Bird After Bird (29 page)

It was too late to make up for my mistake. It was too late to say I was sorry. I had no one to call—no mom or dad on whose shoulder I could cry. If I bugged Janice about it she was liable to fire me. All I could do now was suffer alone until the feelings passed. I’d made my bed and now I was lying in it.

Sure, I was shrinking. Nothing tastes good when you’re eating your heart out.

On the street, the traffic was thumping and the pedestrians were moving in a groove of their own.

“I can’t believe it’s not hotter than this, for being almost August,” Janice said. “It’s usually so nasty that Harold and I take off for the Hamptons and let the sea breeze do its thing.”

“Yeah. Thanks for taking me along for the 4
^th
of July weekend. Such a beautiful house.”

She smiled. We walked in silence for another block or so, then she spoke. “Tell me what’s going on with you, Wren.”

“What do you mean?”

She gave me the side eye. “Birdy, sing—now. I didn’t ask you to lunch for my daily exercise quota. I need to know what’s going on with you. Is this about that boy from Indiana?”

I cringed.

“I see,” she said. “Have you spoken to him?” Her words took a soft tone, almost drowning in the sudden blast of a honking taxi. I knew she was concerned, I just didn’t know how much to say—or
what
to say, really.

“I think he wanted to get married, Janice.”

“Did he propose?”

I shook my head. “No, but I’m sure it was going that direction.”

I didn’t want to break down in tears on the street, but I felt the muscles in my cheeks straining, my jaw tightening painfully, and my breath hitch, as though my body were going to birth all the pain and tears I’d been resisting the past few weeks at once.

“Birdy, stop,” Janice said gently, taking me by the hand and walking me to the nearest bench.

My hands shot out beside me for balance, and my fingers closed on a piece of paper. I opened my eyes, expecting to find a piece of garbage in my left hand, but what I did see shocked the tears right out of me.

It was a bird. Another little paper crane.

Chapter Fifty-four

Wren

I don’t remember how we got to the pizza place. I vaguely remember Janice speaking, then opening the door to her limo and sort of pushing me inside, but when I came back to reality I was sitting in a booth, with a pretty waitress offering me a beer to go with our breadsticks.

Janice was ordering for both of us, and I was still grasping that little paper crane. It was red origami paper, so I highly doubted it was one of Laurie’s, but the urge to open it and look for some sign of him was tough to quell.

Before I could unfold it, Janice was reaching across the table taking the bird from me. “Let’s just let our little friend here watch, okay?”

“You sound like you’re talking to a mental patient,” I said. I reached for a breadstick and tore off a bite-sized piece.

“I feel like I’m talking to one, sometimes,” she said. The waitress brought two frosty mugs of beer and Janice had a sip. “Now that I’ve got your attention, can you tell me how much of what I’ve been saying has been getting through?”

“To be honest, it was all kind of a blur. I think you said something about giving me 30 days to get my act together?”

Janice nearly spit out her beer. “Wren! As if. No, no. Of course I know you’re capable of doing better work than you’ve been producing, but the 30 days was for
you
. I was suggesting you give the city another thirty days, then if you still hate it here, if you’re still miserable, you go and find this boy and apologize for what you did. That will give me time to start interviewing replacements, anyway. I hate seeing you miserable. If you don’t snap out of this I’m going to fire you for your own good.”

The breadstick suddenly tasted so good! I picked it up and gobbled the remainder without breaking it into pieces at all while I thought about Janice’s suggestion.

“Thirty days? What if I decide to leave at the end of thirty days?”

“What if, indeed, Wren? At least you’ll know you’ve given it a shot, right?”

I had another breadstick and a huge swig of beer. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten, and man, was I famished. “I hope the pizza comes soon,” I said. “Thirty days…if I do decide to leave, what about a job?”

“Well, you can always start looking—once you’ve reached the end of that month. Or you could look now. Nothing to stop you—but I wish you’d wait another month and help me finish this last push with the shareholders and financing. Take in all the sights and see how you’re feeling then. Just
see
if these feelings are going to pass or not. If they don’t, then I think you’re a fool if you don’t chase after that man and marry him. If they do pass…well, autumn in New York is beautiful, and if you can’t meet someone new in the Big Apple, then you’re not trying. So thirty days to a new you—that’s my prescription. Sounds like the name of a self-help book, doesn’t it?”

I laughed. My throat felt kind of hoarse and I realized I didn’t recognize the feeling of laughter anymore. How long had it been? I washed down the last of the beer.

“You know,” I said, perking up as our pizza was delivered to the table, “you promised me frozen hot chocolate. You up for dessert after we put a hurt on this pizza?”

“Girl, I thought you’d never ask!”

