Bird After Bird Read online

  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?”

  The truth was, I never accepted friend requests from people I didn’t know, but before I could think of a polite response, another fellow answered for me.

  “Oh, you know Wren ain’t got time for the likes of you, Joe-Joe.” He was drunk, but good-natured and he smiled as he said it. “If I were her I’d be driving that little Beemer up and down the lake front, going to ball games...lots of stuff to do up there. The top go down on that car, Wren?”

  I knew his face from study hall. I did. He’d always been into cars. What was his name? Praise God! It was on his belt buckle.

  “It does, Jeremiah. Hard top. Comes off completely.” He smiled and nodded in approval. “How’s life? You still fixing up cars?”

  His face lit up. “You remembered? Cool! Yeah, I got an auto body shop out on Route 145. Mostly insurance work, but I bought an old 1932 Ford pick-up, thinking of turning it into a street rod and taking it to—“

  “Wren Riley doesn’t care about your stupid old jalopy,” Cindy interrupted. She rejoined the circle, bumping one of the guys out of the way with her hip. “Get a clue, Jeremiah. The way you’re slobbering all over Wren, she’s going to need a towel here in a minute.”

  Jeremiah’s face went red. I felt the anger rise in my throat, like acid reflux. I told myself not to speak, but Jeremiah was being so nice to me, Cindy’s rudeness just set my temper off. I fought to control of my tongue.

  Jeremiah turned to go inside the bar. “I’d love to see the truck, sometime, Jeremiah!” I called after him. I wasn’t sure if he heard me over the music.

  “Like hell you would,” Cindy grumbled. She lifted a bottle of beer to her mouth and had a big swig, smirking as she swallowed.

  “Why do you have to act like this?” I hissed. “What did I ever do to you?”

  Joe-Joe and the last guy who I’d yet to place backed away. The one who’d wandered off initially sat across the deck smirking as Cindy squared her shoulders to face me.

  “What did you ever do to anyone, Wren? Did you come to my Sweet Sixteen party? No. Did you come to my graduation party? Yes, for about five minutes, then you left again. ‘Gotta pack for Northwestern! Oh, Northwestern! None of you dumb hicks are getting into an uppity school like Northwestern! No one but me, I’m Wren Riley!’ How about my wedding? No. Did you even know I got married? I’m guessing you didn’t since you didn’t come to the divorce party, either. Only thing you got time for down here is a class reunion. Why’d you even come to that? Paid appearance?” She had another swig of beer. “What the hell are you even doing here, Wren? What the fuck do you want?”

  “I just came out here for the bathroom,” I said, “And I’ll be leaving now. Have a nice night, Cindy.” I did my best to keep my voice even as I turned and walked away. The last thing I needed was Cindy to come after me. She was obviously so drunk, I didn’t put it past her to beat me up.

  I jogged away past the port-a-john resolved to hop in my car and hang out in the next town where there were hotels and restaurants accustomed to highway travelers. No one would know me there and there was little chance I’d offend anyone with my mere existence. As soon as I heard back from the realtor regarding whether an offer was made on the house, I could hit the road back to Chicago.

  My mind was filled with my new agenda, and I only saw a flash of the buff leather boots and denim jeans before I crashed face-first into the guy with the soft voice and pretty eyes.

  “Just came to check on ya,” he said. “They told me inside the port-a-john was sinking.” He glanced around the corner and laughed. “Damn. I sent you to a fate worse than the Beer & Bait ladies room.”

  He was so cute, I couldn’t help but smile. “It’s okay,” I said. “I can head into Jasper or something.”

  “Or something,” he said. He cocked his head, sizing me up. “You know, I don’t normally do this, but…I don’t live very far from here. You want to freshen up at my place?”

  Chapter Four

  Wren

  A single egret on the edge of the lake caught my eye, just as the guy with the friendly face was saying something.

  “Life’s too short
for egrets,” Dad used to say. I smiled at the memory of it, despite the unpleasantness of Cindy’s rude ‘tude ringing in my mind.

  I was exhausted, and the last thing I wanted to do was leave with a guy from the Beer & Bait crowd. I didn’t mean to be rude, but the voice of my father in my head was so loud, I lingered on the memory for a moment too long. The guy looked at his boots and then lifted his face, squinting out at the rapidly darkening lake. I realized I was ignoring him. “I’m sorry, I missed what you said.”

