Every Little Thing (11 page)

Matt's overly mesquite chicken tasted like a mouthful of forest floor. “Well, I had to try it once, just to see?”

A round of laughter before his mother interjected. “A toast to the cutest couple in town, on their
fifth
anniversary!” She ran a hand through Cohen's hair before resting it on his shoulder. Five cups clinking together, not one of them the same: a glass of white wine, a glass of red wine, a beer bottle, a bottle of water, and a can of ginger ale.

There was the toast, and then there were the questions, right away, a blitzkrieg. A guillotine of a statement. “So. You're both thirty now. You've been together five long years.”

Allie raised an eyebrow, and shrugged one shoulder. Y
er point?

Matt chimed in. “Any talk of wedding bells and children?”

Cohen's father, “Because no one has ever gotten any younger. No one.”

Allie dove headfirst into the question. “Of course, yes, it's just, there's an order things go in. Career, house, wedding, baby number one. I mean, we need to do Europe first, while we can, and...”

They were all exchanging smirks as Allie talked, to mock her need for order and having the next five years all charted out in daily planners. It was a running joke. Cohen and Matt apologized every Christmas Day that neither of them could find daily planners for years beyond the coming year.
Can you believe they won't make a 2005 daily planner until late 2004! I mean, what about people who are thinking 2005 in 2003?
One year, 2003, Cohen and Matt got together and handmade her a 2006 agenda for a joke.

“...babies are expensive, hence wanting the student loans and car paid off. And how many parents can flee to Europe, backpacking it for a month?...”

But Cohen's eyes were on Matt now. As his daughter talked about her future, Matt shifted uncomfortably. Not awkwardly— he was smiling and laughing along, louder than anyone else—but uncomfortably. Someone would have to have known Matt, as well as Cohen had, to see the fidgeting. It was like a lie was trapped in his body and bouncing around in there. Creaking in his skin. Itching. The further into her future Allie got, in explaining why they weren't married yet, the more Matt's face tightened, and the more he stretched his toes up, off his sandals, and plunked them back down, over and over, like he did whenever he talked about his dead wife. Cohen looked at Allie, to draw her attention to her father's odd postures, but she wouldn't have noticed it anyway. She saw what she wanted to see.

Later that day, Matt was waiting outside the washroom when Cohen came out. He put a hand on his shoulder, his warm breath smelled like peanuts, and he whispered. “This is the engagement ring I gave Kristen.”

He was being secretive, occasionally looking over his shoulder as he uttered, “It would mean a lot to Allie, I think. Though maybe she'll want her own, something more fashionable or contemporary or whatever, but I—”

“My God, no. She'll love it! She will. She's already said she wants one just like it, honestly. This ring is right up Allie's alley. Very thoughtful of you—”

“Yes, well...she'll recognize the ring without you having to tell her. I know that much. When Allie was eight or nine, she used to steal her mother's engagement ring, this one,” Matt looked at it in his hand,“off our dresser. She'd tuck tissues between her bony little finger and the ring so it'd stayed in place. She'd wrap herself up in silk scarves and pretend she was a princess. Had a name for herself. Delilah, or Danine or something.”He got lost in thought and looked a little upset that he couldn't be sure of the name. “I thought I'd give you the option of giving her this one, instead of buying one.”

“No, this is great, saves me a few grand!”He laughed. He laughed the way men do, to water down emotion in a sentimental conversation. And normally Matt would have laughed at his comment. Instead he laid the ring in Cohen's open hand, tossed it there really, and turned to walk down the hall.

Cohen speed walked after him. “Matt, wait up? You know that was a joke, right?This will mean the world to Allie, and it means a lot to me you've put this ring in my hand.”

When Matt turned around, he was more himself again already. Just like that. Smiling. “Yes,well, it's great you think she'll like this ring.”

Cohen said, like he'd seen a ghost, “Of course, Matt. Of course.”

Matt kept walking down the hall, towards the patio door.

Cohen watched Matt through the open blinds, as he put his hands on Allie's shoulders. He stood behind her, re-joining the boisterous conversation. Allie making his parents laugh, slap the table. They loved her as much as Cohen did.

