had to go to the bathroom. She asked him to watch the baby, but Uncle Jay never heard her. When she came back, their baby was gone.”

Gram closes her eyes. “That's the saddest thing I've ever heard.” She gets real quiet and lets out a sigh. “Did they ever find that baby?”

Billy shakes his head. “The police searched for years but didn't have any luck. I was so young at the time, and no one ever talks about it, so I don't know very much about it. Anyway, after that Uncle Jay's wife left him. But even after all those years, Uncle Jay still carries a picture of them in his wallet.”

Gram gets a puzzled look on her face and says to Billy, “I'd like to see that picture sometime.” Then she shakes her head a few times and looks out the kitchen window toward our mailbox. “Well, I'm gonna see if the postmaster brought me anything exciting too. You never know what the day's gonna bring.” She heads out, letting the screen door slam behind her.

I sort through the hummingbird pictures, looking for my favorite. “You know, Billy,” I say, “today could be my lucky day. There just might be a letter from my parents waiting in the mailbox.” I look out the window and see Gram hopping down the driveway on one foot—she might as well be on a pogo stick. I try distracting Billy so he doesn't look out the window.

We sort a few more pictures, when I look out the window again. This time Gram isn't hopping. She's lying at the edge of the road, right beside our mailbox. At first I wait to see if she's doing some crazy exercise, but when she doesn't move, I yell for her and run outside. Billy hurries behind me.

I lift Gram's head, but her eyes stay closed. Billy runs back toward the house, yelling over his shoulder, “I'll call an ambulance!”

“Our phone's been shut off!” I yell back. “Just get Tilly's keys.” Billy freezes, so I yell again, “Get the keys!”

I check Gram's pulse, remembering what Billy said about a hummingbird's heart beating six hundred times a minute and a human's beating seventy-two times. I haven't counted one on Gram.

I grab the keys from Billy and slip behind Tilly's steering wheel, trying to remember everything I've watched Gram do. I put the key in, turn it, and push on the gas. Tilly starts on the first try. I shift into reverse, push on the gas, and the truck jerks backward toward the mailbox. I shift into park, get out, and open Tilly's tailgate. I yell for Billy to help. Somehow we manage to get Gram in. I shove Billy in the back too and tell him to stay with her. I slam Tilly's tailgate shut and climb back in the driver's seat.

Billy's voice is trembling. “What are you going to do?”

“I'm driving to your house. We need a grown-up to get Gram to the hospital.”

“That won't work,” he says. “My dad's at church, and my mom can't leave the kids.”

I tell myself I can do this, shift into drive, point Tilly in the direction of the church, and press on the gas. As I look in the rearview mirror, I meet Billy's eyes. I can tell he's crying. I yell through the glass, “Have you ever done CPR?”

“I've only seen it on TV.”

“That's all right,” I tell him. “Do the same thing. Push down in the middle of Gram's chest a bunch of times. Then tip her head back and plug her nose so you can blow air into her lungs. You have to blow twice.” I look in the mirror again and see him trying, but it doesn't look like it's going well.