Sparrow Migrations (26 page)

Robby tripped up the library steps, feeling happy. Paula’s beat-up Toyota wasn’t in the parking lot, so he must be there first. Everything was better than fine with Paula. She’d asked him to run for office with her, after all. So she did like him. And now he would get to sit next to her in the library. One of his favorite places.

He walked through those tall plastic things that beeped if you took a book without checking it out first. He had done it once, when he was in third grade. The shrill sound was awful. He had dropped his books and just stood there, covering his ears. He wouldn’t do that now, though.

They were supposed to meet upstairs, in the reference section. He remembered standing next to her in the hotel lobby in Lansing, thinking he wanted to kiss her. What would it feel like? He ran his tongue over his lips. In movies people closed their eyes. How could they do that and be sure they kissed? What if one person’s mouth wound up on the other’s nose? And Paula was taller than him. What if her mouth landed on his hair?

He walked past the spinning globe at the top of the stairs. Wait, there she was already, at a table by the window. Then where was her car? And someone was sitting next to her already. A guy wearing a Michigan T-shirt. His chair was pulled up close to hers. Really close. His arm was stretched across the back of her chair. Her brown hair brushed his hand. Robby halted, tugging on his sweatshirt strings as he stared.

Paula looked up. “Hi, Robby! Come and meet my boyfriend, Alex.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

T
he plane glided smoothly onto the runway at Sea-Tac International. Deborah relaxed her grip on the seat arms and exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Safe on the ground, dry, upright. Life jacket untouched. The other passengers were already standing, opening the overhead bins, impatient to move on to the next leg of their journey, oblivious to the miracle within the mundane landing. Would she ever be the blithe flyer she had been before the crash? Probably not. Not much was left of her pre-crash self, in fact. A husband but no marriage. A career she no longer cared about. Imminently, a baby, but perhaps no future as a mother.

Matt met her at baggage claim. Even though he’d told her Helen wouldn’t be up to the trip to the airport, Deborah was still disappointed not to see her sister, smiling and waving next to the stainless steel baggage carousel.

“She can’t wait to see you,” Matt reassured her on the way home. “But I’ve got to warn you, she looks a lot different.”

“Different how?”

“She’s lost weight. And muscle tone. She’s pale, because she’s hardly ever outside. She can still get around on her own, but she moves much more slowly. You have to be careful when you hug her or touch her, because she’s very sensitive to pressure.”

Deborah nodded. It didn’t sound that bad. Not the feeding tubes and wheelchairs that Christopher had prophesied.

But Helen looked that bad. The healthy, vibrant woman Deborah had last seen a year ago was transformed into one faded and worn-out. In Helen and Matt’s foyer, she pulled her sister into a hug, trying, over Helen’s bony shoulder, to erase the shock from her face. Just as Matt had said, Helen flinched.

It was better when they talked. Sitting on the family room couch, wrapped in a red afghan, Helen fired questions at Deborah about her pregnancy. The afghan gave her body more mass and reflected color onto her face. When Hannah and Mariah came home from school, the mood lightened further, and the five of them laughed through dinner.

Afterward, Deborah sat with Helen and Matt while her nieces went out with friends. She was about to excuse herself for bed, pleading jet lag and pregnancy fatigue, when Helen cleared her throat.

“So tell us your plans for after the baby.”

“I wish I knew.” She sighed and placed her hands on her belly.

“Are you going back to work?”

“I have to. But not in the law advancement office. Not with Phillip and a capital campaign. Too much pressure. Maybe not even at Cornell.”

“So you’re going to look for a new job? With a newborn around?” Helen looked skeptical.

“I guess so.” It all seemed so far away. “I haven’t thought much past November ninth. I’ve got some money saved. Christopher said he’d put her on his health insurance. So I don’t have to worry about that, anyway.”

“What else is Christopher doing?” Matt spoke up.

Deborah tried to smile. “Same as always. Teaching. Research.”

“I see.” Matt pressed his lips together and looked away.

“Deborah, Matt and I want to propose an idea.” Helen sat up, her breathing growing more rapid. “It might sound crazy at first, but if you think about it, you’ll see there’s a lot of potential advantages.” She paused. “We’d like you to think about moving to Seattle.”

Deborah’s jaw went slack. Nonplussed, she looked from her sister to her brother-in-law, then back at Helen, who sat rigidly upright, gauging her reaction. Deborah opened her mouth, then closed it, too flummoxed to speak. Helen nudged Matt.

“It makes sense for you to be close to family now, Deborah. You’re already thinking of leaving your job. You could find another out here. We’ve got a lot of connections at the University of Washington now. Hannah and Mariah would be able to help with babysitting, especially in the summer. And we could use your support, too.” Matt put his arm around Helen.

