Birdie (9 page)

Wes

“
What page are you
on?” Birdie asks me.

“Huh?” is my response. I’m peering into the fridge looking for eggs and not seeing them. And not listening to her question which must bug her because I feel the wooden spoon she’s using to stir the cake jab me in the back when I don’t answer.

“I asked what page you’re on.
Shield
Protector.
”

“Oh,” I say, straightening and closing Tim’s refrigerator door. “I finished it two days ago.”

She rolls her eyes. “Ugh. I’ve been holding off on reading the ending,” she complains. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did yesterday and you said ‘okay’ but you were studying. And obviously not listening.” I smirk as her complaint is turned against her. She scowls playfully and returns her attention to the cake batter in the bowl. “Tim’s outta eggs,” I tell her and she goes to the fridge to look inside as if I don’t know what they look like and I somehow missed it. It’s my turn to jab her. “I looked in all the drawers, too.” I wolf down a cookie on the counter that she’d made earlier that day. I had stopped by with the intention of playing Shining Force – we were in the final battles of the game – to find her in a baking frenzy.

“Tim went to the grocery store!” she’d said happily and with as much enthusiasm as if he’d won the Nobel Peace Prize and not completed a task most people do on a regular basis. My options were to stay and help or come back later.

I stayed.

I eat another cookie. “What are these things?” I ask, picking up two more.

“Peppermint Snowball cookies,” she answers proudly. “I used to make them all the time with my mom.” Her smile is still fixed on her face but I can see her eyes grow dimmer with sadness. “I just really needed to make them today.”

“They’re delicious,” I tell her. “Let’s just scrap the cake and eat these.”

“The cake is for Esther. She got dumped.”

“Oh. Isn’t that an ice cream sorta thing?”

“She hates ice cream. She loves cake. Can you please go ask Esther next door for the eggs?” she asks, bending over the recipe.

I make a face. “Do I have to? She flirts with me.”

“Everybody flirts with you,” Birdie says and I know she really thinks it because she says it absently while she bites her lip in concentration at the next step in the recipe, her attention too caught up to give a thought to what she’s muttering.

Except you
, I think as I walk out of Tim’s door and make my way to Esther’s trailer. Luckily, I get out of there with three eggs which only cost me a squeeze on the cheek and her eyes glued to my ass as I bent into her fridge to retrieve them.

I set the loot gingerly on Tim’s counter when I get back. “There. Esther’s donation to her own gift.”

Birdie flashes me a smile. “Thank you, Hero.”

I help Birdie finish the recipe, surprised at how much fun it is. She shows me the steps and explains the differences between cake batter and cookie batter. “With cake, you can just throw everything in. It makes a thinner batter, see? With cookies, you have to work with your wet and dry ingredients separately, and then mix them.”

I insist she show me, not because I don’t understand but because I’m licking the cake batter off the spoon and it’s delicious but not so much I’m willing to stick around and eat it with Esther. “Show me and you can give the cake to Esther and I’ll take the cookies with me.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she sighs, but I can tell she doesn’t mind.

“Show me the peppermint thingys,” I tell her and she purses her lips.

“That’s a secret recipe. I’ll show you how to make chocolate cookies because I have extra cocoa on hand.”

“Awwww, but I really like the peppermint ones. They’re gone already.”

Her eyes turn stern. “No.” It’s so abrupt that I’m taken aback. The light mood is pulled from the air. Her face softens a little as she realizes how harsh that came out. “I’m sorry, it’s just…everyone always poked at my mom for that recipe and she refused to give it to anyone. Not even my older sister. I’m the only one she ever shared it with. When I say secret…it really is secret. Our secret.”

I let it go. “Okay, show me how to make the chocolate cookies and I’ll take those.”

“You can take half.”

“Hey! I’m helping to make them.”

“Quit complaining and grab more flour out of the cupboard. Oh, and we’ll need two more eggs.” Birdie’s smile is devilish.

