When it stopped, Risa spoke. “Decent recording. App thinks it’s a northern mockingbird. But it’s only a thirty percent match. That’s the thing about mockingbirds, though. They can imitate others. So maybe that’s it, and maybe it’s not.”
“Let’s walk around again. Try to get a good look at it. Try to get a picture,” I said.
Sparrows and grackles and a hawk made appearances to Risa and me. The app positively identified every one of them. We saw mallards arguing with Canada geese and that was fun until about eight in the morning, when my bino strap was starting to cut into my neck and Risa’s phone battery approached death.
“This was not as successful as I had hoped.”
“We heard him! And maybe we have an ID. Seems positive to me,” she said.
“Gran would have recognized a mockingbird.”
“But…,” Risa started.
“They imitate, I know. But she was interested enough to go after it, which meant that she had no idea. Maybe she wouldn’t have. I don’t know.” I leaned against a tree, defeated.
“I have a friend at the Science Museum. The one who told me that they were giving away the wing movement statue. Maybe he could help us,” she said. She put her hand on my shoulder. The warmth of it crept in.
“Yeah?” I said.
Risa laughed. “I have a car we could use if you want to go. They have a killer bird section. I mean, not just predators. But a really good one. They have a bird call library, too.”
I felt encouraged by this. She was practically drooling at the thought of the exhibit.
“That good, huh?” I said.
“Totally.” She looked relieved that I seemed less likely to burst into tears. “You busy Sunday? How about we go? A couple of hours at most.”
“I want to,” I said. It was an incredibly generous offer, particularly from a person I thought I hated and who I thought hated me until fairly recently. “I should go see what they are doing with Gran. Can I text you later?”
“Sure,” she said. She moved toward me and held out her hand like she was going to shake mine.
My blank stare amused her.
“You still have my travel mug.”
“Oh! Right! Sorry,” I said, handing back the sloshy coffee cup I’d wedged in my coat’s deep pockets.
Risa took it from me and we both kind of stared at each other, close up.
Man, her hair looked great. And gray really was her color.
“Okay. Well. Bye,” she said. She leaned in toward me. She casually slipped one arm loosely around my back. Having someone so warm and solid up close caused the tension in my shoulders to involuntarily relax.
She pulled back. “See you, Laurel,” she said.
“Bye.” I think I said it. I tried to say it. But I had lost the ability to communicate in words.
I watched her even, easy stride shrink him into the distance. I shivered a little bit, even though the sun warmed the earth and leaves around me. Surely I didn’t now like Risa? I mean. She was still my sworn Fauna competition even if she was no longer my enemy. And relationships were a bad idea in general, right? They just left you crying on Wednesday morning. Though, to be fair, none of the people that Mom rolled through the house had spent their free mornings staring into the sky in search of heavenly song, either.
That’s what Gran called birdsong. Heavenly.
Oh, Gran.
I shoved off on my trusty Trek, plodding my now well-worn path to meet Mom at the Place People Get Better or Die Trying. I still didn’t know into what category Gran fell, but there was nothing pretty about her new setup. We sat for an hour in silence. I could only really talk to Gran if it were just the two of us.
Before Mom and I left, I turned the television on to PBS, in case Nature came on. Gran also had a thing for Nova.
“How’s co-op?” Mom asked once we got home.
“Fine,” I said.
“Is it really?” she said.
“I guess.” I shrugged.
Mom rubbed her temples. Headaches were her new tears. “I just hope you are living life amid all this, Laurel.”
“I am living my life!” I said, ready to launch into the great things I was pursuing to change her world and mine, but stopped. I looked Mom up and down. She had her clean hair up. Red lipstick artfully curled around her lips, a gold eye shadow peeked out when she blinked. She’d opted for her red dress, the one with the fun belt.
She’d been living enough for her, Gran, and me lately.
“Are you going somewhere?” I said.
“Laurel, I need a little time for myself. To relax. Just a little, tonight. And I think you should focus on your photography again.”