  He turned and gazed for a moment until his eyes found the bird.

  “Never mind,” he said. “You like birds? Let’s go for a walk. Tons of birds here.”

  I laughed. “I know. That’s a Great Egret. In a few months the lake will be full of them. And I really need to go, sorry.” I turned to leave.

  “I reckon life’s full of egrets,” he said, his words eerily close to my father’s, stopping me in my tracks. “And I can understand if you’ve got someplace to be. But if you don’t mind me saying, most people end up at the Beer & Bait for one of two reasons: either they’re on their way to a fishing spot, or they don’t have anyplace better to go. And, lady, you don’t look like you came here to fish.”

  I didn’t owe him an answer, but he had rescued me from the bathroom and he seemed like a nice guy. A cute, nice guy. I liked his accent—the same country accent I’d worked hard to shed was so pleasing coming out of his mouth. It really suited him.

  And it’s not like every guy at the Beer & Bait was a jerk. Jeremiah was proof of that.

  And I liked the square of his jaw and the shape of his shoulders underneath that blue shirt. It was his eyes that got me, though. I could have driven off and availed myself of all the comforts the International House of Waffles has to offer, but for some reason I couldn’t say no to him. I wanted to know this man better.

  I wanted to look into those eyes of his a bit longer, only I wanted to be pretty first! I didn’t want him to stare back and find me an unholy mess.

  I turned and sized him up. There was no question, a guy his size could put a hurt on a girl like me. It wasn’t smart to meet strangers in bars and just go home with them. I knew that. For all I knew, he could have been one of Cindy’s like-minded friends. In my heart though, I felt no fear.

  “How about that nature walk?” he said.

  “Life’s too short for egrets,” I said. “Were you saying something about going back to your place?”

  Chapter Five

  Wren

  He walked me to my car, and before I hit the fob to unlock the doors, I asked, “How do I know you’re not some creeper who’s going to hurt me?”

  He shrugged. “Take a photo of me, I guess. Text it to a friend.”

  “You know, that’s not a bad idea.” I held up my phone. “Say ‘pizza’!”

  The flash was off, but the lights in the parking lot were just bright enough to catch his image. I turned the phone around so he could see it. “Not bad,” he said. “Nice lighting. Where were you when I needed senior pictures taken?”

  I hit send on the text to Janice. “Better add my name,” he said as I typed. “Laurence Byrd.”

  I climbed into the car, and he slid into the passenger seat, folding his long legs awkwardly before he found the seat adjustment. The seat hummed for a long moment until he’d slid it as far back as it would go.

  “Lawrence Bird? Do you go by Lawrence, or by…wait. Your name is Larry Bird? The famous basketball player? Is that your dad or something?”

  He smiled. “You know, everybody says that. No relation.” He rolled the window down and pointed. “You’ll want to take a right out of the parking lot, then the driveway is about four miles from here. It’s gravel and it’s hidden by trees, so I’ll tell you when the look.”

  I was a little nervous driving him to his house.

  “Gripping that steering wheel pretty hard. Am I that scary?”

  I laughed, forcing myself to relax. “Maybe I should have duct-taped you to the seat just in case.”

  “Maybe save that for the second date,” he said. “Hey, you didn’t tell me your name.”

  “It’s Wren.”

  “Pretty.”

  “Thanks.”

  I could still feel my heart hammering in my chest, but in the close quarters of the car, his clean denim scent was all the more powerful, and his laid-back attitude was contagious.

  “This is it,” he said, pointing to the right again.

  I couldn’t see a house from the road, but I turned next to a mailbox that said BYRD in small reflective letters, and drove slowly down a gravel drive.

  “I knew a few Byrds in school,” I said. “Are you related to any of them, Larry?”

  “Laurie. Like the character in—“

  “Little Women,” I finished. We’d run out of gravel drive in front of what appeared to be an old-fashioned log cabin. The warm light of a table lamp spilled out one of the front windows onto a covered porch that spanned the length of the house, wrapping around both sides. “So your mom was really into that book, huh?”

