“No, wait,” I called after them. That dad totally had a pair of binoculars strapped to his chest. He didn’t even have a neck band. This guy was the real deal. “We want your count!” I caught up to them. “I’ll walk you past them. They won’t bother you. Go count birds.”
“Well…” He looked unconvinced.
“I saw a scarlet tanager,” I said. It wasn’t here and it was days ago, but those were irrelevant details at the moment.
“Are you serious?” said the dad.
“Yes, sir.”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Okay.” He picked up the littlest boy and followed me past Elder Oak to the woodland path.
“If he’s not here, try around the pond next,” I said.
The dad nodded.
I walked back to Risa, Richard, and Louise. “Almost lost that one,” I said.
Risa grinned. “You are a real asset to the cause,” she said.
The familiar heat pinged the back of my neck. “Yeah, but the cashier at Food World kinda told me off this morning about this.” I waved at the feeble protest. “Bill Andrews has people thinking that the Pond and Wood are coming for their children and careers.”
Louise sighed. “That guy. He’s drinking buddies with the deputy mayor. I would have thought he’d be dedicated to the truth. But no. Disappointing.”
“So what do we do?” said Risa.
“We talk to her,” said Richard, pointing at Ellie King. She walked up to the protestors.
“Hi there,” she said to them. “Anyone want to speak on camera?”
Oh, did they ever. Everybody seemed to think that the only thing keeping Shunksville from being great again was nature. After listening to the protestors talk about jobs and access and opportunity, Ellie King wandered over to us.
“Hey, Risa, thanks for the tip,” she said.
“I’m sorry we went to Bill Andrews first,” she said.
“It was my fault. He seemed so trustworthy,” I said.
Ellie King shrugged. “No worries. He took the information … in a different direction. But he’s not on Sunday nights. I am.” She smiled at us. “Want to share your thoughts on the matter?”
I cleared my throat. I should really be helping children quietly observe color variation on male and female avian species. But next year at this time, there might not be any avian species to observe. “Okay,” I said.
Humidity plastered my hair to my scalp and I probably should have worn cleaner shorts, but surely the camera need not pan down that far.
Besides, I was wearing Risa’s sweatshirt. It made me feel brave.
Ellie King came close to me.
“Ready?” she said.
“Yup,” I said. I wasn’t. Not even a little. Gran, help me, I thought.
Sure enough, a mystery call sounded from Elder Oak, loud and clear. Wide-eyed, I looked at Risa.
“On it,” she said, and ran straight toward the protestors.
“What’s your name?” Ellie King asked.
“Laurel Graham.”
“And you work here at the nature reserve?”
“Yes. My grandmother lives … um … lived on the other side of the woods until recently. She took me birding since before I could walk. I went to nature camp every summer until I was old enough to volunteer. This is my junior co-op for Greater Shunksville High School. I was allowed to extend it through the summer.”
“Would you say the pond and forest are important to you?”
“Um…” I bit my lip and looked over to Risa gazing up at the sky through her binos. “This place is my life. It’s the life of Shunksville, too, even if people don’t know it. The diversity of swimming things and crawling things and flying things rely on plants and the plants rely on them. And we rely on the plants. Honeybees hide in the sunflower field at the edge of the woods on the southern side. Blight is wiping so many bees out. Our colonies in Shunksville have been growing. If someone paved part of the wetlands, or tore down any of the maple or oak or spruce … it wouldn’t be pretty. We might not realize it right away, but a few years down the line, this place would be a little grayer. A little dimmer, and hotter, and worse. This place is already a school for so many children. Putting up buildings here is not needed.”
“But what about the construction jobs and development the new district could bring?”
“I’ve seen the reports about building here. I don’t think this land is suitable for development. It would be more trouble than it’s worth in not much time. The natural space does us more good for longer. And how many jobs would really be created? Construction is just temporary. Would businesses come if the unified district were built here? Would more people want to live here? Strip malls? This space makes Shunksville worth living in.”