Allie put her hands on Matt's hands and turned to look up at him. “Tea or Coffee,Dad?”She nodded to the kettle and coffee carafe on the table.

Cohen's cellphone went off in his pocket. He jumped in fright, before realizing it was just his phone. Everyone turned and looked at him. Standing there in the window like a stranger.

It was Lee on the phone. For a man his age, his voice could rattle and boom in a way you had to brace yourself for. Cohen wasn't ready for it, so he let it ring a few times, taking a deep breath, like he was getting ready for a marathon run. Lee would call Allie, once a week, to hit her up for more photos, and Allie wouldn't need to put him on speaker phone for Cohen to hear him from across the room. His deep voice busting out of the receiver as if it were his own bullhorn.
You're my hot seller thisweek!
I'm fresh out of your photos. The table's scant, can't have it!
Allie would always offer to bring out a month's worth, but Lee liked seeing her, and she him, so there were weekend runs, and Cohen often joined them. They'd eat lunch, insult each other, laugh.

His phone had rung five times, as he stared at Lee's flashing number, and his father shouted,“You gonna answer that or what!”

He pointed to the phone, shouted through the window. “It's Lee!”

A collective Oh! from the table. Understanding laughter. Allie looking at him, laughing, but watching to make sure he'd answer. Her eyes had always gone soft for Lee—her vintage war vet BFF, fifty years her elder—and he loved her for it.

“Hello?”

“Cohen. It's L-Lee. Need your help.”

“What, you? You don't say!”

“I'm serious, and this favour's not optional! I have a bird. It's been shot. In the wing. But survived. A murre.” There were sounds of panic going off in the background, like thumping and helicopter blades. “I found the sucker washed ashore on the beach. Like a wrecked ship. I scooped it up. How soon can you come?
Jesus!
”

“What?”

“It's poking at me!”

“No, I mean
What
, like, are you serious!”

“I figured you'd know where to bring the poor thing? Hold on a sec!” Lee covered the receiver with the palm of his hand. Everything sounded muffled. He heard,
Calm down you stubborn bitch, or I'll break your other wing!
and then the scratches and muffling were gone and Lee was back. “It's in my bathtub. I just tossed it in my bathtub and ran for my life! One minute, it's calm as anything, the next it's trying to bust through the walls. I dunno what to do here! Bring some sedatives and take this psychotic bastard away!”

“It's Sunday! I'm at my parents' place, with Allie, we're—”

“Try telling the bird that. The fucker is the size of a penguin, and it's all riled up and scaring the shit out of me. Have you ever heard one of these things agitated? It sounds more like dog—”

“And it's not like. You don't get it. Every time you call. It's not like I can just go and steal sedatives from my employer's lab every time you rescue—”

“Fuck ya then! And hang on a sec, I'm going back in...”

There were more sounds of struggle, like Lee was choking the bird: it squealed like a gull and then growled like a cat, and then Lee hung up. He hung up knowing Cohen would come deal with it. Like he'd dealt with it the last two times this happened. The last time, a few weeks before this call, the bird, a boreal owl, was lying dead in Lee's tub by the time he got there. It had been attacked by
some hiker's dog
,Lee figured, and he convinced Cohen to bury it out back.
I'm too old to be out digging in that half-frozen earth. You came all the way out here,
he handed him a shovel,
Make yourself useful!

So Cohen went to help Lee, again. He rang the doorbell and heard Lee stumbling towards him. Cursing and swearing and kicking things out of his way. “Coming!”

He opened the door with a panicked but playful grin on his face. “Well, thank Jesus you're here!”He had the bird tucked under his left armpit so it couldn't get free. “Jab the bastard, quick!”He turned his head away as he stuck the bird out towards Cohen.

“Lee. Relax. There's no jabbing, no needle.”He showed him a capsule in his hand.

“What's...are you
kidding
me? No needle? You brought
pills
?”

“I brought sodium amobarbital. It's enough to knock out a duck, and I'm hoping it'll do the trick here.”

“Hoping?”

“Just. Take the bird back into the bathroom. Lay it down. It's freaking out because you're handling it. You've got your goddamn arm around its neck. What do you expect?”

“It bites when I let go!What do
you
expect?”