Birdie

Tim wolfs down a
chocolate cookie and I pour some more lemonade. The coffee table’s hideous scratches are covered with a table cloth I picked up at the general store across the street from the library.  Next to the plate of cookies are some small sandwiches with turkey, Swiss cheese, and a honey mustard spread cut into squares with the crusts removed. Wesley, Tim, and I sit around the table on the sectional each with a copy of
Shield Protector
in our laps.

I clear my throat.

“Thank you all for coming this afternoon,” I begin. Wesley snickers and Tim rolls his eyes.

“By ‘all’ you mean the two of us, right?” Tim asks. “Just us two?”

I shoot him a glare. “You said you would behave just as a customer would,” I warn him and he backs off, raising his hands in surrender.

“You’re right,” he agrees, then elbows Wes in the ribs. Wes rubs the spot sorely, but shuts up.

When I proposed the idea of starting a book club at the bookstore, Miss Shirley
green-lighted it and by green-light I mean she responded with “Whatever, kid” and turned back to her book. I instantly roped Tim and Wes into my dry run of leading a book discussion.

“So let’s start with what you loved about the book or what you hated about the book.”

Despite the teasing, it doesn’t take long before Tim and Wes are embroiled in a passionate debate over whether the shipping lord knew he was going to die or whether he was blinded by his faith in his brother. I sip my lemonade and smile at the two of them, offering my opinion when one of them stops in his tirade to draw a breath.

By the time we’re done, Tim swears he’s never doing a book discussion again and swiping a Coke from the fridge.

“Okay, but the next book is
Dawn’s Revenge
,” I say as I clean up the leftovers.

Tim pauses, his Coke halfway to his mouth. “Book two in the
Shield Protector
series?”

“Hmmm hmmm.” My mouth is curved in a smile.

Tim shrugs and fidgets. “Maybe I could do one more,” he says offhand and Wesley throws a grin at him. Wes’s phone buzzes and he pulls it out and looks at the screen momentarily before saying softly, “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Wesley’s eyes flick to Tim and then to me. He says nothing. I understand completely.

“Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

Once outside, I maneuver to stand in front of Wes’s driver side door. My eyes look directly into his. “What’s wrong?”

He hesitates a moment before telling me, “I have an older brother. Besides Grant. His name’s Stephen. He’s back in town. My family doesn’t mention him because for the last ten years, he’s been battling an addiction to heroin.” His reads the message again. His eyes look panicked. “I think he stole my dad’s car.”

“Why do you think that?” I ask.

“Because he sent me a message asking if I had a spare key to Dad’s car.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up. “My parents are at a dinner function. I don’t even think they know. My Dad has disowned him. If he finds out, he’ll press charges. He can’t stand Stephen.”

I place my hands on his shoulders. “Okay. Well, let’s go get him. I’ll drive you and you can drive your Dad’s car home.”

Wes looks at me. “Birdie, I don’t think so. He might be high.”

“Then all the more reason I need to go with you. Come on, I won’t tell Tim.”

Wes protests some more, but I just run back inside, grab my keys, and tell Tim I’ll be back in a bit. We hit the road and I let Wes instruct me to some guy named Marco’s house.

“You will wait in the truck,” he says through gritted teeth as I drive.

“Okay.”

When we get there, it looks as if no one’s home. Marco’s home is a small, shoddy looking house with a broken window and shingles missing off the roof. I pull the truck into the drive way and keep it idling per Wes’s instructions.

“Okay, I’m good. Thanks,” Wes says but I give him a no nonsense look.

“I’ll wait here, but I’m not pulling away until you do.” I glance to a Beamer parked crookedly in the grass. “Is that your Dad’s car?”

Wes’s face hardens in anger. “Yes.”

Wes climbs out of the car and look around the darkened front yard. The sun dipped quickly on the drive over here and my headlights are the only thing he has now to see by.

I see his body give a start and then he rushes over to the other side of the Beamer. I can’t see from my vantage point and when he doesn’t resurface in my field of vision after several minutes, I curse his orders and climb out of the cab.

