Things I Want to Say (37 page)

“We could use rain,” she said. “The weatherman said this is the remnants of a tropical depression from South America.”

“Birds get caught in big storms,” he said. “Blown off course.” He looked at her, his expression charged with anticipation. “Chance to see…birds not seen her e…before.”

“Maybe we’ll both have some to add to our lists,” she said, though she doubted there was a bird anywhere near here that her father hadn’t already seen. “Casey said the Killdeer chicks are grown and gone already,” she added.

He turned from the window again. “They have to grow up fast,” he said. “Be ready for…migration.”

She picked up a paper weight from the edge of the desk, then set it down again. “What do the adult birds—the mothers—do after the chicks are grown?” she asked. “Do they stay with them or what?”

His forehead wrinkled as he pondered the question. “They go on…being birds.” He shrugged. “That’s all.”

She nodded, the skin on the back of her neck tingling as the idea took hold. Was she like the Killdeer? Could she go on being Karen? Did that mean staying the same, or trying something different?

She’d never thought much about her future—what life would be like when the boys were grown, and beyond that even, to when she could retire from the landscaping business. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to think about a time that seemed so scary. She’d spent her whole life being busy, catering to those around her. What would she do with herself when they no longer needed her?

“Dad, can I ask you a question?”

He looked at her, waiting.

“Why birding? What about it made it worth leaving your family, traveling all over the world and enduring so many hardships?” She looked at the awards arrayed on his wall. Surely he hadn’t devoted so much of his life to acquiring these pieces of paper. She looked back at him. “I’ve read all the articles written about you in birding magazines, about how you’ve walked across deserts and stood in the cold for hours and gotten up in the middle of the night—all to see birds. Why would anyone do that?”

He frowned, the lines on his forehead deepening. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, and moved to the computer and began typing.

She came to stand beside him, and watched the words form on the screen.

I don’t know how to explain.

“Try. I want to understand.”

When you’ve waited all night and endured the heat or cold, and finally you see the bird you’ve been seeking—the feeling is so beautiful, so sweet…. You know then that you’ve done the right thing. The thing your soul needs you to do.

She blinked, and read the words on the screen again, letting them soak in.
The thing your soul needs you to do.
What did her soul need her to do? Was this restlessness she felt of late a sign that she needed to make changes in her life—find a new job? Travel to another country? Leave Tom and start over with someone else? Or by herself?

She hugged her arms across her chest, as if she could ward off the psychic chill that swept through her. She didn’t know if she was as strong as her father, who endured great hard ships in hopes of some elusive reward. She didn’t think she was as
brave as Mary Elisabeth, willing to uproot herself and move across the country for the sake of trying something different. And she wasn’t as carefree as Casey, who trusted the future to take care of itself.

That brought her back to the mother Killdeer, and the idea of being Karen. Who was this mysterious woman, and how could she discover her? How could she find the thing her soul needed her to do?

The storm hit while they were eating supper, rain sounding like gravel against the windows, the tops of the pine trees bent like heavy stalks of wheat in the on slaught. Before he went to bed that night, Martin persuaded Casey to help him position the spotting scope. “Tomorrow…we’ll see what blew in on the wind,” he explained. He hadn’t much hope of adding to his list, but he might be able to point out something interesting for Karen or Casey to add to their lists.

He also had the boy open the window a couple of inches. He lay in bed later with the lights out, breathing in the green smell of wet pine and fertile loam. It reminded him a little of the jungles of Brazil, which smelled of wet and growing things, and the pungent richness of decay.

He fell asleep to the drum of rain cascading off the eaves,
which became the steady cadence of dew dripping from the leaves of rubber trees.

A familiar cry assailed him, and the Brown-chested Barbet flitted into view. It landed on a branch above his head and cocked one eye at him, as if to pose a question or a challenge. Then with a soft flutter of wings it rose into the air and flew away.

Martin spread his arms and stood on tiptoe, a fledgling eager to join in the flight. But gravity held him firmly to the ground. No longer could he fly among the treetops with the birds, though the memory of how that freedom had felt stayed with him, like the scent of a loved one clinging to his clothes though they were long departed.

He clenched his fists and a keening cry of mourning tore from his throat. Why was he trapped here this way, immobile and useless, the things he loved most out of his reach in the treetops?

He woke before dawn, irritable and unrested. The rain had stopped and the sky had lightened to an ashy gray. Restless, he maneuvered from the bed to the wheelchair and rolled to the window, where he checked the spotting scope. Already, birds were awake, scratching for worms and insects in the rain-softened soil, bathing in puddles that formed in the driveway, singing from the tops of the pines, their songs trumpeting the joy of a fresh new day.

A movement in the azaleas caught his eye. He turned the scope toward it and dialed down the focus until he could make out a thick-billed, sturdy bird. He closed his eyes, heart pounding in his chest, then opened them again, sure he must be dreaming.