  “My sisters were named after a character and the author, so…yeah, I guess you could say that.” He smiled in the dim light and opened his door to climb out. “Gimme a sec and I’ll turn on some lights.”

  I waited, watching him unlock the front door. A porch light flickered on, then it seemed like every light in the house came on a moment later. A small stained-glass circle lit up in the front door. I wondered what other artful details the cabin might hold.

  I climbed out of the car and did a slow 180, taking in the property best I could. Everywhere were tall trees, budded out and almost in full foliage, but above the house I could see the brilliant light of stars filtering in, and a stunning gibbous moon.

  “Make yourself at home, Carolina,” he called from the doorway.

  I groaned.

  “Sorry, was that too corny?”

  “Just a little.” I’d been called Carolina Wren by just about every birder I’d ever met. It couldn’t be helped. Those little russet beauties were everywhere in the Midwest, and even if they hadn’t been my namesake, they’d still be one of my favorite birds.

  My phone buzzed. Janice.

  -Cute guy. What’s his story?-

  “Don’t tell her about my corny jokes,” he said, sitting down on the front porch swing while I texted.

  Finding out. Talk tomorrow.

  -K, be safe-

  He’d left the front door open, and gestured to the house as I climbed the steps to the front porch. “Bathroom’s on the left past the kitchen. I hope it’s not too messy. Wasn’t expecting company.” He held up a second beer and then placed it on the front porch rail before taking a seat on the swing. “This’ll be waiting for you when you come out.”

  The bathroom actually wasn’t messy at all. I tried not to snoop as I walked through the house, but I was immediately struck by two things: the tidiness of the place, and the number of paintings on the walls. There were even a couple of easels set up in the great room, next to a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that I suspected yielded an amazing view in the daylight hours.

  In the lights of the bathroom, I was finally able to inspect the damage of my earlier crying fit. Fortunately I always carried a little clutch of makeup essentials in my purse, and I put them to good use now. I ran the water in the sink so he couldn’t hear me pee, and washed my hands with what looked like a locally-crafted artisan soap. If I didn’t know better, I’d think a woman lived here.

  But did I know better?

  Leaving the bathroom, I moved slowly toward the front porch. I didn’t see any wedding photos or family pictures on the wall, other than an old collage of snapshots in the hallway with faces too small and blurry for me to recognize in a moment’s passing. No, definitely no signs of a wife or live-in girlfriend.

  “Laurie, mind if I look at your paintings?”

  I drifted toward the easels, and he came back inside. He watched me silently as I examined an oil-in-pr
ogress of a Red-shouldered Hawk, but spoke up as I moved to the other easel, which bore a covered canvas. “Not that one,” he said. “Sorry…it’s not ready yet.”

  I turned to apologize and noticed him turn a framed photo face down on his fireplace mantel.

  Wonder who that was. Ex-girlfriend, maybe?

  “That’s a gorgeous fireplace,” I said. “Huge! Looks like Harry Potter and the whole Weasley family could come sliding out of it any minute.”

  He smiled. “All the stones were brought up by hand from a creek on the property. My grandfather built it, himself.”

  “So you’re not the first artisan in the Byrd family.”

  He had a sip of his beer. “Not much of an artisan, myself, really. I paint and I teach art classes, but mostly I’m a mechanic. Pays the bills.”

  “That’s cool.” I didn’t know what else to say, so I just smiled.

  He handed me the beer. “Come on out on the porch. It’s a nice night.”

  It was just a little chilly, but I drank the cold beer and bore it because I felt more relaxed with Laurie than I had the entire trip to Birdseye. Between crying in the credit union vault and the altercation with Cindy, I was exhausted.

  “So tell me more about Wren,” he said. He glanced over at me, his handsome face lit by the golden glow from the house.

  “Well, I’m living in Chicago, but I’m from here. And I’m a little cold.”

  “Cold? You seem nice enough to me.”

  “No, I mean…it’s a little chilly out here.”

  “Oh!” He stood, and dashed into the house. In a moment he was back with a huge woolen blanket. He took the beer from me and sat it on the porch rail, covering me. “Better?”

  “Perfect, actually,” I said as he took his seat again. I didn’t want to be rude, and I figured if I was cold, he must be, too. I held the edge of the blanket nearest him up a bit. “You want to share?”