Circling around his Dad’s car I see what must be his brother laying on the ground flat on his back and swatting a shaky arm at Wes’s attempts to help him up. I quickly rush over to him to give him a hand. Wes shoots a pissed look at me, but I ignore it and together we heave Stephen onto his feet. He stumbles, but allows us to guide him into the dark house.

I look for light switches while Wes helps him to the couch. Finding one, I flick it but it isn’t working. The house is dark because there’s no electricity.

“What the hell, Stephen?” Wes demands.

Stephen laughs like he just made a joke. Then he stops and eyes me appreciatively. “Who’s the hot chick?”

“Leave her alone. What did you do? Where are Dad’s keys?”

Stephen gestures outside. “Can’t find ‘em. Dropped them out there somewhere. I figure we can get some good money if we sell the car for parts.”

“No, I’m going to drive it back before your ass gets picked up for theft.”

Stephen rolls his eyes. “Whatever, goody two-shoes.”

Wes takes me by the arm and leads me outside. He gently pushes me towards my truck. “Go. I’ll get the car home. I don’t want you to see anymore of this.”

I open the door to the truck but instead of climbing in and driving away like he hopes I will, I grab a flashlight out of the glove compartment and shine it on the grass. “The car is here, so the keys can’t be too far. He’s too out of it to have traveled anywhere. I’ll help you look.”

“Birdie-”

“Non-negotiable, friend.”

It takes us almost thirty minutes, me holding the flashlight and Wes brushing aside the overgrown lawn but finally we find them behind one of the tires.

“Will he be okay?” I ask before we head to our respective vehicles. I glance at the dark house. Wes shakes his head.

“No, probably not. I can’t stand next to him and keep him from sticking the needle in his arm. All I can do is fix this part of the problem. And I’m not sure what I’m doing is helping. I’m probably doing more harm than good.” He looks down at the ground. I’ve never seen him so vulnerable. When he looks up, it seems like he’s trying not to cry. “I just don’t want my dad to have another reason to hate him. Everyone else has given up on my brother. I’m all he has.”

I don’t know the words to make it better, so I hug him instead. I wrap my arms around his middle and squeeze. After a surprised moment, his arms encircle me also and we just stand that way. I rub his back and try to impart any comfort I can.

We break away without a word, climb into our vehicles, and drive our separate ways. I don’t ask him how he’s going to get his truck from Tim’s or how he’s going to get to school in the morning. Things to be figured out later, after he has a chance to shower and wash this horrid night off him.

When I get back home, the phone is ringing. Tim’s already in his room. I hurry over and pick it up quickly to stop the noise.

“Hello?”

“Thank you, Birds,” he says and then hangs up.

Birdie

Wesley rolls over to
the flat of his stomach, scrunching the blanket between us.  I give a puff of irritation as I smooth the ripples with one hand, the other trying to hold the spot in my book.

“What are you reading?” he asks, re-scrunching the blanket and grinning at my wasted efforts.

“Taming the Highlander.”

He snorts.  “One of those Fabio romance books? Why?”

“Mrs. Garrison recommended it to me.”

Wesley rests his ear on the crook of his elbow with his face turned slightly to look at me.  His expression is contorted into mock horror.  “Now we know how that eighty year old woman gets her kicks!”

I can’t stop a smile from playing at my lips.  Wesley’s humorous expression mixes with joy at my smile.  Those are not easily elicited and he always beams openly at his victories. “She doesn’t know you well if that’s what’s she slipping to you at the library.”

“I’ve never read one before,” I confess, closing the book over my index finger.  I contemplate reaching for my bookmark.  It's obvious Wesley’s suggestion for an afternoon of reading isn’t going to come to pass.  He’s afforded his own novel about fifteen minutes of attention and half of those minutes were spent sneaking glances at me.  “Usually in romances, the writing is lacking, the plot is predictable, and the sex scenes are graphic. But they’re apparently addictive because I can’t keep them stocked on the shelf so I thought I’d give it a fair go and see what all the fuss is about.”