“Thank you,” said Ellie King. Her cameraperson put his camera down. “That was great.”
“Are you going to ignore me and just agree with the mayor?” I said.
“Oh, no. That’s my friend Bill’s job. Noon and weekend anchors do what we want,” she said.
The dad and the three little boys emerged from the other side of Jenkins Wood trail. “Saw the tanager!” he shouted at me, scaring one protestor who hadn’t seen the dad emerge.
“Excuse me,” said Ellie King. “Going to try to talk to him.”
Risa huffed out from the path a few minutes later. She jogged over to Richard, Louise, and me. “Followed”—she breathed hard—“the fucker. Couldn’t”—she inhaled sharply—“catch it. Damn it. Now going to see”—she breathed in again—“tanager. Will text if I see your bird.” She ran off.
“Thank you for trying,” I called after her. I figured she wouldn’t be able to get it. Ghost jay or something else, the little shithead delighted in remaining hidden.
Fortunately the protestors got sick of no one really paying attention to them and they left before lunch. Grateful for the returned silence, I agreed to read books to Karen’s crew for a full half hour until my shift ended.
I thought about asking Risa if she wanted to hang out, but my phone buzzed in my pocket. Come home! Mom said.
Everything okay? I texted.
Mom didn’t reply.
Shit. This was it. This was the end of Gran. The accident I’d caused had finally killed her.
My phone buzzed again. Everything fine. Gran okay. Just come home.
I sucked in the cool June air. Okay, Mom, jeez. Way to practically give a girl a heart attack.
Risa was still out looking for the tanager, so I waved to the three of them and ran over to my bike. I rode home wondering what was happening. Maybe Mom didn’t have to sell Gran’s house? Maybe we were going to move in? It was smaller and less convenient for her than our place, but I could live with that. I could sleep in the loft. I’d have to build the loft first …
I pulled into our driveway and noticed the lumberjack’s car in the driveway. Was he going to help move us? He could be useful in some instances.
My bike fell in a heap against the side of the house and I took the front steps two at a time to get in quicker. Inside, Mom and Brad sat on the couch, calmly gazing into each other’s eyes. Mom looked up and grinned at me.
“Are we moving to Gran’s?” I said.
“Honey, what?” said Mom.
“Are we moving? Is that your news? Did you save the house?”
Mom’s face fell. “Oh, no. That’s not … I’m sorry. It still belongs to the city on Friday.”
“Wait, this Friday?” How was it the end of June already?
“Technically I guess it’s July first, but figured why worry about it over another weekend. No.” Mom looked at Brad. “We have some news.”
I shivered then.
I balled my fists around the cuffs of Risa’s sweatshirt.
Mom had said “we.” Not “we” as in “Laurel and Mom,” since there had been no real “Laurel and Mom” since Gran’s accident. That meant that “we” meant “Brad and Mom.” Mom was forty-seven, so the statistical likelihood that Brad had got
ten her pregnant remained blessedly low. The alternative to pregnancy, however, was …
“Brad proposed!” Mom held out her hand. A shiny diamond glittered in the sunshine sneaking in through the front door.
“Oh,” I said, unable to spin this to positive effect in my head. I looked at Brad.
“Guess I’ll be your stepdad, kiddo.”
“Oh,” I said again.
I took a step back from them. And another. And another. I only stopped because my back hit the door.
“That’s—really something, guys. Yeah. Wow.”
My body glued itself inconveniently to the door, so I couldn’t open it and run down the street screaming. Mom was marrying this rando? Was she out of her mind? She’d known him for weeks? Granted the man had gotten my name right, but …
“We’re thinking of eloping. Maybe in August?”
“August. This August? Wow.”
“Are you happy, honey?” Mom got up from the couch.
Happy? The woman was seriously asking me if I was happy? This could only end in disaster.
“Sure, Mom. Sure.”
“Oh, Laurel.” She unpeeled me from the door. “Thank you. I need this. We need this, baby.”
