Sparrow Migrations (27 page)

TWENTY-NINE

T
hanksgiving morning, Brett woke to the first dusting of snow. One more thing to do on the Alliance’s busiest day of the year: shovel the walk.

Since no one expected her to fill a pew, she watched the Macy’s parade on TV for the first time in twenty years. Midmorning, as she made a Western omelette, the pangs of loneliness hit. Dropping the knife next to the piles of diced ham, green peppers, onions, and cheese, she dialed.

Amanda
would
be expected to fill a pew, she realized, as the voice mail greeting began. “Hi, Amanda. It’s Mom. I just wanted to wish you a happy Thanksgiving,” she said to the silence. “It snowed here today. I heard it might there this weekend. I hope you’re feeding the birds, sweetie. I’m so thankful you’re my daughter. I know it’s been a hard year, and I hope that you can still count me as a blessing, too,” she finished hastily, before hanging up to wipe away her tears.

She missed Amanda terribly. They had talked a few times, when Amanda chose to answer the phone Brett had given her. Many other messages were not returned. Brett went back to Scranton twice: in August, before school started, and again in October, for school conferences. Both times Amanda kept herself busy almost the entire visit. Brett accepted the passive-aggressive punishment resolutely, vowing to give Amanda the time and space she needed. In lieu of a real relationship, she found herself monitoring the weather, imagining Amanda trading shorts and tanks for jeans and sweaters and now, her winter coat.

Otherwise, she felt exactly as Elizabeth said she must. Committed. Fulfilled. Energized. And free. Richard had sent her divorce papers, which she had signed and sent back in the next day’s mail, officially casting off the pastor’s wife yoke. But after almost five months of Amanda’s aloofness, she was starting to wonder if she had miscalculated the trade-off.

Thanksgiving dinner service began at four. She left the apartment at noon and walked to Immaculate Conception, where the posse of cooks was just putting the turkeys in the oven. As excited as another mother for a bat mitzvah or a sweet sixteen, Brett circled the dining room, fluttering here to straighten a tablecloth, there to make room for another serving dish, back to the kitchen to make sure the salad was tossed with the right dressing.

A line snaked around the building when the doors opened. Brett and the greeter and server volunteers played the role of host to the hilt: taking coats, writing nametags, ushering guests to the buffet lines, and helping find available seats at the crowded tables. Turkey was carved. Potatoes scooped. Pumpkin pie sliced. Coffee flowed. The afternoon flew. The last guests were soon gathering their coats and saying their own thanks.

“Good job, Brett,” said Pastor Sue as she collected her coat.

Brett’s exuberance exited with the crowds. She sent the volunteers home and washed the last dishes herself, stewing that Amanda had not called back.
You’re the mother. You have to keep the door open
, she reminded herself, dialing again.

“Hello?”

“Amanda.” Hearing her daughter’s voice for the first time in weeks made Brett’s voice crack. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Mom? Is that you?”

“It’s me. I wanted to wish you a happy Thanksgiving,” Brett said, clutching the phone, wishing for the words that would allow this one phone call to fill the void of the lost months.

“Oh. Well, um, thanks.” Her voice was flat again.

Brett pushed on. “Did you get the message I left earlier?”

“Earlier today?”

“Yes. I called about ten.”

“We were at church.”

She wasn’t answering the question, Brett thought. “Well, it doesn’t matter now,” she said aloud. “How have you been, sweetheart?”

“Fine. I’m fine.” Amanda sounded automatic. “Busy.”

“Busy with what?”

“I’ve got rehearsals all weekend.”

“Rehearsals? During the holiday weekend?”

“Not for a school play. It’s a Scranton Cultural Center production.”

“You’re kidding. You’re cast in an SCC play?”

“Yeah.” Amanda sounded like she was smiling now. “
White Christmas
. Mrs. Hamilton talked them into letting me audition. I’m in the chorus, and I’ve got a few lines.”

Brett was more delighted that their conversation was still going than at the news. “That is just wonderful, Amanda.”

