Sparrow Migrations (7 page)

“You’re projecting that. Looking at the overall statistics and data, not at us as case studies. We’re both healthy. The specialist in New York said my heart rate and blood pressure and diet and exercise habits put my body at age thirty-eight.”

“That’s true,” Christopher said, thoughtfully.

His tone was different. The note of pessimism that had been there since yesterday was gone.

“So if the real problem is the process, and how I handle it, let’s try to fix that. Not throw the baby out with the bathwater.”

Christopher was silent.

“That’s a joke, Christopher.” She elbowed him gently.

Obligingly, he turned up the corners of his mouth.

“What are you thinking? Doesn’t that make sense? Especially since we have the three remaining embryos?” She waited, willing him to see it the way she did.

“It sounds good. But tell me what it means.”

“I’ll get rid of all the fertility books. Drop out of the Facebook groups. Take up yoga, maybe. And we’ll have mandatory date nights. After every doctor’s appointment,” she added.

This time he smiled for real.

“And I don’t think you give me quite enough credit for seeing the forest. Sure, I wanted to visit Helen and the girls on the trip. But I wanted to go wine tasting and bike riding and bird watching with you, too. I found some good places on the Seattle Audubon site.”

He exhaled. “That sounds nice.”

“And last summer I
did
get out of the house at least once. We went to the dean’s summer picnic. That’s where you and Michael hatched the plan for the big Fish and Wildlife grant. The one that’s pending right now, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

“Any updates?”

“I checked before we left the hotel. Not yet.”

“You’ve been waiting for what, like, three months?”

He nodded. “And it was three months of writing before that.”

“Which could also be contributing to your stress and fatigue, right?”

He nodded again.

“So. Let’s finish what we started. Try one more cycle. If it doesn’t work, then we’ll stop. I promise.”

She couldn’t bear to watch him decide and turned her gaze back to the window. The landscape had softened as they approached Ithaca. She watched a flock of birds soar through a cleft between the hills.

Christopher was silent for another frozen mile, then finally spoke. “All right. Make the appointment with the clinic. We’ll try again. One last time.”

SEVEN

R
obby stroked the black wing of the taxidermied bird. The feathers felt so sleek. And it was so big. Dr. Felk said it was a male. So that made it a gander, not a goose. Watching from a distance, he never would have thought one could be so big. Their neighbors at home, the Petersons, had a little dog, Trixie. She was one of those yappy dogs that tore all around the yard a lot. This gander was way bigger than Trixie.

“Look at the time. I told your parents a half hour, and here it’s past an hour. They’ll think I’ve apprenticed you.” Dr. Felk glanced at his watch. “We’d better go.”

Robby kept his hand on the gander. “Don’t want to go.” The archives were crowded with shelves stuffed with bird skulls and models of wings and boxes of books, papers, maps, and more that they had barely begun to explore. Old dust hung thick. Even the city’s noises were muffled here below the street. He hadn’t needed his headphones once.

Dr. Felk adjusted his glasses, gazing around the room.

“I know. Heaven down here, isn’t it?”

Robby nodded. The gander’s beady eye seemed to meet his. Wouldn’t the geese have seen the plane? Couldn’t they have diverted?

“Robby.” Dr. Felk’s hand touched his shoulder, and he flinched involuntarily. “I’ve enjoyed having you here. I wish we could stay longer, too. But you live in Detroit. If I’m going to help you learn more long-distance, I have to talk to your parents. Convince them. You understand—” A coughing spasm seized the rest of Dr. Felk’s sentence.

His parents, Detroit, home. All far away.

“You understand, right, Robby?” Dr. Felk stifled another cough and leaned forward, not touching him this time. Robby sighed. He didn’t want to leave. But he liked Dr. Felk. He bargained. “Fifteen more minutes.”

Dr. Felk scratched his gray beard. “Ten. Deal?”

“Deal,” Robby agreed.

Watching him with a faraway look in his eyes, Dr. Felk reached for his cell phone and dialed. “Jim? Arthur Felk. How’s everything in DC?” He coughed again. “Sorry. Listen, I need a favor.”

In the museum food court, Linda swallowed the last of her second cup of coffee.

“Do you think we should go look for them?” she asked Sam. “It’s been an hour.”

He glanced up from his
New York Times
. “Has it?” His eyes moved over her shoulder. “Here they come now.”

Relieved, Linda turned. In the twenty paces to their table, she saw Robby nod, smile, and gesture. Compared to his usual blank expression, he looked animated, she thought.

“This has been the best morning I’ve had at work in a long time, thanks to this young man,” Felk announced as they got closer. He put his hand on Robby’s shoulder, drawing him alongside. Robby flinched, Linda noticed, but allowed the touch. And he positively glowed.

