The Release of Secrets_Littlest Sparrow Gone

by Megan Maguire

  I repeated what you said, told him that the story of the objects is more important than the physical objects themselves. That what you say about it may be more meaningful than what people see. He liked that, Grady. The boy is nine, but he’s interested in what you’re doing. He declared the other day that his Wunderkabinett would be the best in the State, a draw to the lodge if he’s allowed to display it in the lobby. A genius, I tell ya. A genius at nine. At that age, I rode my bike day and night, went fishing, didn’t read much. Have I mentioned that? You remember? Same with my son, he was athletic, but not his boy. I’m afraid if he doesn’t stop parading around the herbal tea he’s concocted from plants on the property, kids will be calling him a sissy. Tea, Grady. Not the same herbs we were always after in the sixties.

  Gotta love him. That’s all we can do is love our kids. You get it? You hear me? I’ll spare you my lecture about your grandson. Just let him be.

  Felix

  • • •

  “Wunderkabinett.” Nate smiles. He crawls across the rug to set the letter back in my hand, then drops his phone in my lap. “Look at it,” he says. I pick it up … the birth certificate of Nathan Patrick Harlow is on the screen. “I asked my mom to take a photo of it to get Brad off my back. What’s wrong with that guy?”

  “Everything,” I mutter. “You don’t have to prove—”

  “You asked.”

  “Asked what?” I move a wisp of hair off his forehead.

  “Asked Brad what he was getting at, what he meant by not finding any record of us from when we were young. You asked. Here’s your proof.”

  “That’s why you took off?”

  “You were questioning me. I had to think of a way to prove it to you.”

  “You don’t have to prove a thing. And I didn’t question you, Brad did.”

  “What do you call it then? I saw your face. You have your doubts about who I am.”

  I shake my head. “Wrong. You’re so wrong about that.”

  The weightless fug of smoke circles us. We exchange unending stares that become apologetic glances. A minute passes. My face feels flush. His eyes covet me, an expression that leads me forward. Reeled in and caught. I try to kiss him, but he turns away with a grin.

  “You have to earn it,” he says, moving back to my mouth, lips honeyed with drink.

  “Fucking tease. You’re worse than me.”

  “Talk to me first. What else is in that stack of letters?”

  “A lot. But I haven’t read them all. I can’t just rip them open all at once.”

  “I say go ahead and rip ’em open.” He teeters back and sits cross-legged again, taking a long pull of beer. “Connor never mentioned his plan for his collection. I would’ve remembered that.”

  “Did you ever see Grady’s bone collection? As a whole?”

  “Nope. Just him cleaning them.”

  “What about my granddad? You must’ve met him.”

  “Not that I recall. What else did he say?”

  I slide another letter to him, this one with an even bigger surprise than the last.

  • • •

  Grady and Gert,

  When can Carol and I get another helping of that chili? Fantastic! Or, as my granddaughter would say, ‘cool beans.’ I don’t know if that’s the right expression given that the beans were so darn hot, not cool. Perhaps ‘awesome opossum’ works better. She also says that. Was it opossum chili? Whatever the secret ingredient was, do share. We ate the rest of it today for lunch. The best we’ve had. Thank you, friends.

  I may stop by this week to return the Tupperware and to tell you about this in person. Long story short, one of the guests found a tooth—a child’s tooth sitting on top of a tree stump! The tears on our faces when we got the news. The family was in the dark for two days. We kept saying it couldn’t be Eli’s. It’s been too long. Couldn’t be his. I was going to ask you to pray for us. Please, friends, pray. Can you believe it? Me of all people, asking for prayers.

  Turns out Connor punched his little friend and knocked out a tooth. He got that squirrely Brenner boy good. Connor denies it, won’t tell us what the fight was over. Not a peep is coming from that boy. So unlike him. The other one too. His daddy came over about it, wanted to find out what happened. You know anything? You see anything?

  Connor’s grounded now. You shouldn’t see him in the pines again until summer. My son didn’t even know he’d been out there. Birdbrained parents. Birdbrained boys. Foolish fight, I’m guessing.