She nodded. “You could even live with us for a while, until you’re ready to find your own place. We’ve got plenty of room. It would be nice to have a baby around again. Something to remind me of the future.”

Deborah found her voice. “But Seattle—across the country? I don’t know. Christopher and I are still so unsettled.” And there was her house, and the job she still did have, after all. And Julia. And—Matt was talking again.

“It seems like Christopher’s settled himself into that apartment,” Matt said, disdain in his voice.

“Yes, Deborah. It’s been almost six months now, right?” Helen said. “Is he even going to be at the birth?”

“I don’t know,” Deborah said softly.

“How long will you let him try to figure things out?”

Deborah thought of Dr. Felk again.
Leave the door open
. Christopher would step up when the baby was born, he’d told her. She looked down at her belly. What if Dr. Felk was wrong?
I miss you,
Christopher had said. But she needed more than talk. Helen and Matt’s idea was appealing. The door couldn’t stay open forever. She looked up.

“All right. I’ll think about it.”

“Amanda! Amanda!”

Mrs. Hamilton was coming at her, waving a red sheet of paper and smiling broadly as Amanda stood at her locker.

“Good. You’re still here. I’ve been trying to catch you all week, but I’ve kept missing you.”

Amanda shrugged. “Got stuff to do.” Stuff was usually hanging out at Abby’s or Kelsey’s, or the library if her friends were busy. She spent as little time as possible at home, in the too-quiet house that was starting to smell musty.

That morning, though, her dad said she had to come straight home. He wouldn’t say why, just “it’s a surprise.” Guessing that his idea of a surprise—a good one, anyway—wouldn’t match her own, she was dawdling at her locker.

“Oh.” Mrs. Hamilton looked like she expected more explanation. “Busy semester?”

Amanda shrugged. “Just being a senior and all. College applications. You know.”

“Right.” Mrs. Hamilton nodded as Amanda slammed her locker. “Speaking of college. I think you need to do this.” She handed Amanda the red paper.

“Scranton Cultural Center presents Irving Berlin’s holiday classic
White Christmas
,” Amanda read. “Open auditions October tenth, eleventh, and twelfth.” She looked up into Mrs. Hamilton’s beaming face. “You want me to audition?”

Mrs. Hamilton nodded. “You need more experience to get into a college drama program. You were fantastic as Rizzo last year. But our production this year won’t be a musical. And it’s not until the spring. It’s the perfect time for you to get another show under your belt.”

“But the Cultural Center? Isn’t that almost professional? And October tenth is next week!”

“This is a community production. There’ll be some talented folks, but no professionals. I know the director. He graduated from here ten years ago, actually. I’ve already told him about you.”

“You did?”

“He couldn’t promise anything, of course, except for a fair audition. But it’s a fun show, and I think you’ve got a great shot. So what do you say? I’ve got a copy of the script with your name on it if you want it.” Mrs. Hamilton held up a folder.

Inside, Amanda felt excitement percolating for the first time since
Grease
closed. Her dad would be unenthusiastic. Her mom would think it was great. Well, she guessed that’s what her mom would think. Amanda hadn’t returned her last call, so they hadn’t talked in almost two weeks. She could feel Mrs. Hamilton watching her.

“Amanda? Is everything all right?”

“Sure.” Amanda cleared her throat. At least Mrs. Hamilton expected something from her. “I’ll take it.”

It was after four when she got home, the script buried in her backpack.

“Amanda. There you are.” Her dad was jingling his keys in the kitchen. “Didn’t I tell you to come straight home? Come on, we don’t want to be late.”

“Can’t I put my stuff in my room? What’s the hurry? Where are we going, anyway?”

“You’ll see.” Her dad was in the best mood he’d been in for months, almost cheerful.

She tried again as they backed out of the garage. “Why can’t you tell me?”

They were headed downtown. She tried to guess, but her dad refused to answer. After fifteen minutes he turned on the blinker for the next exit.

“Lackawanna College, Next Right.” Amanda read on a road sign. Trepidation lurched inside her. Scranton’s community college.

“Dad, are you taking me to Lackawanna?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, staring out at the traffic. The light turned green.

“Dad, are we going to Lackawanna?” Her voice rose.

“Amanda, please. There’s no need to yell.”

“Are we?”

He looked over at her, his mood somber again. He nodded. “The business division is hosting an open house for prospective students tonight.”

“A business open house? What, accounting or something? Dad, that’s not what I want to do!”

“You don’t even know. You haven’t tried it yet.”

“I don’t want to try it. I know what I want to do, and it’s not at Lackawanna.”

“Think of your future. A business degree means security, Amanda. If you want to, you can always do drama as a hobby.”