“Dad doesn’t think so.”

Brett frowned into the phone. “What do you mean?”

“He keeps preaching Lackawanna College.”

“He does?” Anxiety surged through Brett.

“
‘Business is security, Amanda,
’
” she intoned, imitating Richard.
“
‘You don’t have to give up theater, but you have to be realistic, too.
’
” She sighed.

Silently, Brett cursed Richard. “Amanda. Listen to me. This is important. You have to listen to yourself first. Your father can have an opinion. I can have an opinion. But you make the decision about your future.

“After the experience of the musical last spring, after everything Mrs. Hamilton told you about your talent, and now being cast in this community production, can you imagine going to Lackawanna? Entering a business program now?” Brett waited.

“No. No way,” Amanda finally said.

“I understand. I get that. I sat in the audience and watched you. You can’t deny what your soul wants.” Brett paused. “Well, I guess you can. But it’s not worth it. Believe me, sweetie. It is just not worth it.”

There was a long pause.

“Amanda? Are you still there?”

“The show opens December fifth,” Amanda said. “If I got you a ticket, could you come?”

Robby hunched his shoulders inside his sweatshirt as he sat in the chilly backyard, parked in the one lounge chair he’d insisted stay outside for winter, aiming the Sears binoculars at the sky. His yard list was on his lap. He was at ninety-six now. He wanted to get over one hundred by the end of the year. Not impossible, but unlikely. At the Audubon meeting last week, everyone compared their December totals. Most people got two or three. Paula had the most of anyone, with six.

Paula. His stomach felt funny when he thought about her. They had won the election and were officially officers. But every time she was around now, Robby couldn’t think about blog posts and a member database and all the stuff they’d promised. He just thought about her boyfriend sitting next to her in the library, his arm wrapped around her. And then the funny feeling in his stomach started.

“Hey, Robby.” It was his dad’s voice, next to him all of a sudden. “Finding any to add?”

Robby shook his head, keeping his eyes on the sky. A single dark shape arced across his field of vision.

“There, what about that one?” his dad asked.

Robby shook his head. “Just another sparrow.”

“Hmmm.” His dad dropped something onto his lap. “Maybe it’s time to take a break.”

Robby lowered the binoculars. The paper in his lap was an ad, its red and green capital letters screaming at him:
SALE SALE SALE! Hurry in for holiday savings! Best deals of the year!

Grunting, he handed it back to his dad. “Hate shopping.”

“Turn it over,” his dad said.

Rolling his eyes, Robby turned the paper over.
Cameras, binoculars, accessories! Bushnell, Nikon, Canon, Olympus! Best brand selection, best prices!

“Binoculars?” Robby looked up at his dad.

“I think you’re ready for an upgrade,” his dad said. “It’ll be an early Christmas present.”

“Really?” Robby fingered the pebbled surface of the Sears binoculars. Up north, he’d tried Ruth’s. On hikes at Kensington Metropark and the Nichols Arboretum in the fall, he’d borrowed some from other club members. Theirs were all so much lighter and sharper.

“Really.” His dad nodded. “Come on.”

The mall parking lot was packed. So were the hallways inside, echoing with recorded Christmas carols. Robby pulled his hood up, yanked his sweatshirt strings, and kept his eyes pinned on his dad’s green quilted coat.

The binocular store, which looked mostly like a camera store, was much quieter. “Help you?” asked a man wearing a denim shirt.

“We’re interested in binoculars,” his dad said.

“Over here.” The man led them to a case in a back corner. “They’re not my specialty, though. I’ll get someone who can help you. Alex?” He drifted toward an open doorway.

Robby leaned his elbows on the case. Inside, binoculars were displayed on two shelves, arranged left to right in order of size. They all looked better than the Sears pair at home. He grinned, feeling happy. This would be a great present. And he’d have them for the club’s annual Christmas bird count, coming up in a few weeks.