Laughing, “I grabbed some feed. I'm gonna lace the feed. Go put the damn bird back in the bathroom. We'll lock it in there with the drugged feed. It'll eventually eat it. I hope. And the drugs take about fifteen minutes—”

“You
hope
?” Shaking his head. “You should've brought a needle-administered drug. Something we could've jabbed it with. Get the job done.”He stabbed an imaginary knife into the bird's neck, to emphasize how easy it would've been.

“Lee...that's not how it works. And I'll probably get in shit for taking what I took from the lab, by the way. It's not even legal, really, what we're up to here. These are
controlled substances
. I have no legal right to have this on me. Do you get that? I have stolen a controlled substance, and you're pretty well strangling an injured bird. We're up to no good here.”

“What do you mean,
up to no good
! I'm saving a poor fucking animal's life here!” Lee looked down at the bird and laughed a little. “You're a good man to have come. Sorry I ruined your—”The bird started jerking around under Lee's arm again, yelping, sounding more like a growling cat than a bird. It swung its neck back and plunged its beak into Lee's belly. Lee winced like he'd been shanked. “See! See that! One minute it's fine, the next it's a madman!
Go
! Do your thing!”

“Sorry you ruined my what? My five-year anniversary?”

“No I didn't, did I?”He was running off to the bathroom, cradling the panicked bird. “Drug the food! Get to it!”And then he stopped and turned around, stopped walking. “Is this son of a bitch gonna attack me when I let go of it, to lay it in the tub?”

“I dunno, but it's not like you can keep it in your arms forever, right?”

COHEN DISSOLVED THE sodium amobarbital in water, mixed it in with the grainy feed, and laid the bait in the bathroom, hoping it wasn't too much sedative. He wasn't going to bury another bird in Lee's backyard. Two was enough. Three would be an unsanctified graveyard.

When he came back into the kitchen,Lee was buckled over in pain and leaning against a wall: one palm flat against it, the other arm dangling like it didn't know where to be. And then that arm clutched his back, like a ghost had swung a baseball bat. He steadied himself. “Been getting these quick blasts of pain in my back. Brutal. I'm falling apart. You want a cup of tea?”

“Lee, I don't know about that.”

“What? Tea? The bird's going to be a while isn't it—”

“No, the random back pain.”

“I'm eighty-odd-years old. I'm lucky I'm not senile and pissing myself.”

“Doesn't mean you shouldn't go to a doctor. How long's that been happening?”

“Drop it, Mom. I've been a little under the weather. Fevers and that. It's nothing. Yesterday, the flashes of pain, they were all over my lower back, and now they're not. Whatever it is, it's getting better. Do you want tea or what?”

“Yes. And for God's sake, leave the bag in longer than you usually do. Just as well you drank hot water, the way you make tea.”

“Whatever.”He put the kettle on the stove.

“You know you can buy plug-in kettles these days, right? They boil the water faster.”

“The water doesn't get as hot. What's wrong with your generation? Everything has to be faster, sooner, now! What's wrong with pausing the day, and making a big production about a cup of—” And this time the pain was bad enough to hurt, to shut him up. It cut his words off and sent him running in circles around the kitchen table, swearing his head off. He had one hand pressing into his back and the other flapping like he was trying to take flight.

“Lee, c'mon. I'll go grab the bird and we'll head back to town. You should get to a hospital.”

Banging a fist off the countertop. “It's just something passing through.”

“Through what,
your spine
?”

“It's not my spine. It's...
Jesus
!”And he fell into a chair clutching at his back. “It's right here.”

“That's your kidney, not your back. This isn't good. You need to get to a hospital, or I'll tell Allie, and she'll come take you there herself.”

He put a finger to his lips, took it away, and started rocking in his chair. “No offense, but shut up. I can't take hearing someone's voice when I'm in pain. Go check on the bird!”

Cohen shook his head, and walked off to the bathroom. The bird was unconscious and still breathing. He sat on the edge of the tub and gently picked it up and laid it in his lap: the wings falling open and unfolding like decorative fans. Its neck slung backwards and spilled over his knees, slowly rocking back and forth like a pendulum. Its chest bulged out, rising and falling. He scooped its head up as Lee appeared in the doorway.