“The fuss is about the third point in your assessment of romance novels. Well what do you think of it?”

I give him a sarcastic eye roll.  “I’ll let you know when you let me read it.”  His head shakes slowly and deliberately back and forth while his smile grows wider signaling to me that we would not resume reading.   I scramble up from my spot on his truck bed and swing over the side.

“Then let’s walk.”

We amble away from our patch of claimed grass underneath an old oak and head towards the stream the town ambitiously named Lott River. The air hangs deliciously around me, hovering in that cool breezy time after the hot afternoon but before the coolness of dusk.

Wesley kicks a small stone like a soccer ball in front of us. He isn't one to simply walk. His body demands it be fully engaged in a multitude of activities. I wonder often how he sits through his classes.

"Did Garret ask you out?"

His question to me is so out of the blue I stumble slightly and whip my head to face him.

"What?" I ask, completely caught off guard.

"He was talking about you in the locker room yesterday. He thinks you're hot and he was bragging to some of the guys that he was going to put on the Winston charm and get you to go with him to dinner this weekend. That he’s using his lab partner angle as a way in." Wesley flexes his muscles comically as he imitates the Winston charm and I grow hot with embarrassment.

My words take a defensive tone. "No he hasn't. And I wouldn't say yes if he did."

"Ugh. Birds." Wesley puts a dramatic hand over his heart. "You're going to ruin his streak."

His absurdity earns him a couple shoulder punches, the last which elicits an "ow!" that I think is genuine. He glares at me playfully while rubbing the sore spot and switches the subject. "My father brought up Bowman again. I’m thinking about applying there so I can look him in the eye without lying to him."

"I thought you weren't going to go to Bowman. You were going to talk to him."

"I'm not going. I just chickened out. Applying buys me more time before I drop the bomb."

“Wouldn’t it be nice if your birthday present from him would be to drop it and let you decide what you want to do after high school?” I ask him.

Wes’s eyes flash and his mouth turns down into a sad frown. “It would be,” he agrees. “It would definitely beat the set of shiny new golf clubs I have hiding in the closet of his study.”

“You little sneak,” I accuse.

“Greeta’s the sneak. She told me,” he responds, referring to the housekeeper the Lotts have had for years. It still surprises me how fondly he speaks of her even though I’m the first one to know that blood doesn’t automatically equal family and tenderness. “I’m having a party for my birthday this Saturday,” he says the words slowly, testing them out on me. “I’d love it if you came.”

I stop walking and shove my hands into my pockets. The look I give him is doubtful. “I don’t know.”

“Birds, it’s my birthday.”

I sigh. “This thing we have, being friends. It works okay here when no one else is around. But it will be different if it were in front of everybody.”

“Why? Because you’re black?”

“Don’t make me sound racist.”

“Well, you’re being racist.”

“Wes-”

“You’re friends with Lacey.”

I huff out a breath. “That’s different.”

“It’s not different. We’re friends. It’s my birthday. If it were your birthday, I wouldn’t hesitate. Even if I did think people would make comments.”

I’m quiet for a bit, taking in what he’s saying and hating that he’s right. I know he would. Damn. When did I slip? Why do I feel obligated to sit and chat with Esther and call to let Tim know where I am and eat lunch with Lacey and go to Wes’s birthday party? What happened to my Lone Ranger, in and out of Shenoah, no strings attached plan?

“I’ll go,” I finally say, cutting off what looked like another argument point from Wes. He closes his mouth and nods.

“Good.”

Wesley and I come to the section of river where it's crossable. Smooth stones dot the way from one bank to the other. The water is clear, allowing a rippled view of colorful pebbles, small fish, and swaying plants that bend to the currents. Wes drops in a couple stones, scattering the fish.

"Remind me next time we come out here to bring my fishing gear. I'll show you how to fish."

