The Feathered Bone (31 page)
Read The Feathered Bone Online
Authors: Julie Cantrell
Hello Sparrow,
Bridgette asked me why I'm always writing. I told her I like to journal. She said I'm weird.
I didn't tell her it helps me remember who I am. If I couldn't write it, I might forget all about Sarah Broussard. I might start believing I'm nothing more than Holly. The girl in the back room.
Sometimes, when I have to do the things I have to do, I remember the story about Gomer. Pop said it's about a girl who nobody thought was any good.
I think Gomer was kind of like me. They paid her to be
with men. But Pop says that all of us are born to love and to be loved.
I told Bridgette about Gomer. She said, “You know, not every story's got a happy ending.” And I told her, “Mine does.”
Hello Sparrow,
Bridgette says I talk about God too much. That if he's real, then why do bad things happen? I told her it's because God lets people make their own choices.
She said that God should make everybody be good. “He does make us all good,” I said. “But some of us don't want to stay that way.”
Then I asked her why she does bad things, and she said because she's a bad person. I said, “No, you aren't. God made us all the same. So why did you take me, and why do you keep me here?”
That made her mad. She hasn't talked to me since.
But today is her birthday. She's 23. I want to give her something specialâmy gold cross pin. Maybe then she can learn that even the worst story can have a happy ending.
Hello Sparrow,
I gave Bridgette her present. She cried. I told her I was sorry I made her mad with all my stories, and she said she wasn't mad. I gave her a hug, and she cried some more. Then
she asked me why am I so nice to her. I told her I'm nice to everybody. That made her laugh.
I'm glad I gave her the pin. I think she likes it.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Father's Day
I pull shepherd's pie from the oven just as the Parmesan begins to turn gold atop the mashed potatoes. “My favorite,” Carl says, pouring himself a glass of iced tea as if he still calls this house his home.
I let the casserole cool while fixing glasses of water for Ellie and me. Carl waits to be served. Ellie joins us, accepting his hug. “Happy Father's Day.” He gives her the attention she craves, asking about her summer.
“I can't believe you'll be in eighth grade this year.” He hands her a wad of cash to buy some new school clothes.
“It's nice to have you here,” I say, a nervous tremor to my voice as I carry the hot pan to the table and sit for the blessing. The three of us hold hands and Carl says grace, just as he has done for years.
After the amen, thirteen-year-old Ellie looks at her father and asks, with all the hope of a little girl, “When are you moving back home?”
Carl sits taller, puffing out his chest a bit. “I guess that's up to your mother.”
This takes me aback. Ellie looks to me for the answer, fidgeting with the cloth napkin in her lap.
“Let's enjoy our meal,” I say. “We'll talk about it later.” The last thing I want is for Carl to get Ellie's hopes up again. He's played this
card before, showing up unexpectedly, full of kind words. But as soon as I start to cave, he builds his walls back in a hurry and bolts for something saferâAshleigh.
“Ellie's got a performance next week. A preview of the play they'll perform in New York.”
“You're coming, right?” Ellie pleads with arched brows. “I got you a ticket.”
“Of course I'm coming. Tell me about it. What play is it? Do you have the lead?”
Ellie sinks a little. “No, not the lead.”
“But it's a big part.” I jump in. “She's been studying her lines for weeks. And she's got a solo.”
“You do?” This piques his interest.
Ellie nods. “Scary, huh?”
“You've nailed it every time,” I tell her. She rolls her eyes and slumps down. I defend my claim. “You're doing a great job. It'll be incredible.”
“I'm sure you'll be the star,” Carl says, adding salt to his dish. “I'll be there. Front and center. Count on it.”
After dinner Carl and I go outside to talk on the back porch. “How's the car?” He eyes my Honda, moving to look under the hood. “You put a lot of wear on it, searching for Sarah. You changing the oil? Every three thousand miles?”
“Yes. I get it done. It's been fine.”
After checking the fluids, he closes the hood and moves to look over our one-acre lot. “And the yard? Mower holding up okay?”