“Time for yourself? Relax?”
“It’s only dinner,” she said. “Maybe a movie or something.”
“Oh. Okay. Wow. Brad? Good for you?” I said.
“Yes! Thanks, honey. I knew you would understand.” She beamed. “I just need to freshen up a little.”
She didn’t need to freshen up. She’d gone to see Gran looking like a million dollars.
I smiled, not knowing if I actually understood. I wanted to.
Sophie was in the throes of camp, so I couldn’t complain to her. I looked at my phone.
Did you really mean the thing about going to the museum together? I texted to Risa.
Ten minutes later she texted back. Car secured. It’s a go. Text me your address.
I did.
See you Sunday! she said.
Gran was living in the same room next to a stranger, Mom was all about Brad, and I was making plans with Risa. The world had turned upside down.
Though for some reason, that night I dreamed I was the mystery bird. Flying above the canopy of leaves, singing a song no one had heard before I chose to sing it.
FIELD JOURNAL ENTRY
JUNE 16
NOTABLE LOCATION: PENNSYLVANIA MUSEUM OF SCIENCE AND NATURAL HISTORY
I wrote Mom a note early in the morning. I didn’t know when she had come in the night before. Since that was the level of parental supervision I was working with, I didn’t think she’d care much about my wild day out to the Science Museum.
Risa pulled up to the curb in front of my house and clicked the locks open. “Ready for all the knowledge?” she asked.
“Always,” I said. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. We drove the rest of the way into the city in silence.
I forked over a good portion of my Nature Center earnings to pay for parking at the Science Museum. Risa said I didn’t have to, but it felt fair.
The inside teemed with tired parents being pulled from exhibit to exhibit by bouncy little kids. The flashy exhibits, like the live animals and the dinosaur skeletons, attracted most of their attention. The bird room was decidedly quieter.
“Ah,” said Risa. “Heaven.”
I laughed.
“Come on,” she said. “I called ahead.”
“Oh, did you get us a reservation in the cafeteria?” I said.
“Better,” she said.
It should be noted in the interest of scientific observation that Risa also had fantastic dimples. Like all of the world’s joy fit into tiny little indentations in her face when she smiled.
I should similarly note that I shook off that thought in the name of the mission in front of me.
We walked through the Hall of Ornithology, which was a giant arched tunnel painted the color of an autumn sunrise. Flocks of every imaginable species filled each inch of wall, and rows of consoles offered buttons to hear different calls.
“My friend George is going to meet us in a half an hour or so,” said Risa, looking at her phone. “For now we should try this. You start down there on that end. I’ll go down here.”
I obliged. Squawks and honks and whistles and cheeps echoed around the room from speakers suspended from the ceiling. My favorites were the thrushes—smooth like water over rocks in the summer. Gran and I would sometimes sleep outside in her yard in the July heat. I
’d fall asleep to a cricket symphony and wake up to the thrushes’ liquid song. Their breasts were speckled like the honey and cinnamon oatmeal we’d make in Gran’s fire pit. They liked to hide, but would come out if you sat really still and threw enough birdseed out onto the lawn. I closed my eyes and listened to their song over and over again.
“That sounds a little like it,” said Risa next to me. “But it’s less harsh. We need a harsh bird. Like a raven. Only more complex. Though, crows are pretty complicated, aren’t they? They remember the faces that feed or chase them. They find things. Anyway, thrushes sound more like a flute.”
I opened my eyes and threw her a look. Was she nervous? To be here with me?
“None of these match,” I said.
“Agreed.” She cleared her throat. “Hey, George is ready for us.”
I followed Risa out of the hall, through the taxidermied horror of the main display, and into a little room at the back that I’d never noticed on the million school trips I’d taken here.
“Hey!” said a large, bearded man. “See anything?”
“Here? Everything.”
George laughed. “You have a friend.”
“Hi. I’m Laurel,” I said, sticking out my hand.
“And you have a mystery for me, I’m told.”