With its black mask and golden crown, the barbet looked like a bird in costume for a party. The brown band across its chest that gave it its name was clearly visible. It turned and
looked right at Martin, bright black eye staring into his as if it knew.
You couldn’t come to me,
the bird seemed to say.
So I came to you.

He held his breath, unbelieving, while the bird remained still, looking at him, as if waiting for an answer. He tried to stand, to move closer to the window, but pain exploded in his head, driving him to his knees. With his right hand, he groped for the window sill, trying to pull himself up, but his arm had lost its strength. He landed hard on the floor, and lay curled into himself as the world went black.

When he woke, all was bright, the sun warm against his skin. The pain was gone, and he felt light. Light as a bird. Even as the thought came to him, he felt himself rising. Floating. The barbet hovered beside him, beckoning. Wonder filled him as once more he was able to follow the bird into the sky. He laughed, then shouted, as he soared beside it, floating on the wind and a current of unspeakable joy.

A loud
thud
pulled Karen from sleep. At first she thought the wind from the storm had knocked something over, but as she sat and looked out the window, she saw that the rain had stopped, and the air was calm. She strained her ears, listening, but the house was quiet. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that clutched at her.

She threw back the covers and pulled on her robe, heart pounding. Telling herself she was being silly, she hurried into the hall. Dad might have fallen. If so, she’d have to wake Casey to help her get him back into bed.

She was startled to find her father’s bed empty. But when she pushed the door open farther and stepped into the room, she saw his still form lying in front of the window. “Dad!” She raced to his side and turned him onto his back. The eyes that stared up at her were empty and cold.

She sat back on her heels, a single sob escaping before she clamped her hand over her mouth. Shaking, she reached out and closed his eyes. His skin was still warm, though all the color had drained from it. She tried to find a pulse at his throat, then laid her head on his chest, praying for a heartbeat.

Only the sound of her own breathing filled her ears. She reached for Martin’s hand and squeezed it. Already it was cold. She stared at his face, curiosity warring with horror. He had always been such a mystery to her. Was there anything here now to help her figure him out?

She was struck by how peaceful he looked. His expression was relaxed, the corners of his mouth tipped up, almost as if he was trying to smile. The thought was absurd. Her father wasn’t a jovial man. He didn’t laugh easily, and his smiles were rationed out like expensive chocolates.

But something in death had made him smile. A release from pain? Had he seen heaven at the end? A great light or an angel? Or had he learned some secret no one in this life could know?

She sat back on her heels and let the tears fall, eyes closed, shoulders shaking silently. There were so many things she’d wanted to say to him, so many things she’d wanted to hear him say. Yet at the end, they’d found something. Some…connection. A love for each other, as complicated and fraught with tension as the word was. She was grateful for that, no matter how cheated she felt about all they’d missed.

The sun shone brightly through the window by the time she pulled herself together enough to stand. She took the blanket from the bed and covered him, tucking it gently around his shoulders. When she left the room to call the funeral home, a passerby might have thought he was merely sleeping, still and peaceful.

She woke Casey and tried to break the news gently, though he shouted, “No!” and refused to believe it at first. “He was getting better,” he said. “He was going to be all right.”

“He was getting better. I thought so, too.”

“It’s not fair.”

“No, it isn’t.”

They held each other and cried, and she thought of Tom, feeling his absence keenly. He would know the right thing to do, the right thing to say. Always, she had counted on him in a crisis.

She called Del next. He was grumpy at first, from being awakened from sleep. She suspected he’d been drinking hard the past few days, not taking Mary Elisabeth’s leaving as lightly as he would have had them believe. “Del, listen,” she said, breaking into his complaining. “Something happened with Dad this morning. I found him on the floor of his bedroom. He…he’s gone.”

“Gone? You mean dead?” He sounded awake now.

She nodded, and swallowed more tears. “Yes. I called Garrity’s and they’re sending someone out.” They’d both gone to school with the Garrity brothers, who had taken over the operation of the funeral home from their father. “They’ll be here soon if you want to come over.”

“I’ll be right there.”

She half expected him to fall back asleep, but he was on her doorstep in twenty minutes, in khakis and a white dress shirt, his hair combed, his face freshly shaved. He spoke in solemn tones to Mike Garrity, who came with another man to trans port her father’s body to the funeral home. “My sister will know better what arrangements he would have wanted,” Del said.

She stared at him, stunned by his willingness to give way to her judgment, as well as by his belief that she had some
insight into their father’s mind. “Cremation,” she said after a moment. “A man who spent so much time watching birds would want his ashes scattered on the wind.” She hoped that was what he’d wanted. They had never thought to discuss such an un comfortable subject.

Casey stood in the back ground, sad-eyed and drooping, wilted by loss. When the hearse finally pulled out of the driveway, Del suggested they all go get some breakfast. “I’m not hungry,” she said automatically.

“You need to get out of this house.” He put his arm around her, his touch surprisingly gentle, and greatly comforting.

