A Bird on a Windowsill (6 page)

Chapter Eight

Salem 

(Sixteen Years Old)

Day 4,022

“S
alem.”

My sister screams my name, and her high-pitched voice rattles the dishes in my mom’s china cabinet.

“I’m right here. Geez. Lower it an octave, would ya?”

She gives me a mocking look and wiggles the receiver at me.

“It’s Savannah,” she says, chomping on her gum. “Don’t talk too long. My boyfriend’s supposed to call.”

I take the receiver. “You have a boyfriend?”

I wait for an answer, but she just rolls her eyes and stalks off into the next room.

“Hey,” I say, into the phone.

“Hey. It’s Carter.”

“What?”

“Her boyfriend is Carter.”

“Carter Sutton?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you know that?”

“They went to Winter Ball together.”

“That makes you boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Savannah laughs into the phone. “Yeah, in junior high, it does.”

I shake my head, still trying to wrap my brain around Shelby having a boyfriend.
She’s only fourteen.

“What are you doing?” Savannah asks, forcing me out of my thought.

“Oh, me? Nothing.”

“Can I come over?”

“Uh, yeah.” I rub the back of my neck. “Dillon and Josh are coming over to do some band stuff. But yeah, you can come, too.”

“Good. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

She hangs up the phone right away, but it takes me a few seconds. I can’t stop thinking about how good it feels to have her come over. It’s been a while, and I don’t think I even realized how much I missed her, until now.

I hang up the receiver and stare at the phone’s twisted, spiral cord.

“Just like old times,” I say, smiling under my breath. “Just like old times.”

“W
hen you first told me you started a band, I might have pictured one with a clarinet and a tuba.”

“No, you didn’t.”

She scrunches up her nose. “I did.”

I sigh through my smile and take a seat next to her on a turned-over bucket.

“This is a huge step up,” she adds.

“From a clarinet band? Really?”

Vannah laughs and nudges my ribs. It feels good—her next to me at my house again.

“But you really are good at it—playing the drums. I mean, who would have thought? You used to be so little and so awkward.”

I laugh and turn my focus to the garage floor. “I was.”

She’s quiet, so I lift my head and meet her pretty stare.

“But you’re not so little, and you’re not so awkward anymore.”

“No,” I agree, “not as much.”

I feel my cheeks grow hot, as she nudges my side with her elbow again. I’m glad the guys are long gone and can’t see me blush.

“I remember when I was taller than you.”

I nod. “I remember that, too.”

Her smile is like a summer storm—something in between calm and dangerous.

“You didn’t have to come watch us, you know? I know practices can be pretty boring.”

“No, I liked it. Josh is pretty entertaining. But you do realize he talks more than he plays.”

I laugh. “It’s probably better that way.”

Her smile widens. “And anyway, I said I wanted to spend this last month with you. And I meant it.”

“But you also said you wanted to have fun.”

She laughs softly to herself. “This is fun. I think you forget sometimes that I spent nearly my entire life with you. I chose to do that, didn’t I?”

I lower my head to try and hide my shy grin.

“Okay.” I’m not going to argue with her. This is the most time I have had with her since the summer after eighth grade—before high school and volleyball games and guys named Rylan took her away.

“What’s this?”

“What?”

I look over at her, and she’s eyeing a piece of paper I had tried to hide away on a shelf.

“Is this a poem?”

I grab the paper from her hand. “No,” I say, my cheeks getting hot again. “It’s Shelby’s.”

“But it’s your handwriting.”

I look at the page.
Damn it. How can she tell that?

“It’s just something I wrote.”

She smiles at me.

“Like a poem?”

I try and sidestep her question, silently thanking God she found that piece of paper after Dillon and Josh had left.

“You wanna go outside...to the dock?” I ask, trying desperately to change the subject.

“Okay.”

She says the word hesitantly, but thankfully, she drops the poem thing.

I stand and shove the piece of paper under an empty box, and then I follow her out of the garage and to the dock that’s behind my house.

We find a spot at the end, where we can dangle our feet over the side.

The air is a little cool, but it’s not too bad.

“I can’t believe I’m leaving here.”

She’s staring off past the water in the lake and into the tree line on the other side.

“I know. It’s weird,” I say.

“I’m going to have to make all new friends. And the teachers are all going to be different. Everything is going to be different.”