“I do,” I said.
“Well, let’s hear it, then!” said George. “You could have just sent the digital file, you know.”
“What fun would that be?” Risa’s dimples said.
“Well, send it to me now, because that’s the highest sound resolution we are going to get. A copy of a copy isn’t going to get us anywhere.”
Risa emailed George her sound file. George brought it up on his computer and listened.
“Hmmm,” he said, stroking his beard. “Interesting.” He played it a few more times. “A mockingbird is a good guess. I don’t recognize it, exactly, which is saying something. It sounds like some sort of pigeon, mixed with a loon? No. Something like it. It’s a dense call, I’ll give you that. Let me feed it into the database.”
I watched George click and drag the file into a folder and bring up a few screens.
“It’ll take a few minutes to scan,” said George. He glanced over at me. “Been a while since we got a new one from around here. I’m pretty psyched.”
“Lots of birds depend on Sarig Pond and Jenkins Wood as a migration stop,” I said, reciting the words from the wooden sign at the gate leading to the walking paths.
“Kind of early for that, though. And only one? Most peculiar,” he said. “Excellent. All done. No exact match! This is fantastic!”
I frowned. “How is that fantastic?”
“It’s a challenge. We love a challenge. My buddy isn’t in today, but let me talk to him. I’ll have this bird for yinz in a week.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Thanks, kid,” he said to Risa. “Totally worth coming in on a Sunday.”
I wilted a little as we walked past stuffed peacocks and turkeys and Tour of North American Migration exhibit.
“Cheer up, Laurel. We got some of the best people on the case now.”
“I know. You’re right,” I said.
Risa grinned.
I noted her dimples for posterity one more time.
We drove back silently listening to “Warbley’s Classic Birdcalls” on the way home. Risa dropped me off and I noticed Mom’s car was gone.
“Hey, Laurel, I have something for you,” said Risa as I opened the car door.
“What more could there be after the trip to the Science Museum?”
“This,” she said, holding out a book.
“Warbley’s Birding Basics—A Field Guide and Life List,” I read aloud. “This is the limited-edition version—and it’s signed. Risa! I can’t accept this!”
“No, it’s cool. Seriously. Warbley did an event and my aunt got me one, and unbeknownst to her, my uncle got me one, too. People know I have a theme, so I have way too many bird-related items in my life. My room is an unkindness already.”
“What?”
“You know, of crows? A group of them is called an unkindness? And don’t even get me started about the Audubon Society clock. Instead of chiming, it bird calls on the hour. Right now it’s”—she checked her watch—“quarter past song sparrow.”
“I know this clock well,” I said, thinking of the two Gran used to have in the downstairs alone.
“We’ll find your bird. Birdscout’s honor.”
“Those are strong words there, invoking Birdscout honor.”
“I know it.”
“Well—thanks. This is awesome. Have a good night, Risa,” I said. I watched her drive away.
Inside, the house loomed dark. Mom had left me a note that she’d gone out on another “I need to live my life” date. She left dinner in the fridge. After I ate it, I got into my pajamas and flipped through Risa’s book. I heard my phone buzz from my coat on the floor. I picked it up and noticed about twenty missed texts from Sophie.
Hellllllo, are you alive?
Camp boys are killing me.
Are you out with the birds?
Did the birds kill you?
OMG TEXT BACK YOU HAVE BEEN EATEN BY AN ANGRY GOOSE.
You are right about geese, they are the ones who would take me out. Or turkeys, maybe. Toms are assholes, I texted back.
Sophie called right away. “She lives!” she said. “I was starting to worry.”
“Mom went out on a date,” I said.
Sophie groaned.
“Right? So, I, uh, went to the Science Museum. Um. With Risa. From co-op.”
“Wait, Risa? Risa Risa?”
“Is there another one?”
“Things warming up between you two since you figured out you weren’t ruining each other’s work.”
“She’s being helpful with the bird stuff.”
“Bird stuff. Got it.”
