Bird Song (12 page)

I smiled as I remembered what that something was.
 
“She gave me a little book filled with Irish folk tales.”

Robert’s body shook as a memory instigated a round of silent laughter.
 
Yes.
 
It included a tale of Kelpies, if I’m not mistaken.

I giggled as I realized what it was that had made him laugh.
 
“Well, I told you that I was well read.”

I realize that.
 
I made sure to thank her for helping you along in that, just so you know.

I lifted my head to kiss his chin, and thanked him silently.
 
He gently nudged my head back down, and rested his cheek against my hair as he continued.
 
She watched you grow up, alone except for Graham, and she worried about you.
 
She prayed for you, prayed that one day God would come and help you see just how special you truly are.

She told me that you coming to the library, your sweet spirit and love of books, your kind heart
…
all of that gave her reason to keep going to work every day, even after all of the other kids stopped coming, after the donations stopped coming in, and the new library opened up.

The mention of the donations stopping caught me off guard.
 
“Miss Maggie told me that she had regular donors—she said that the library was doing well.
 
I don’t get it.
 
Why would she tell me that if there were no donations coming in?”

She told you that so you’d work for her, Grace.
 
She paid you herself.
 
She viewed you as her own, personal angel, who saved her from the cost of her mistake of not having a family.

Shaking my head, I felt the irritation of tears start to form again, my vision becoming blurry with the liquid emotion.
 
“So why didn’t she tell me about her cancer?
 
I would have visited her.
 
I would have gone over every day.”

I felt Robert rubbing my hair with the side of his face, his hand drawing slow, dizzying circles on my back that offered a sort of distracting comfort, and then he sighed, the answer difficult for even him to discern.
 
I don’t know why, Grace.
 
I think perhaps she felt that you had already experienced far more loss than any child should, and in such a personal way, too.

“Or…maybe she didn’t want me to see her that way, because she knew I’d be seeing her—or someone that looked like her—in the library,” I announced, an idea starting to form in my mind.

I thought about how healthy she had seemed when I last saw her; she looked healthier than I had ever seen her, and she seemed so lively, so strong.
 
She had been carrying several piles of books, which was highly unusual for such a small library—to have that many books out of place would have meant a backlog of books…

“It wasn’t her, Robert.
 
Miss Maggie would have never let that many books just sit off their shelves.
 
She was such a stickler for neatness and order.
 
Oh, why didn’t I notice it then?”

Robert squeezed me and I felt his shrug as he, too, admitted that he was at a loss for an explanation.
 
I didn’t delve that deeply into her thoughts, Grace.
 
I wish now that I did, but that doesn’t change the fact that she cared about you a great deal, and her last thoughts were of you.
 
You’ve had a profound effect on her life, and it only reaffirms how special you are.

There were words that could have expressed how grateful I was then to have someone like Robert in my life; someone who was able to share with me the intimate details of those who valued me as a person, as something more than just an oddity to discuss behind my back.
 
But none of those words were available to me right then.
 
Instead, what came to mind was the fact that Miss Maggie knew so much about my life and had felt such a great affection for me, but I didn’t know anything about her other than her name and that she worked at the library.
 
And now I questioned even that.

Grace, don’t.
 
She was never dishonest with you.
 
She might not have divulged her life story with you, but she did give of herself to you.
 
She gave you what you needed, and in return, she received what she needed.
 
Isn’t that enough?

I wanted it to be enough.
 
But Heaven help me, I was greedy.
 
“I’m tired of people window shopping when it comes to my life, Robert.”

The gradual loosening of Robert’s hold on me told me of his confusion and his disappointment at my answer.
 
I don’t understand what you mean by that, Grace, but you could try to be more charitable about someone who was there for you during one of the most difficult times in your life.

It was now my turn to be confused.
 
“What do you mean?
 
She wasn’t-”

Robert’s hand pressed against my lips as he quieted me.
 
You don’t remember—you remember your first time in the library, but that was not the first time you met Maggie.

The memory of my childhood was fuzzy and tainted with so much pain, I couldn’t begin to sift through the different layers in order to find the specific event that Robert could see so clearly.
 
It was too difficult.

Grace, you only have difficulties with the memories of events that had the biggest impact on your life.
 
It’s a defense mechanism for you, much like how your thoughts separate in your mind to protect them.
 
This was after your mother’s accident.
 
Do you remember being in the hospital?

I remembered some things about the hospital, but mainly about the trip home.
 
Robert had broken a few rules in order to allow me to witness what had happened when my mother had died, but nearly everything that happened afterwards was a mystery.

Grace, you spent nearly a week in the hospital after the accident.
 
You were in shock, and the doctors couldn’t get you to speak.
 
You don’t remember that?

With my head shaking no, and my mind racing to sift through the thoughts to try and find what it was that Robert was trying to get me to see, it was almost impossible to miss the fact that I really had no clue about what it was that Robert was talking about.

Maggie heard about what had happened to you and your mother.
 
She came to the hospital room to visit you.
 