Whatever force that had been holding her together left her then, and she turned into his embrace, sobbing. He held her tightly and patted her back. “I know,” he said, over and over. “I know.”

She believed him, that he
did
know the pain she felt, that his own pain might be even deeper, since he’d never found away to bridge the gap between himself and their difficult parent.

She raised her head and searched his face, trying to read the expression in his eyes. “He loved you,” she said. “I know he did. He just didn’t know how to show it.”

“You believe that if you want to.” He patted her shoulder again. “Did you call Mom?”

“Not yet. I thought maybe you could do that.” She wasn’t sure she could deal with her mother right now. Sara would no doubt try to cheer her up, but she wanted to mourn a while longer. Later, she’d appreciate her mother’s efforts more.

“Sure. I can do that.”

While he called their mother, Karen hugged Casey. “You okay?” she asked.

He nodded, though his face was still pale. “I’m okay.” He glanced at her. “You okay?”

“Not the best shape I’ve ever been, but I’m hanging in there.”

“We should call Dad.”

“I will.” But she wanted to be alone when she talked to Tom. She didn’t need an audience for what could be a tense call.

“Mom says she’ll be over a little later.” Del joined them again.

“How did she take the news?” Karen asked.

He shrugged. “You know Mom. She doesn’t let stuff like this sink in too deep.”

She nodded. “I guess that’s one way to cope.”

“Come on. Let’s at least go get some coffee,” Del said. He looked back at Casey. “You, too.”

She shook her head. “I need to call Tom.”

“You can call him later.”

“No, I need to call him now.” The urgency that had engulfed her earlier returned. She need to talk to Tom. To find out what they had left between them. “You go,” she said. “You and Casey.”

Del raised one eyebrow, and started to say something, then shook his head. “All right. Come on, Case. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

When they were gone, silence cloaked the house like a heavy blanket. Karen stared at the closed door to her father’s room, thinking she should go in there and clean up, but unable to face the task.

Instead, she went into her room and sat on the side of the bed, staring at the phone. Sadie followed, and sat by the bed, her chin resting on Karen’s knee, eyes soft with silent support.

What would she say to Tom, after she’d got past telling him about her father’s passing? He’d been so angry when he’d
flown back to Denver, and she’d felt so empty. They hadn’t talked since then. What did he want from her? Whatever it was, did she have it in her to give anymore?

Telling herself it was better to know the truth than to be tortured by guessing games, she picked up the receiver and dialed.

“Hello?” He sounded distracted, and she realized with a start that it was not even seven o’clock in Denver.

She wet her lips and tried to sound calm. “Tom, it’s me. Karen.” As if he might have forgotten the sound of her voice. “I’m sorry to wake you.”

“No, that’s okay. What is it? Is something wrong?”

She imagined him sitting up on the side of the bed, raking a hand through his hair and blinking, trying to come fully awake. “Why would you think something’s wrong?”

“You sound funny.”

Pain pinched at her heart at the concern in his voice. “It’s Dad. He…he passed away early this morning.” That sounded so much better than
died.
As if he’d passed on to something else. Something better, she hoped.

“I’m sorry. That’s really rough.”

She nodded. Her throat and jaw ached from holding back tears. “It’s bad. But…he looked, I don’t know…peaceful. I thought he was getting better, but there was still so much he couldn’t do….” She shook her head. “Del came right over, and he was a big help.”

“How’s your mom?”

“Del called her. She sounded okay. A little shook up, but you know Mom. Nothing gets her down for long.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll let you know as soon as I call the airlines.”

“Then you’ll come?”

“Of course I’ll come. Unless you don’t want me there.”

“No, I want you here. It’s just, when you left here the other day, things were so up in the air.”

“We can talk about that later.”

“No!” She took a deep breath and spoke more softly. “I need to talk about it now. Before you come back here.”
Before I lose my courage.

“You’re upset now. This can wait.”

“No. We’ve waited too long already.”

He sighed. The sigh of a man dealing with a stubborn child. The sound angered her. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” she said. “And I’ve made some decisions.”

“All right. What have you decided?”

She thought of her father in the jungle, waiting on birds; and Mary Elisabeth headed to California; and Casey, who saw his future as an adventure waiting to be discovered. “Dad and I were talking the other day, and he told me that sometimes the most difficult thing is the only thing you can do. The thing your soul needs you to do. For him, that thing was birding.”

“And what is that thing for you?” His voice was flat, like a stranger’s.

“For me—I think it’s finding away to make our marriage work.” She’d contemplated leaving. Moving out and starting over. That would be painful, but easier than staying and hashing things out. And it wasn’t what her soul wanted. Something in the very kernel of her being told her she still loved Tom deeply, though she hadn’t done a good job of showing him. She wanted to stay and do the work necessary to develop that feeling into something big and wonderful.

“I want that, too.” The chill in his voice had vanished, and she could almost see his shoulders slumped in relief.

“There’s something else, though,” she said. “Something else I need.”