  But the good news, it wasn’t Eli’s tooth. Bad news … where is my grandbaby? Those boys stirred up the past like it was yesterday. So much pain, if you could feel it for just a minute. There’s no relief from it. None.

  All the years Carol and I said we weren’t much for religion, never went to church, tell us, have we made a mistake? Are we damned? I feel it now. Damned to hell. Could be the reason we’re cursed. Could be why we lost him. Is it punishment? Do you believe that? What do you think? Tell us it’s not true. Tell us abandoning religion hasn’t cast a shadow over our lives. Tell us our little grandbaby isn’t gone forever. Tell us.

  My Eli … the Whitfield treasure. Call me unrealistic, but you watch, you watch my friends. My treasure hunt will bring my grandbaby home.

  Felix

  • • •

  “The Whitfield treasure is Eli?” Nate rubs his chin. “The hunt wasn’t a marketing ploy to bring guests out to the lodge for business, but—”

  “It was a treasure hunt to find my brother. My granddad kept that from us.”

  “Grady kept that from me, too. Unreal. And the fight?”

  “Had no clue. No one ever told me about it. I must’ve been sent to stay with Joss when it happened, or I would’ve noticed the cops and all the commotion.”

  “Bet they were protecting you from the stress. Hard to know how a kid will react to someone finding a tooth on the property.”

  “True. But still, these decades-old secrets about Connor and my granddad are surreal.”

  “Maybe you only remember what you want. You could’ve blocked out a lot from when you were a kid.”

  “What, like amnesia? No way.”

  “Do you have a lot of memories of Eli?”

  I shake my head and look over at the fire, the last log dying out. I bite my nail and think about the few memories I do have of him. One, when I was sitting in this same spot when I was a toddler. My favorite doll was on my lap, and Connor was playing on the floor with his plastic dinosaurs. We had just finished lunch, the afternoon sun had expanded through the back windows, and Eli was asleep in my dad’s arms, his tiny hand attached to my dad’s finger. They were on the floor with us, my dad humming a peaceful lullaby, rocking him. It’s a sweet memory. That’s what I have of Eli—sweet memories.

  Nate fiddles with his cell, bringing up a music playlist. He selects a song I’ve heard before, but I can’t remember the name of the band. He cradles his knees close to his chest and rocks to the music. A smile. I can tell he’s thinking about me.

  He turns shyly away and watches the fire in silence, drinking his beer while admiring the massive log mantel and two-story fieldstone fireplace, the main interior feature of the lodge. My mom sat next to it when she returned home from the hospital after giving birth to each of us. And it’s where she wanted to be during the final weeks of her life. She said after she was gone, she’d be watching over me whenever I sat here. If I needed her, she’d be here in this spot. If that’s true, if she is here, I want her to see everything I’ve found. These are her mysteries, too.

  Nate turns up the volume on his cell, pulling me from my daydreams. I can’t help but fall into the music, dipping my head to the intoxicating voice.

  “It’s called ‘It’s Been Awhile,’ ” he says as if he knew I was about to ask.

  “I’ve heard it. What band?”

  “Staind. Meatier than Hanson.” He grins around his beer, his dimple back in play.


  I step like a crab over the objects to sit within his reach. “I like it. It’s like bar music.”

  “Bar music you slow dance to when you wanna knock a woman off her feet and get laid.”

  I blush. A strand of his dark hair hangs over his forehead, lips glossy from beer.

  “What?” he whispers.

  I run my fingers through his hair, my cheeks lifting, eyes smiling. “I’ve already been knocked off my feet, Nate.” I blush hotter.

  His forehead rests on mine. He puts his hand on my knee and our toes curl together. This setting, the solitude of us in this dark room alongside the fire, the song that lulls us but also turns us feverish; it’s all too much.

  “I’m lonely, Salem.” He defeats me with his husky voice and blue eyes.

  I touch his hand and say my next words without reluctance. I know what will come of them, and I know I want it now more than ever.

  “I am too, Nate. We can fix that.”