She brought the one thing that she could relate to you with.

“She brought a book…”

He nodded.
 
I felt the motion, knew what it was, and it felt like the acknowledgement flipped a switch inside of my brain.
 
“It was a book, but it wasn’t one that you’d find on a shelf.
 
It was a journal… She wrote in it.
 
I remember she had poems in it, some that she had written, and others that she had copied from other sources.”

Robert shifted beneath me and raised me up above him so that he could see me better as I spoke.
 
Or so that I could see him better.
 
I nearly lost my train of thought just staring into the luminescence of his eyes.
 
Grace, do you remember what she read to you?

I had to blink a few times, and finally closed my eyes to block out the silver glimmer that demanded my attention so that I could think.
 
The book that Miss Maggie had held in her hands was old, some of the pages severely dog-eared and yellowed with age.
 
I could hear the rhythm in her voice as she had read the lines that were written.
 
There was a strange familiarity to the words that were muffled in my mind.

“I can hear the rhythm.
 
I can hear it, but the words…they’re lost on me.”

It happened so quickly, I barely noticed the movement.
 
Robert had sat up and left me to retrieve something, only to return to the exact same position, his arms holding me up, my face above his.
 
Only this time, he was holding me up with one hand.
 
In the other, he held a book.

“That’s the book that Lark gave to me for Christmas,” I noted, and reached for it; the leather cover was unmistakable, the smell of an old book just as intoxicating to me as a new one.
 
I thumbed through the pages until I found the one that I had felt drawn to, the one that always pulled at me.
 
“Al
Aaraaf
,” I breathed.

The words that had had no structure, no form in my mind, suddenly gained an almost impossible clarity.
 
This poem represented, in so many ways, the love I felt for Robert…

“But I don’t get it.
 
It’s such an intense piece.
 
Why did she choose this to read to me?” I asked, my fingers touching the words as though each letter connected me to Robert even more so.

Robert’s hand covered mine and together we traced the lines that he had whispered to me on that first night he had stayed… I looked at him and waited for him to answer.

She did not know why she chose it.
 
It just seemed to call to her.
 
You needed an angel to help you, and she had nothing else to give, I suppose.
 
Even she knew that I was your future.

“But why would I block that part out?
 
Why would I choose to not remember something that significant?”

You chose to block out many things about that time in your life, Grace.
 
It was the way your mind coped.
 
But you see, Maggie wasn’t just
…
how did you put it?

“Window shopping.”

Yes, window shopping.
 
Maggie wasn’t just window shopping when it came to you.
 
She was fully invested in your recovery, and your future.
 
She might not have been as significant a
…
shopper as you would have liked, but she was still there.

I avoided looking into his eyes because he was right.
 
He knew he was right; he had said it, and I couldn’t deny that doing so meant it was the truth.
 
Miss Maggie had, indeed, been a part of my life.
 
That didn’t mean I wasn’t still bothered by it.
 
It didn’t seem right, or fair, that I had missed out on knowing her in the way that she knew me.
 
I felt…robbed.

“I don’t know why she didn’t just let me in…” I finally muttered, more to myself than to anyone in particular.

Really, Grace.
 
The woman has died, with no children or grandchildren, no family or any real friends around to mourn her, and all you can think about is yourself?
 
He sat up with a huff, and I immediately felt guilty.
 
I had been selfish and uncharitable, unwilling to empathize with the loneliness that Miss Maggie must have felt, and that was everything that an angel was not—I had offended Robert immensely.

“Robert, I’m sorry,” I was able to get out before he left me alone on the bed to pace my room.

You were just told that someone you cared for has died, Grace.
 
I told you that she cared for you a great deal, that she was there to help you when you were in need of it the most—she helped your father by doing that as well
…
and the only thing you can think about is how you feel, how you were denied something.
 
Why?
 
You give more care and concern for Graham’s father, who’s done nothing but treat you with contempt.
 
Why?

Whatever charitable feelings I might have had disintegrated as he unleashed his thoughts on me.
 
His eyes were cold, his face hard, and I couldn’t find it in me to hold back the iciness that I felt in return.
 

“I feel more concerned about Richard because he’s Graham’s father.
 
The only one he’s got.
 
He and I don’t have the luxury of having parents who don’t die, and we definitely don’t have the ability to read their minds either, so when something is wrong, and they start hurting themselves or other people I care about, forgive me for giving a damn.”

I didn’t bother to stick around to gauge his reaction.
 
I simply got up off my bed and stormed out of the room.
 
I headed downstairs towards the kitchen, hoping that by the time I got there, I’d have cooled off enough to deal with him.
 
Because I knew he was going to be there when I turned on the kitchen light.

That was very childish of you.

I scowled at him as I opened the refrigerator.
 
I needed a distraction, and the leftover pot roast from dinner would fit that bill just fine.
 
No more childish than you leaving me on the bed.

I heard the snort in my ears as well as in my mind and it felt like he’d taken a foam bat to my head and hit it…twice.
 
I did that to protect you.