"Hook on string, string in water," I pronounce proudly, kicking off my sandals. I dip my feet in. "Lesson over."

Wes grins. "It's an art, Birds."

I wrinkle my nose. "I don't know. Fishing doesn't sound like my thing."

Wes shrugs. "Fishing, football, or sex. You gotta sign up for one of the small town activities. How else will you fill your time?"

My ears burn a little at the mention of sex and when I laugh it off, my voice trembles a little. "Fine," I relent. "But you have to eat whatever I catch."

"Deal," he agrees, squatting near me and poking the soft dirt on the bank with a stick. His jaw twitches as his mind works over something. I'm surprised I know this. When did I learn his facial expressions?

He looks up thoughtfully. His voice is careful when he asks, "Hey, Birdie? Remember the first time I saw you? I think it might have been your first day in town? You were with your Mom at the diner. And you were asking her who your dad is."

My body stills sometime during the first of his questions. I don't look at him. "I remember."

"What was that all about? Did she finally tell you? You looked really upset. I mean, you don't have to tell me or anything..."

"My whole life I thought I was adopted."

Wesley settles beside me gingerly, as if he's afraid too much movement will scare me into silence. "And you want to find your birth parents?" he asks quietly.

I shake my head, the memory causing small bolts of pain in my chest. "No. I'm not adopted. Two weeks before I came here the man I thought was my adoptive father told me that they didn't adopt me and that my mother was actually my real mother. My whole family is white, Wes. I'm the only black person. Adoption was how they explained me to people. How they explained me to myself."

Wes lets out a low whistle. "Oh, man, that's rough." I sneak a look at his face and see a sadness there for me that warms away a little of the pain. I decide that’s enough for now. I know if I tell him the horror story behind what happened to my mother, that sadness will become distant. It's too much for anyone to take on. It hurts a little too deep to genuinely feel for someone the wrongness that happened and it's too troubling to
not
empathize. An exit is the only thing lying between those two options and I don’t want him to exit. I like Wesley. The realization blooms inside me and sunlight glints off his hair as if sparkling to get my attention.

“You’re cute,” I blurt out, still soaking in the realization. I don’t say it as a compliment. It comes out matter-of-factly, falling out of my mouth as I finally look at him and take stock of what everyone else must already know.

He dusts off his shoulders in a joking manner. “Tell me about it,” he smirks.

“No, I mean…I get it now. You have a nice face. And I never liked blondes, but it works for you.  And you’re one of the nicest people I know. It just adds to it all the good looks.” I wave my hand up and down, the gesture encompassing his whole body. I’m in awe of my discovery.

While I’m speaking his face changes from smirky to an expression I can’t read. It unsettles me a bit and now it’s my turn to shrug it off. “I’m just sayin’,” I finish, turning back to look at the river. “We should go. I have to be at work in an hour and I smell like outside.”

Wesley laughs. “What the hell does outside smell like?”

“Like light sweat and grass and dirt.”

We walk back to the truck and Wes revs it up and drives me to Tim’s. Garth Brooks is wailing softly in the cab. The green fields morph into gravel paths and then concrete as we near town. Wes is rattling off some story about Clay and a raccoon and a turkey sandwich that I’m sure is hilarious but I can’t hear it. I watch his mouth move. The sound of his voice is far away and muffled and not in time with his lips. The twinkle of a smile in his eye captivates me. I have to shake my head a little to stay in the present and when I do, everything comes back into sync all at once and I’m catching the end of his story.

“…and he still
ate
it.” He hits the steering wheel and laughs. “Can you believe it?”

I smile softly. He’s the same. There’s a shift in me, though. And it’s changing everything even though he continues on driving, elbowing me, laughing at his jokes. Singing along to the country music and pointing out a red cow and unaware that I’m a completely different girl than I was a few minutes ago.

Because something clicked inside of me, something so altering that you can’t be the same person from the one second before you knew to the one second afterwards.

I’m in love with Wesley Lott.