“As Brian Michael Warbley says, ‘A friend in birding makes the heart take flight.’” I rubbed my finger across that quote, gold-embossed across the back of my new journal.
Just then, I heard the door open downstairs.
“Mom’s back, gotta hide,” I said to Sophie.
“But wait, I need you to quote the bird guy to me some more,” said Sophie.
“I’ll text you later,” I said. She was lying; she already had more of Warbley’s wisdom in her life than she wanted. But I was not one to pass up an opportunity to share him with the world. For now I quickly flicked off my light and put my phone on its dock. I did not want to hear about ChetBrett or whoever it was Mom would want to talk about.
Mom padded up the steps and I heard the door creak as she peeked into my room. I closed my eyes and tried to even out my breathing. She crept over, kissed my head, and smoothed my hair. She wedged part of my comforter out from under me and pulled it up around my chin like she did when I was a little girl. I involuntarily snuggled into it. Mom pulled the door shut, leaving it open just a crack.
The day swirled around behind my eyelids. Mom could drive a person batty sometimes. But then her love tucked me in and kept me warm. Gran balanced that all out. Without her nearby, I tipped daily from one side to another. But tomorrow Richard and Louise might have some answers, and that could bring it all back to stasis again. I could record my observations in my sweet new bird journal.
It was worth a shot, anyway.
FIELD JOURNAL ENTRY
JUNE 17
After I showered, I made a mental to-do list for the day. The field trip with Risa (or maybe just Risa) had refreshed my weary spirit. I thought maybe I could go to city hall and try to get my hands on a few more reports.
(I didn’t think I’d know the person at the window, which might be a good thing given my recent run-ins with the Birdie Bros.)
Then I’d go visit Gran, and then I’d try to meet up with the dusk birders in case Richard or Louise had any new ideas. Along the way, I could try to get some shots for the Fauna contest.
I walked into the kitchen fantasizing about chocolate cereal to find Mom and Brad 2.0 gazing into each other’s eyes, deep in conversation.
“Oh,” I said.
Both of them looked startled.
“Honey!” Mom said.
“Just. Um. Getting breakfast before I go out for the day,” I said.
Dudes didn’t usually sleep at our house. At least, not to my knowledge. Maybe Mom got some under the radar (ew), but had enough courtesy to keep that far away from my line of vision or even thought. Though now, for some reason, Beardy McBasic warranted a spot at our table.
I could tell from his rumpled clothes and tousled hair that he probably hadn’t just dropped by.
“Hi, Laurel,” said Brad.
I stared at him. “Um. Hi, Brad.”
“Well, I should get going.” He looked at Mom, then at me, then back at Mom, as if he wanted one of us to tell him to stay.
“Okay. Cool. Bye,” I said.
“I’ll walk you out,” Mom said to him.
I sat at the table and soaked little chocolate wheat squares with almond milk. Normally this brought me a lot of joy, but today it just tasted like disappointment in Mom.
Mom returned to the kitchen just as I was finishing up.
“Do you want to tell me what that was about?” she said.
“Wait, what was about?” I said.
“You. Being weird with Brad. You are usually a morning person.”
“Mom,” I said. I gave her a look of my own. “Since when is it okay for your boyfriends to spend the night in this house? Do you even really know him? What if he tries to kill us in our sleep?”
She looked hurt. “You’re nearly an adult now, Laurel. I didn’t think this kind of thing would bother you.”
“Nearly? One second you’re telling me I shouldn’t worry about adult stuff with Gran. I should focus on photography and fun and whatever. But when you feel like doing whatever you want, then I am making a big deal. You date a lot of men, Mom. And you know what? Whatever. You do you. But I don’t want to know about it. At all.”
“You make it sound like I’m out every night with a different guy and that’s not fair. I’ve barely had a serious relationship in more than a decade. I’ve tried to focus on us. But Brad is the real deal. And I don’t appreciate your tone.”
The Confusion of Laurel Graham Page 14