I let out a sigh. I don’t like talking about her leaving or being gone. I don’t know what it’s like not having her here. And I definitely can’t imagine being in her shoes.

I look over at her. Her lips are turned down at their corners. She looks sad.

“The mountain and the molehill have this in common,” I say. “They can be moved.”

She laughs.

“Where do you come up with these things?”

I feel my mouth turning up into a grin. “They’re floating around in the air. You don’t see them?” I act as if I’m pulling something out of the air. “I see one I like, and I just grab it.”

She giggles some more. “You’re so strange sometimes.”

“But yet, you’re still here.”

She lowers her head but keeps her happy smile.

“But seriously,” I say, “what I mean is that getting out of bed, tying your shoes, moving across the country, making new friends—it’s all the same. They’re all things
you
can do.”

I watch her push her lips to one side and then sigh. “I wish you could come with me.” She looks up at me.

“To South Carolina?”

She nods.

If she only knew how bad I wanted to jump in that car with her.

“Then who would take care of Rusty?” I ask.

She looks as if she tries to smile, and then she rests her head on my shoulder.

“I’m gonna miss Rusty.”

Rusty’s a cat we rescued one day from a culvert at the edge of town. He was a kitten then. He lives at my house. I took him because her dad is allergic to cats. But we’ve both taken care of him for seven years now.

“I’ll take good care of him,” I say. “I’ll feed him his cat food and make sure he always has his cat toys to play with. And maybe, if he’s lucky, you’ll leave him your cat comforter, so he can have all the purple cat friends he wants.”

She laughs and then nestles her cheek deeper into my shoulder. “If he’s lucky.”

Her laughter fades into the lake water. And the world, all of a sudden, gets smaller, until there’s just room enough for me and her.

“Will you tell me one of your poems?” she asks in a soft voice that’s barely over a whisper.

I groan, wishing now I had burned that paper.

“Please. It’ll make me feel better.”

I throw back my head and groan some more.

“The one up at the house. Tell me that one.”

I smile, reluctantly, and it comes with a sigh.

“Fine.” I grumble out the word, and then I take a deep breath and then let it go. Meanwhile, she lies back against the boards of the dock and stares up into the darkening sky.

“At night,” I say but then stop. I feel weird telling her a poem, especially one that I wrote. I only wrote a few. I started writing them a couple months ago. They were supposed to be songs. But even if the band could play a whole song, they’re not the type of songs we would ever sing, anyway.

I tried. I tried to write a cool song—one that we could put to music someday. But every time I sat down to do it, I could only think of Vannah. So as it turns out, every word I ever put down on paper was about her. And I know there’s no way in hell Dillon or Josh would ever consider playing a love song. So, I never planned for anyone to see them, and I sure as hell never expected to ever be reciting one to
her
. ...But then, I never expected her to ever ask, either. And who knows, maybe it will make her feel better.

“At night,” I begin again.

“The girl in the cotton dress

Tiptoes on swaying branch.

Never flown at all.

But not afraid to fall.

For if it breaks,

She’ll just spread her wings

And fly.”

When I finish, all I can hear are the crickets and the tree frogs, until she breathes. She sounds...content.

“I like that one,” she whispers.

The moments grow silent. I look down at her. Her eyes are searching the evening sky. I wonder if she knows the song’s about her.

“I’ve missed this.”

“Missed what?” I ask, still watching her face.

“Us.”

I smile at that. “Me too.”

And in that moment, the air is filled with the sound of the crickets chirping in the sycamores around us and the soft rush of the water pushing against the dock.

“So, what do you want to do with the time you have left here?” I ask.

A few heartbeats drum out a rhythm in my chest, and then I hear her voice.

“I just want to lie here like this...with you and rewind time and play back all the things we did when we were little. And I want to stare off into the sky until it turns black, and I want to soak up every last piece of this place, so I can take it with me. And that’s what I want to do.”

I keep my stare on her wandering eyes.

Tonight?”

“Every night,” she says.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” she says, with a nod.

“Okay,” I whisper.

She closes her eyes, and I notice the way her smile lingers on her lips. I love that smile on her best. It’s her smile for when she’s thinking of something happy.

I’m going to miss that smile.

I’m going to miss her.

And right then, I realize that no matter what happens, no matter where life takes her...or me...or us, she’ll always be
my girl
...forever.