“Looking for binoculars today?” Another man’s voice spoke above his head. It sounded familiar. Robby looked up. He wore the same denim shirt as the first man, but unbuttoned. Underneath was a Michigan T-shirt. His eyebrows furrowed as he gazed at Robby. Then the lines straightened.

“Robby, right? From the Audubon Club. I’m Alex. Alex Daugherty. We met at the library that one time.”

Robby nodded.
Alex.
Paula’s boyfriend. He looked down at the case again, but this time he could only see his face reflected back. It didn’t look happy anymore.

His dad was talking. “I’m Sam Palmer, Robby’s dad. Are you in the club, Alex?”

Alex shook his head. “Not officially. But my girlfriend is. Paula. Paula Lynch.”

“Paula. Right.” Robby felt his dad put a hand on his shoulder.

“She just got elected president. And you’re the new vice president, right, Robby? Congratulations.”

Robby could feel both Alex and his dad looking at him. Waiting for him to say something. His dad squeezed his shoulder and cleared his throat, filling in the void. “Well. You’re right, Alex. We’re looking for some new binoculars.”

“Great. We’ve got a good sale going this weekend. Are you looking for pocket-sized? Full-size? Image stabilizer? Do you have a budget in mind?” Alex took a key from his pocket and unlocked the case.

“Anything here would be an upgrade from what we’ve got,” his dad said. “I was thinking between two hundred and three hundred dollars. I’ll leave the features up to Robby.”

“Do you go to Michigan?” Robby heard himself ask suddenly.

Alex glanced down at his T-shirt. “Yeah. Dearborn. That’s where I met Paula. In biology class.”

“Do you know Josh?”

“Josh?” Alex looked confused. “Josh who?”

“Yes, Josh who?” his dad echoed.

“Josh—” Robby paused. He never got his last name. He just remembered that the plover chicks went to the U of M biological research station. He looked at his dad.

“Josh from Skype. The one who took care of the plover chicks.”

“Oh.” His dad nodded, vaguely. “He went to Michigan?”

Robby shrugged. “It was a Michigan research station. He was a biologist.”

“The research station up in Pellston?” Alex asked. His voice had changed a little. There was a note of admiration. “He was probably a grad student. Not many undergrads go up there.”

Robby nodded, feeling slightly better. He had met Josh and talked to him, and he wasn’t even a college student. “Yeah. He was a grad student.”

“And you saw plovers? Piping plovers? That’s really cool. They’re endangered, right?”

Robby nodded again, feeling pride swell inside.

“All right. So it sounds like you’re doing a lot of hiking. You probably want pocket-sized. And waterproof. I’d recommend one of these here.” Alex reached into the case and set two pairs on top. “Both fall in your budget.”

Robby lifted the first pair carefully. It weighed less than half of the binoculars at home. He turned the focus dial, aiming it out the store entrance, into the mall. He could see the line of little kids waiting for Santa in the mall courtyard.

“What do you think, Robby?” his dad asked.

“Nice.” Robby put them down and picked up the second pair.

“These have a slightly larger lens diameter. Twenty-five millimeters instead of twenty,” Alex said.

Robby could tell. This time he could see Santa and the elf hovering at his shoulder. He sharpened the focus. A little girl was crying on Santa’s lap. He felt sorry for her. Even being here in the store with Paula’s boyfriend was better than that.

“These are better,” he said.

“They come with a storage case, too,” Alex said.

“Looks like you’ve got a sale,” his dad said.

Alex swiped his dad’s credit card and handed Robby the bag. “Thanks. And good to see you again, Robby.”

Robby looked at his shoes.

“Paula’s talked me into doing the Christmas bird count thing. So I’ll probably see you there in a few weeks.”

“Oh.” Robby’s voice cracked. “OK.”

“Thanks for your help, Alex,” said his dad.

And then his dad’s hand was on his shoulder again, piloting him out of the store, through the hot, noisy crowd in the mall, into the brisk air outside, and finally the refuge of the car.

His dad sat silently behind the wheel for a moment. “Phew,” he said, exhaling the word. “You OK?”