“Robby, why don’t you get a drink or a snack. Tell them to charge it to me. I want to talk to your parents,” Felk said. Sam opened his mouth, but Robby nodded and disappeared.

Felk sat down. “Mr. and Mrs. Palmer, I must tell you Robby is a prodigy. He’s got a wonderful curiosity. Asks good questions. Amazing memory. Truly amazing. He’s got all the makings of a scientist.”

“You think so?” Linda, who clung to the hope that Robby’s autism cloaked genius, wanted to believe him. Desperately, she wanted to believe him. “Biology is his favorite subject in school.”

Felk nodded. “I think he just needed to find a subject that would capture his interest. Today I think he might have found it.”

“You mean birds?” Sam asked, sounding skeptical. Felk nodded emphatically.

“But he sees birds every day. He never expressed any special interest before. Why all of a sudden?” Linda scanned the cafeteria line, seeking Robby’s hooded head.

“The plane crash. You know, of course, living with Robby, how it is with autistics. They’re in their own world. Sometimes it takes something very dramatic to penetrate that, to make an impact. I think the plane crash may have done that for Robby.”

“You’re familiar with autism?” Linda leaned forward. “When I mentioned it before, you said you weren’t.”

“I didn’t say whether I was or wasn’t. I just didn’t want you to go ahead and tell me everything you think you know is true about Robby because somebody, somewhere, told you that.”

Sam spoke up, sounding irritated. “Now wait a second. What do you know—”

Chagrined but curious, Linda placed her hand on Sam’s arm, cutting him off. “Tell us more.”

Felk nodded at Sam. “I don’t mean to claim I know Robby, or what’s best for him. But I know some of his characteristics would allow him to flourish in a scientific environment.

“For a scientist, the ability to recall details is critical. Robby excels at it. On the elevator ride back up I asked him to list some of the species in
Anserinae
, which are in the same family with Canada geese, as well as swans and other geese. Though we spent only a few minutes looking at those images, he answered perfectly. In that archive room we’ve got records dating back before the museum’s founding, in 1869. I have no doubt that, if given free rein to roam in there for, say, a week, Robby would be able to transfer whatever was relevant to his interests to his own head.”

“He does have a photographic memory, doesn’t he, Sam?” Linda’s voice swelled with hope.

“And then there’s his curiosity. That’s the most encouraging part. Rote memory and how the pieces work individually isn’t his goal; he wants to know more and put the whole picture together.

“The plane crash is key. He wants to know more about that, about how it affected the geese, how the geese affected it. I don’t know much about aviation, but I called a friend who works at the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum. He’s probably not the guy, either, to be honest. But he could refer you to someone at a place with more modern aircraft. Maybe on an air base.”

“An air base?” Sam echoed in disbelief. “Are you kidding?”

“You’re doing all that for Robby? Why?” Linda said simultaneously, her eyes shining with fledgling hope.

Felk shifted in his seat, regarding them. He started to reply when Linda glimpsed Robby bearing a wobbly tray in her peripheral vision. She turned, holding her breath. The unfamiliar cafeteria was a sensory minefield.

Teetering with an unbalanced load of notebook, doughnut, and chocolate milk, Robby stared at the red plastic rectangle as if it were a map back to their table when the metal leg of a stray chair thwarted him. Tray, milk, doughnut, and book clattered to the tile floor, turning heads from all corners.

Sam touched his forehead to his palm, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Robby snatched the notebook away from the brown stream of the milk, then sat right down on the floor, backing away. Clucking in dismay, Linda leaped to assist. Felk followed her, but brushed past them to the cashier, who nodded and spoke into a radio.

Felk returned to the spilled milk and pointed Robby back toward the cafeteria line. He removed the wad of napkins Linda was swabbing the brown puddle with and ushered her back to their table.

“I’m so sorry. Crowded places are so challenging for him. I’m so sorry.”

“Please. It was an accident. The custodians will take care of it.” He dropped the napkins into a trash can. “Now where were we?” He sat back down heavily.

“The air base,” Sam said skeptically. “I’m not seeing the point of that.”

Felk looked surprised. “Why, it would be a place for Robby to learn about planes, of course.”

“Of course.” Sam repeated, heavy on the sarcasm. “Robby has significant auditory sensitivities. You must have noticed the headphones. I can’t think of a worse place for him.”

“Sam, let’s just hear him out, for heaven’s sake!” Linda said.

“Mr. Palmer, I’m not telling you what to do with your son,” Felk said. “I’m just offering options. Robby’s got an instinct for birds and their behavior. I should know. I’ve spent my professional career with some of the most illustrious ornithologists in the field. I
am
one of the most illustrious. In my opinion, it would be criminal not to indulge that interest.”