I nod toward the freshly cut lawn. “Not a problem. I always did like cutting the grass. Ellie helps sometimes. It's manageable.”
“You should clean out your gutters.” He taps the aluminum shaft, pulling out a fistful of leaves still there from fall.
“Yep. I probably should.”
“And did you call the exterminator?” Kicking the bricks, he adds, “That's got to be done once a year, you know?”
“I know. Already done.”
With nothing else to worry about, he finally takes a seat in one of the rocking chairs. I choose the swing. The excess links of chain clang against the taut stretch as I begin to sway.
“You're doing good, Amanda. Better off without me.”
I take this in. It's been eight months.
Am I better off without him?
“I guess this is what you wanted all along, isn't it? Run the ship. Be in charge of everything.”
“Carl, do you hear yourself?”
He sneers. “What, what'd I say? Here we go again. We're out here for two minutes and you're already attacking me.” He rocks faster, with force. “Rude!”
I don't bother adding fuel to the fire. I pet Beanie and watch the neighbor's rambunctious crew of kids as they play in the sprinkler. They send plastic balls and Frisbees up in the high-pressure stream of water, trying to run beneath them without letting the toys fall to the ground.
“Remember when we made Ellie that enormous Slip'N Slide? You brought home a giant sheet of Visqueen and we soaped it down with Dawn? It was so slippery the kids couldn't stop at the end. They'd go sailing way off the edge into the grass every time. Remember?”
Carl smiles. “Yeah. We did have fun together, didn't we?”
“What went wrong, Carl?” I look at him now with soft eyes, trying to understand his choices. Something about him still gets to me. His strong jaw. Dark eyes. That scar below his eye from wrecking a dirt bike when he was a kid. I turn away before I become putty in his hands again.
“I don't know, Amanda. You couldn't be happy. Nothing I did was ever enough.”
I sigh. “I wasn't the one who wasn't happy, Carl. I wasn't the one who went off looking for something better. This family was everything to me. Still is.”
“Yep. I should have known you'd do this to me. You can't ever let anything go, can you? Always bringing up the past.”
“The past? You're living with Ashleigh right now. We're still married, Carl. You show up every couple months, telling me you're sorry and want to move back in. This is not the past. This is today.”
“Then sign the papers, Amanda. Let's be done with it.”
August 2006
“F
IRST DAY OF EIGHTH GRADE
! Y
OU READY FOR THIS
?” I
WAKE
E
LLIE
with a kiss and give her a tall glass of ice-cold chocolate protein milk. She props herself up on her pillow as I move to open the blinds. “Look at this beautiful day. Must mean good luck.”
She yawns, stretching before drinking her milk.
“I'll make a spinach tomato omelet. Any other requests?”
She shakes her head.
I hand her the outfit we bought for the big first day. She could hardly go to sleep last night, she was so nervous about her last year of junior high.
“I think I want to be homeschooled.”
“You'd be bored by day two. And can you imagine me teaching you algebra? Not pretty.”
“I'm serious, Mom. I hate going to school without Sarah. It's not the same.”
I sit beside her and hold her hand. She lets me.
“We were always together. Like sisters. Stuff like this isn't supposed to happen, Mom. Kids don't just up and disappear. Not from a field trip.”
“Does it make you feel unsafe?”
“Kind of. Yeah. I'm always looking around, wondering if someone is about to take me too.”
“I sensed that when we were in New York with your theater group. I was scared too. I think that's a normal reaction, given what we've been through.”
“Yeah, but I always wonder who I can trust, who might be dangerous. And the sick part is, half the time I wish they would take me. I know that's crazy, but it's so I could know what happened. I just want to know. Where is she? When is she coming back? Is she coming back at all?”
We don't cry. It's been nearly two years since Sarah disappeared, and we can talk about it now without a complete meltdown, but the wounds are not healed and the pain remains, even on our best days.
“I'm not like the others, Mom. All they care about are stupid things like spirit contests and pep rallies. None of it matters. Not to me. Nothing matters.”
I sit quietly, letting Ellie release her thoughts, knowing there's not a word I can say to make this better for her. I listen.