  He looks up with a loaded grin, his head tilting to the balcony, to my private quarters, and back at me. “We can definitely fix that.”

  My insides catch fire, becoming hot and liquid, his hands already pulling at my shirt.

  • • •

  The rain from earlier has trickled to a stop. My bedroom window is bathed in condensation, the dim shadow of tree branches in a sleepy dance on the ceiling. Nate’s magnetic, standing over my bed, eyeing my nude body. I do the same. Take in his tight stomach and the outline of his abs. I shove my hands under my thighs to keep from biting my nails. My fingers are cold as ice, feet rubbing quickly together in anticipation. His hands shake as he removes his black boxers and climbs on top of me.

  A questioning look, his eyes focused, narrow, checking for any reservations about this before we begin. None. I tap the condom wrapper in his hand and pull the covers over our heads. Our breath mingles in the dark, his more pronounced than mine. I’ve thought about this. I know exactly how Nate will be in bed by the way he kisses: delicate at first, sweet as lemon pudding, sure to pleasure me before he comes.

  But unexpectedly, he takes me without any need for foreplay. I squeeze my eyes shut with his first thrust inside, tingling sensations capturing me whole. He thrusts again, the motion sucking the air out of my lungs. I moan his name before his tongue slips past my lips, the bed erupting, pulled in by damp heat.

  “Oh, God.” He breathes.

  I can sense his smile under the covers, guttural sounds growing louder, knowing it’s all because of me. I’m not ashamed that I can’t control my hands or the sounds that I’m making. Not ashamed of how wet he makes me.

  He bites my chin, releasing a twirl of magical, lambent light behind my eyelids. The room disappears. The lodge. Past. Present. Only the two of us remain.

  “Yes. Yes.” His muscles ripple and waves of heat pulsate through his body.

  He sucks my tongue and sinks between my legs, making me come fast and hard. I pull him closer, grazing my toes along the back of his legs as he exhales a paralyzing breath into the passing night.

  fifteen

  The morning starts with bitter cold sweeping in, winter back in the air. Nate’s scent leaks from my pores. We stare at one another from across the sitting room. He and Jim drink their coffees and spread contagious yawns, while Joss and I wear horseshoe grins without a trace of regret.

  Joss knew right away when she saw Nate and me this morning that we’d fucked, but waited until now to ask if it was a tinsel night. A phrase she’s used since high school, meaning casual sex is a tasteless ritual, fake and cheap. Tinsel-like. Except her definition doesn’t fit how she’s been acting around Jim, and sleeping with Nate last night didn’t seem casual or fake. The phrase was fitting when we were younger but has since lost its kick.

  “It sounds old-school now, doesn’t it? Time to rename it,” I tell her.

  “Jim’s a good fuck so we can call it that.”

  I laugh, nodding toward two women walking down the stairs. “Hold back on the good fucks,” I whisper. She pops her cinnamon gum, curls dropping free from her ponytail, her white helmet under one arm and tan boots stained a deep purple from the grape juice processing plant.

  The women admire the maps on the tabletops and gaze at the small, octagon window that’s near the ceiling. Centered on the glass is a sparrow created from mica flakes. It shines like gold when the sun’s out, dull now, bottled in a gray day.

  “Mica night sounds better than tinsel,” I say. More romantic. We’ll call it that since all of us have a happy twinkle in our eyes.”

  “Still on that subject?” Joss pops her gum, tosses an eye roll. “Cheesy, babe. How was it, anyway?”

  “You know … spectacular. Especially the second time.”

  If we were alone, I’d tell her how I kept thinking with amazement while we fucked that this is actually happening, I’m having sex again!

  “About time. You’ve got some catching up to do.”

  “To you?” I snort. “That’ll be impossible.”

  Her delighted little cackle startles the two women. She mouths sorry to them before waving Jim over.

  “Hey, I forgot to tell you, my granddad wrote in one of his letters about Connor and Brad getting in a fight. You remember that? Something big must’ve happened between them. Connor knocked out Brad’s tooth.”