“Just options, huh?” Sam whispered to Linda, as Robby returned with a second tray.

Felk stood up. “I’ve given Robby my card. You still have it, right, son?”

Robby nodded.

“And I’ve got Robby’s e-mail. I’ll be in touch.” Felk nodded at them both, then held out his hand to Robby. “Robby, it was a privilege to meet you. I expect to be seeing you in the future. Check out those websites I gave you, and the reference books. Sibley’s guides are the best. See if you can find a local Audubon club. Just keep up with the birds and it’ll all work out fine.”

“OK.” Robby shook his hand, his brown eyes gazing straight up into Felk’s blue ones.

Witnessing that eye contact, Linda vowed to do whatever it took to nurture her son’s interest, and pretended she didn’t hear Sam muttering they should have skipped the sightseeing cruise and gone to the Empire State Building instead.

Richard had meetings at church that evening, so Brett made Western omelettes for herself and Amanda. The phone rang just as they were finishing. Amanda’s friend Abby was so excited Brett could hear her, too.

“It went great. Mrs. Hamilton said my voice was one of the best in the choir, and she asked me to rehearse ‘You’re the One that I Want’ tonight and perform it when they audition the leads tomorrow! I could have died, I was so excited. Amanda, I could be Sandra! And we’re only juniors.”

“That’s so cool, Ab. You’d be great,” Amanda said, walking down the hall, toward her room.

Brett rinsed the dishes, musing. Auditions. She thought back. Amanda mentioned something about musical auditions last week. Were they today? She chastised herself for not knowing for sure.

She filled the dishwasher quickly, then walked down to Amanda’s room. Hesitating, she listened. The phone conversation must be over. She knocked lightly and peeked in. “OK to come in?”

“I guess.” Amanda didn’t move on the bed. The phone receiver lay facedown next to her.

Brett wedged herself into the small space left between her daughter’s feet and the end of the bed. “Was that Abby?”

Amanda nodded.

“What’s new with her?”

“She got asked to audition for one of the leads in the musical today.”

“Good for her.” Brett paused. “Weren’t you going to audition, too?”

“Yeah, probably. Abby said I can still do it tomorrow.”

“Oh, OK.” Brett reviewed her daughter’s response, evaluating whether to probe further.

“I just wanted to come home and see you this afternoon, is all,” Amanda suddenly added.

“Really? You wanted to come home instead of hang out with your friends?” Brett patted her leg, wondering if that really was a good thing for a sixteen-year-old girl. Amanda pulled her knees up quickly and picked up the phone.

“Mom?” She was fidgeting with it, turning it around in her hands.

“Yes?”

“You know how I asked you about being on the news yesterday, being on the boat?”

“Mmm-hmmm.” Brett sat up straighter, feeling suddenly wide-awake.

“You said you weren’t. But this morning, on the news, they were rerunning the crash coverage and . . . and I saw you.”

“Saw me?” Brett’s throat closed.

“On a boat. Just like Kelsey said.”

Brett’s heart thumped. Here it was already, the moment of confrontation. She knew it would come eventually, but she had only scripted Richard opposite her. It was harder with Amanda, who had stopped fidgeting with the phone and pinned her with an unwavering stare. Brett sighed and nodded, almost imperceptibly.

“So I was right.”

Brett nodded again, more distinctly.

“Why did you tell me you weren’t? What’s the big deal? So you decided to blow off the conference and do something fun.” Amanda shrugged.

There it was. The life raft of the next lie laid, so innocently, by her own daughter.
Amanda thinks I was just playing hooky. She didn’t notice anything between me and Jackie.
So easy to step into, to maintain the charade a little bit longer. Of course it was wrong to lie. But it was her duty to protect her daughter, too. Wasn’t it?
Just for a little while longer. Until I talk to Jackie. Until we figure this out.

She shrugged, too. “I don’t know, Amanda. I was so surprised when you asked. With the plane crash, everything was so confusing. And scary.”

She’s not convinced. Think of something else.

“And going to the conference was expensive, so it was important that I make it worthwhile. I didn’t want you to think we were wasting time, or money. I’m sorry.”

“
‘We?
’ 
”

Brett’s heart pounded again.
I. I meant I. I didn’t want you to think I was wasting time or money.
This was how the devil used lies—like a web, snaring you with another and another and another, until you were hopelessly entangled. On the ferry, with Amanda far away, it was easier to lie. Face-to-face, here in her room, it was almost physically painful.

She stood up, folding her arms, cupping her elbows tightly, as her thoughts galloped, back to New York, back to Jackie. Was she lying to her family, too? What sacrifices was she making?