“A hobby? Dad, are you serious? Have you, like, paid any attention to my life lately?”

He bristled. “At least I’m here, you know.”

“You mean Mom isn’t.”

“That about sums it up, doesn’t it? I’m here. Doing the best I can. She’s off a hundred miles away, doing God knows what with God knows who.”

“What do you mean, doing God knows what? She got a new job at a food pantry.”

“I sent her divorce papers, Amanda. I told her it was her last chance.” He steered the car up the exit ramp. “She could rip them up, burn them, destroy them any way she wanted, and I would forgive her if she came home. But if she signed them and abandoned her vows forever, then I couldn’t forgive her. Ever.”

He glanced at her, his face melancholy. “She signed them. I got them back two days later. She didn’t even consider coming back to us. For all we know, she’s having another affair with some other sinful soul up there.”

Amanda felt sick in the front seat. Was that why her mother hadn’t called lately? The car turned into the Lackawanna campus. No. No way. Her dad was just an unfair, imperious jerk.

“So now that you couldn’t make Mom do what you wanted, you’re going to try to make me?” She crossed her arms. “This was a waste of a trip.” She rummaged in her backpack for the script. “Mrs. Hamilton wants me to audition for a new musical. If you want to go in the open house, fine. But I’ve got lines to learn.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

P
ickup for Goldman,” Christopher told the kid behind the counter at Campus Cantonese. Rifling through the row of brown paper bags, he yelled back to the kitchen. The Chinese reply obviously displeased him.

“Big order. Ten more minute. Sorry.” He disappeared into the kitchen, yelling in Chinese.

Christopher sighed and dropped onto the bench next to the cash register. He flipped through one of Ithaca’s weekly freebie rags restlessly, then stood again. Two of his grad students had volunteered to pick up the food. He wished he’d let them. Campus Cantonese was one of his and Deborah’s regular haunts.
Had been one of their regular haunts
. They always sat in the middle booth along the back wall.
Had sat.

Out of habit, his eyes drifted there. He blinked once, then twice. There was Deborah, in her usual spot, opposite another woman who looked vaguely familiar. They leaned toward each other, deep in conversation. But it was what was between them that pinned his gaze.

A baby’s car seat.

He was across the restaurant in half a dozen strides, moving on pure adrenaline, pure instinct. “Deborah.”

Both women turned toward him, startled. “Christopher!” Deborah
gasped.

He looked from her to the car seat. “Is this—did you—”

A strange look crossed Deborah’s face, and she leaned back against the booth, revealing her swollen belly almost touching the table’s edge. A cocktail of emotions swirled. One part disappointment, one part relief, one part foolishness. “Oh.”

“Christopher, this is Julia Adams. I think you met her at the dean’s picnic last summer.” Actually it was two summers ago now. “You know her husband Michael from bio, too, of course.” Deborah paused, then deliberately nodded at the car seat. “And their son, Nate.”

“Nice to see you again,” Julia said.

“You, too,” he managed, before he was saved by the kid from the counter.

“Goldman? Your order’s ready.”

“Thanks. I’ve got to go,” he said to Deborah, almost stepping on the kid’s heels in his haste to follow. Drumming his fingers, waiting for the credit card to go through, he heard her voice.

“I wouldn’t have the baby and not tell you, Christopher.”

The cocktail swirled again. Was it two parts relief this time? He looked at her. “OK.”

“OK?”

“I mean, good. I’d want to know.”

“You could have fooled me,” Deborah said.

“Actually, you did fool me.” The words were out of his mouth before he knew it. Deborah drew back as if he’d struck her.

“Sign here,” said the kid. “Sorry for the wait.”

“It’s all right.” He felt Deborah watching him as he scribbled his name. The kid punctured it on one of those pointy spears. He turned, bracing for Deborah’s retort.

But none came. They stood looking at each other for a long minute until Christopher spoke.

“I’ve gotta get back. I’m taking this to campus for a student group meeting tonight.”

Deborah looked surprised. “I didn’t know you advised any groups.”

“It’s my first meeting. For students who want to be instructors and advisers in the summer ornithology camp.”

“Bird camp? For middle school kids?”

“Thirteen to sixteen, actually.”

“Really?” Deborah blinked. He read the puzzlement on her face. Was there a hint of pleased surprise, too? But what good would his practice attempt at parenthood do now anyway, with the real thing so obviously imminent, and so many months wasted?

“Yeah. So I’ve got to get back.”

“OK. Well, good night, then,” Deborah said. He felt her eyes continue to follow him, out into the cold night.