Now “we” seemed to mean “Mom and Laurel,” for reasons beyond my comprehension.
“Yeah. Great. Cool,” I said. “Congrats, Mom. Congrats, Brad.”
Brad got up, too.
Mom let me go and put her arm around him. Brad was smart enough to sense that he was not in the hug zone with me and came no farther. He tilted his head, considering my face. Mom believed I could be happy for her, but this guy seemed more canny than that.
Go figure.
“Okay, welp. I should go. I have more, um, stuff to do. Yup. Stuff. Great news! Keep me updated. Bye!” I said. I rounded on the door and threw myself out of it. I got on my bike and pedaled. Away from there. Away from Mom and Brad and my house and my stupid life. Without really paying attention to where I was going, I found myself at the start of the bike trail up the mountain. The one that crossed over the site of Gran’s accident. Where I’d ignored her and let her be nearly killed until she was trapped in the body of a bird or maybe just a coma patient. That was my fault. Somehow that meant that Mom’s mistake with Brad landed on me, too. Without Gran’s accident, she wouldn’t be looking for comfort in a well-maintained beard.
The bike path ends at the top of the mountain, at the sidewalk adjacent to Grandview Cemetery. I stopped at a water fountain near a bench and then sat down. I called Sophie.
“Hey,” I said.
“What’s up?” she said. “Great timing, again! Any Risa news?”
“Mom got engaged.”
“Are you serious? Your mom? To the lumberjack?”
“Yup.”
“Well, fuck me. Didn’t see that coming. You okay?”
“Yeah. No. I don’t know.”
“Shit. I gotta go. It’s my day to help with the younger campers and we just finished lunch. I’ll text you as soon as I can. Hang in there, okay?”
“Miss you,” I said.
“Miss you, too.”
I held my phone in my lap and it buzzed again. I hoped Sophie actually could talk, but it was a text from Mom. Brad and I going to celebrate. We know you are busy! See you later, honey. Yay!
I shook my head. Mom. Honestly. What the ever-living fuck?
I rode around some more, stopping only for ice cream downtown. I pedaled over to the hospital to sit with Gran. She smelled clean. Someone had washed and combed her hair, neatly separating the thin silver strands. I tucked them behind her ears. She preferred her hair in a bandanna or artfully poofed into an old lady halo, but that required equipment and a sense of purpose that I lacked.
“Mom’s engaged,” I said.
Beep. Wheeze.
“Maybe she told you. Have you met Brad? He has a beard. It’s his most distinguishing feature.”
Twitch.
No more words came into my head. Gran’s hand sat cool in my own. Cooler than before? Hard to say. It seemed like it. Her skin paler, face more slack. How many days would this happen? How many days would the indomitable Aurora Fowler continue to waste away like this?
“I just can’t find the bird, Gran,” I said. “You’re too fast. It’s too fast. Maybe there is no bird. Maybe it’s a squirrel.”
Goddamn it, the suet. I vowed I’d do it this week for sure. At least once before the city came for the house and yard and garden. Gran had some “Squirrel-B-Gone” in the storage bench. I’d show those assholes. It’d be my last act before the end. I’d sit there until a downy woodpecker showed up even if it meant I waited there for days.
Anything beat having to share space with the soon-to-be newlyweds.
An hour passed. I stroked Gran’s cheek like she used to do when I was little to wake me up. It soothed me, even if Gran didn’t move.
“Time for the Sunday news, Gran,” I told her. “I might be on.” I found her remote thingy and tapped the TV button. It lit up and I flipped to channel eight.
The catchy news music crackled from Gran’s speaker.
“Gran, it might be that Bill Andrews filled my heart with hate, but this theme song crushes Channel Four’s,” I said.
“Good evening,” said Ellie. “We start tonight with updates on the Hornerstown sewer line project.”
Sewers were big news in Shunksville. Ellie and Man Ellie talked about sewers and a coming heat wave and a shooting and the planned Fourth of July parade route. I looked at my watch.