  Joss tilts her head to put on her helmet, struggling with the chinstrap. I help her snap it and lower her goggles over her eyes.

  “Connor didn’t fight,” she says.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  She waves to Jim once more. “Come on, kiss me goodbye before I leave for work.”

  “Get your ass over here,” he says, arm extended.

  She presses her lips together, placing her hands on her hips. Her cheeks puff out and turn red. Joss’s power trips are playful, but usually don’t go over well with most men. Jim’s one of the few who doesn’t much care.

  “Watch the language and get moving,” she seethes through her clamped overbite, vying for control.

  “All right, woman.” He finger-combs his beard downward, dragging his feet across the room in protest. Like her, I can tell he’s hamming it up.

  Joss’s hands are slapped away from her hips when he reaches her side, his macho grip moving in. He draws her forward and gives her a hard kiss.

  “Coming back?” he asks, raising her goggles back up.

  “Maybe.” She smirks. “If you want.”

  “I want. I absolutely, positively want.”

  “Good. What’re you gonna do today while I’m out working for a living?”

  “You guys sound like an old married couple,” Nate says, getting a dirty look pitched back from Jim … and more dirty looks from the older women.

  “Searching for the treasure,” Jim says, eyeing Nate before turning back to Joss. “I’ll find it and share it with you.”

  Nate hasn’t told him the treasure is Eli, and I’m not about to either. Jim’s search will get him out of the lodge and keep him busy for the day.

  “Martin’s Bar tonight?” Joss asks.

  “My room.” He nuzzles her neck.

  “Hold up. You said I’m whipped. Me?” Nate’s powerful voice diverts the room, causing the women to click their tongues. We disgust them, too loud and too forward. Nate catches on, sips his coffee and unfolds the newspaper to disengage.

  “Joss, get your coat. It’s cold this morning,” I tell her.

  “I will. See ya, badass.” She gives Jim a peck on the cheek.

  “See ya, gingerbread.”

  I laugh. “Gingerbread?”

  “Her eyes,” he says, “look at her big brown eyes. Gorgeous.”

  If this is an act, it’s a good one. I had him pegged for a beast when he first arrived. Being quick to judge is the M.O. in this business. People come and go so fast that it’s hard not to form an opinion about a guest when they first walk in. But Jim threw me for a loop. Could be all the sex
that’s sweetened him up. Could also be that he likes her, I should hope.

  Joss flicks her eyes to each of us to say goodbye, but she doesn’t make it out of the room. Her focus turns to the wavering ceiling lights.

  The hairs on my arms stand on end. Nervousness swells in the pit of my stomach, the same feeling I had after my dream about Eli.

  What the hell’s wrong with the lights?

  Nate sets the paper down and looks up. “What is that?”

  “Power surge, I think.” I draw in my bottom lip. “Maybe?” My unsteady voice isn’t reassuring. The lights flash before diminishing to a pulsating glow. The coils in the incandescent bulbs move like blood pumping through a restricted vein, squeezing and releasing. “I’ll check the fuse box. Joss, unplug my computer for me.”

  “Will do.”

  “Fuse box? This place is ancient,” Jim says. “Light’s are still on, by the way. It’s not a fuse.” He stares at the ceiling.

  “Check it anyway.” Joss unsnaps her helmet on her way to the desk.

  The lights go out, colors fade to the cool spectrum, and faces grow pallid. Joss tosses me the flashlight from behind the desk, and I hurry to the laundry room off the lobby. The lights come back on before I can get the box open. When I do, no fuses are blown. Nothing has melted. Nothing blackened. Everything looks fine.

  “It’s not a fuse!” I holler.

  “Told ya,” Jim answers, the door chime stifling his words.

  I walk backward and poke my head into the lobby, listening to the high-pitched notes singing from the front door. Closed, I might add. The door is closed. “Damn hunk of wood. I swear that thing is possessed.”

  “Bogeyman’s back,” Nate says. He leans against the doorjamb to the sitting room and crosses his arms. “Or something’s drawing out the power. I haven’t heard any lightning though.”