In the car he tried to settle his nerves. He was finally comfortable in the fellow’s apartment. He turned toward it when he left his office, rather than toward Cayuga Heights. He remembered to buy coffee before he wanted to make a cup. He caught almost all his waking second guesses before they could slip out, like “I miss you” that day on the phone. They only caught him at night, when he woke up alone and had to recall that it was now normal.

Yet this one encounter had easily seeped through the mental sandbags he’d so carefully placed around the events of the spring. He tried to identify what remained of that emotional cocktail. Relief he hadn’t missed the birth? Fear she wouldn’t want him at the birth? Did he even want to be at the birth? What
did
he want?

His car had arrived back at the Lab. Trudging upstairs with the food, he wanted to be back at the apartment, wrapped in the trappings of his solitude again, repairing his sandbag bunker. Maybe they could handle the meeting without him.

But no, Peter was already there. He couldn’t leave now. The best he could manage was a few moments in his office to regroup.

In the sanctuary he automatically checked his e-mail. Four new items, which all looked like they should have been caught in Cornell’s spam filter. He paused over one, then clicked. It was another message from Robby Palmer. Like the others, he skipped a salutation and plunged right into what was on his mind.

“I’ve been elected vice president of my Audubon club,” it read. “Do you think that’s enough leadership for the camp. Please let me know.” It was signed Robby Palmer, with a link to what looked like the club’s website.

Christopher clicked on it automatically, then minimized the window just as quickly. Camp was competitive, and admissions policy called for all applicants to be reviewed blindly, as he’d reminded Dr. Felk repeatedly. Technically, even Robby’s e-mail broke the rules. In fact, that night’s meeting was to review the rules for the applications expected to start arriving immediately after the New Year. Christopher had been struggling with how to disclose the matter of the thumb drive, which he had kept locked in a drawer since that day in April.

But as he massaged his temples, Christopher recalled the story Arthur Felk told in the hotel bar, about his brother.
The story has a happy ending. Robby needs somebody younger.
He remembered Deborah, in the taxi after the crash.
Is work really more important than family?
Dropping the photo on the table at the restaurant.
Not just a girl. Your daughter.

He hit “Reply” and began typing. “That’s great, Robby. It’ll really help your application. Keep track of everything you accomplish as an officer. We’ll start taking applications after Jan. 1.”

Hitting “Send,” Christopher went to claim his lo mein.

Deborah put her leftovers in the refrigerator and went to the baby’s room. It drew her every evening now. She sat in the glider rocker, leaning her head against the green gingham cushion, her arms cradling her belly. She was adamant that the nursery not become a pink straitjacket, even though Julia told her it was hopeless. “Every single outfit Nate got—I mean every single one—had either a vehicle or a ball on it,” she’d told Deborah at dinner. “And eighty percent of them are blue.”

How odd that babies were immediately divided into their separate camps, yin and yang, black and white, when the world they would inhabit was filled with shades of gray. Her baby’s more than most. That was what Christopher couldn’t appreciate, either. To him, it was right or wrong to have a baby. It couldn’t be both. Helen and Matt’s perspective was just as stark. They couldn’t understand why she didn’t cut ties. Move on. Why live in limbo?

She sighed heavily, shifting in the chair. There, that was more comfortable. She still cared for Christopher, that was why. She couldn’t let go of the dream she’d envisioned for them, that they were so close to living. Tonight, though, it was again clear that Christopher didn’t understand that she was compelled to do what she did in February: protect the embryos at all cost. That was what mothers did. Especially when they knew the fathers cherished hopes as fragile as Christopher’s.

She shifted her hips again, wincing. Heartburn? She deliberately ordered
moo goo gai pan
because it wasn’t spicy. Did she have any Tums in the house?

Then there was the practical reality of their situation. If she did have Huntington’s, the baby would need someone. Would need her father.

The pain flared again, longer this time, then ebbed just as the baby kicked. The jolt reverberated up, up to her brain, which suddenly lit with comprehension. A contraction. Not heartburn, but a contraction. Labor. Happening now. She had to call Dr. Dunn. She had to call Christopher. She had to—but as she stood, the pain of the next contraction pushed her back into the chair.

Immobilized, Deborah held her belly again and stared at the green glowing numbers on the digital clock. Timing. She was supposed to time the contractions. Or was it how long in between? Or both? She had to ask Dr. Dunn.

“Both. And when they’re a minute or longer and five minutes in between, come on in. Or if your water breaks. OK?”

“How long will that be?” said Deborah.

“First baby, hard to tell. Could be a while.”

“Oh,” said Deborah, feeling forlorn.

“Your friend Julia’s bringing you in, right?”

“Right.”

“All right. You can do this, Deborah. I’ll see you soon.”

After the doctor hung up, Deborah didn’t hesitate. She dialed Christopher.