“It’s six twenty-five, Gran. I guess I’ll get going. Visiting hours are over soon.”
“After the break—city hall is for the birds!” said Ellie King.
“Okay, I’ll stay,” I said to the TV.
After a tampon commercial and Red Lobster ad, Ellie King was back. “Plans for the united Shunksville-Martinsville-Richburg merger are moving forward at the July tenth school board meeting,” she said. “The special summer session was seemingly called to specifically get the merger underway without much local opposition or input.”
“Ellie King is my queen,” I said to Gran.
The news showed shots of protestors and an interview with a construction worker who hadn’t had a job in several months, even though spring and summer used to be the busy season. Ellie King explained that even though there were problems with the Shunksville site, there were also possible economic benefits.
“But is progress at the expense of our environment really worth it? Especially if the available land will end up causing problems down the line?” Ellie King asked.
And then.
I appeared on screen.
“Shit, Gran,” I said. I turned up the volume as high as it would go.
“… A little dimmer, and hotter, and worse. This place is already a school for so many children. Putting up buildings is not needed,” I finished. They’d played every word I said.
“Ohhhhh, shit,” I said.
The camera showed the studio again.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” said the guy anchor.
“Food for thought, that’s for sure,” said Ellie King.
“That’s all for Sunday. Now it’s time for NBC Nightly News with…”
I switched the TV off. They’d put my full name under my talking head. (My hair looked pretty good, all things considered. Fuck me if I’m not vain enough to care.)
My phone buzzed.
HOLY SHIT, texted Risa.
You saw it? I wrote back.
OF COURSE I DID.
A lot of people probably don’t watch news on Sunday, right?
Nah. Probably not. You did great though!
You think?
Yeah, the camera makes people ten times hotter, she said.
My cheeks burned, even though I was alone with Gran and her roommate.
I hadn’t heard that.
Truth, she said.
I slid out of Gran’s room and kept looking over my shoulder as I followed
the yellow line on the floor to the exit. No one seemed to notice me leaving. This was good. People were at work. They barbecued or swam or mowed their lawns. No one watched Ellie King.
Most probably tuned in to Bill Andrews’s weekend counterpart, anyway. At least they did if Channel Four’s “the tri-county area’s most watched local news” ad was true.
Outside, I rode home with a golden post-solstice breeze brushing my face. I let myself into the dark Momless house, ate the rest of the leftovers in the fridge, took a shower, and went to bed. The sun hung in the sky for hours. I just lay in my bed, watching the shadows dance on the floor as my curtains billowed in the wind.
I fell asleep with Risa’s sweatshirt tucked under my chin.
FIELD JOURNAL ENTRY
JUNE 26
The best part of Wednesday was learning that Cambria County had pounded Westmoreland into bird-count dust. The worst part of Wednesday was learning that people not only watched Ellie King on Sunday evening; they liked her on Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday at lunch as well.
Some of those people were kind.
“You did real good, kid,” said Jerry. “Real good.”
“Brilliant. You were brilliant,” said Louise.
“Truly,” said Richard.
Random strangers had started to come up to me on my way in and out of the hospital as well. Ellie King stirred up a lot of positive feelings for the nature reserve. Birdscout sign-ups shot up over four hundred percent from last year.
Those feelings ran rather heated on the other side, too. More disaffected workers with posters showed up and practically took over Elder Oak until Jerry forced them away from the path. When I walked by, they legit hissed at me, like geese. Then Bill Andrews, the mayor, the deputy mayor, and even one of the state senators stopped by to get on camera saying how the environment remained a priority, but so did jobs.
“Why is it either-or?” I said. “Why can’t they find some other place in Shunksville to put the stupid schools?”
“I don’t know,” said Risa. “Probably something to do with saving money or because they can or because they don’t understand about migration. They really shouldn’t fuck with the honeybees, either.”
The Confusion of Laurel Graham Page 18