Chapter Fifty-five

Wren

New York was different after that. Knowing I’d only have a few weeks left if I honored the deal I’d made with Janice put a shine on everything.

The thing was, I’m not a quitter. Sure, I’m young, but this much I know is true: when I put my mind to something, I finish. I told Janice I’d take the job, and I did. I told her I’d give it another 30 days, and I would. I’d do my very best, at work and in living my life, and if I was still ready to hang it up—well, then I’d figure something out. At least I could walk away knowing I’d given it my best shot.

I had a plan now. It all made sense. There was meaning to every street hot dog or trip through Central Park, because it was precious and fleeting.

Possibly.
Possibly
fleeting, right? Maybe I’d stay.

At work, I was on fire. I started going back to the office, and Harold and his board were more than pleased with my performance. Before two more weeks were up, I was fielding job offers from other corporate entities and consultancies that I’d never solicited. My name was getting around. It felt great, like climbing the apex of a mountain. Or a roller coaster.

Sometimes at night I’d look out my window at the park and see lovers in horse-drawn buggies, and I’d think of the man I’d left behind.

What if Laurie won’t have you? What if you can’t find a job you like? What then?

When I caught myself thinking negatively about the future, and I’d end up online checking my bank accounts, and cruising the job listings for Chicago. The only problem was, I didn’t want to return to Chicago.

No, if I was leaving New York, it was for Laurie, or it was for nowhere. I had no other plan, no other contingencies. If he was going to break my heart, so be it. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe it was time for me to take a chance for once.

 I can’t tell you how many times I stared at the phone, willing it to ring. I couldn’t call him—I just couldn’t. That was
too
chancy. If he did accept my apology, I still wasn’t sure he would buy that I wasn’t just lonely and failing in New York. Nobody wants to be a second choice.

I thought about sending a press release to the Dubois County paper that I’d been promoted, or nominated for an award or something, but I feared if he read it, the effect on him might be more negative than good.

I felt trapped, like there was no way of winning.

No, maybe the thing I feared was that there was no way of controlling how he saw my apology, when I gave it. Maybe he would see me as weak and stupid, and maybe he was right. Maybe he had a right to see me for what I truly was: a lost and foolish child, but one who loved him desperately.

The question was, was I willing to risk it all on the bet that he’d still love me?

I flipped open Dad’s bird book and read the letters again.

The point is, Wren, you've got to trust your instincts. Fly off the map sometimes.

Maybe Dad was right.

Remember all the birds we mapped on paper, and remember where we ended up. Remember how we drove away from our memories, but we made new ones, and still came home to roost. You've been chasing a lot of birds on paper all over Chicago while you climb that corporate ladder and I don't think you're following your gut at all, baby darling.

Maybe I’d been chasing birds on paper too long. Maybe it was time to chase a Byrd, instead.

Chapter Fifty-six

Laurie

Rodriguez’s wife was a mess. I’ll never forget how much she cried when she saw me, then how excited she got to see the painting. It was like the flick of a light switch, seeing her emotions change like that.

I’d driven all day to find her house, and wasn’t able to stay long. As nervous as I’d been on the way there, I was equally relieved on the drive away. The only comfort was that their son seemed to be dealing well his father’s death. Rodriguez came from a big family, and so had his wife. They all still lived in close proximity to one another on the outskirts of Kansas City, and little José was surrounded by loved ones who kept the memory of his father alive.

Rod’s mother was there. It was harder seeing her than I’d realized it would be. She wasn’t angry, though—she hugged me, holding me against her until I thought she’d crush me. She patted my face. “You are the last person to speak to my son. You have a piece of his heart in you now, sí? Of course I love your heart. And this eagle! What an honor you do his memory!” Her eyes lit up as her daughter-in-law moved the painting around on the wall, searching for the right spot to hang it. “Sometimes life is not fair, mijo.” Her eyes were on the painting, and I wasn’t sure if she were talking to me, or to the memory of her son.

On the way home, I felt like a weight had been lifted. Rodriguez’s family had insisted on taking some photographs with me, and José promised to email. I had remarked that I thought he was a little young for email, and his mother had laughed, pointing to the boy’s tablet. Evidently he was deft enough with autocorrect to send his mother emails asking for popsicles, a fact that everyone got a chuckle out of.

For such a short visit, there had been a lot of laughter. Not one person had accused me of letting Rodriguez down. No one had threatened me, or asked what right I had to survive when their boy was gone.

I don’t know what I’d expected. Anger? Rage? I guess I had. My guilty conscience told me I deserved it, even though there was nothing I could have done to stop what happened.

“Survivor’s guilt,” Generose told me, when I saw her next. “So tell me—now that you see that life is moving on for Rodriguez’s family, do you still feel like you need to carry that weight?”