The Hummingbird House

by Donna Ball

  Josh stepped away abruptly, releasing Artie’s shirt. He was dimly aware that the woman at the table had taken out her phone and was punching three digits, keeping a wary eye on him as she did so. A quavery kind of tension still sang through his veins, a mixture of terror, grief, and rage, and he brought the back of his hand to his mouth uncertainly, blotting the spittle that had caught at the corner of his lips.

  Artie said, “What’s wrong, Josh?” And there was nothing more than gentle concern in his tone, or his voice. “You okay?”

  Josh’s throat was in a clutch and he couldn’t have answered if he’d wanted to. He pushed through the door of the Laundromat and out into the hot wet night just as the girl was putting away her phone. He heard Artie call his name but he just squeezed his eyes shut, shoved his hands deep into his empty pockets, and kept on walking.

  ~*~

  The Grand Old Opry turned out to be everything Annabelle had hoped it would be, and Megan, who had not expected anything at all, enjoyed herself mostly because her grandmother did. Afterwards they took a bus tour of the music district that included lunch at Jimmy Buffet’s restaurant, and, despite the fact that Annabelle was laughing and clapping along with the live music just like everyone else, she left her cheeseburger mostly untouched and Megan could tell she was exhausted by the time they returned to the hotel room.

  Annabelle was in the shower when Megan’s mother called. She had taken to turning off her phone during the day and simply checking in with her mother in the evenings. It was much simpler that way. Nonetheless, she knew without checking there would be three or four messages from her mother if she took the trouble to look. “Hi, Mom,” she said as she sank down onto the corner of her bed and kicked off her shoes. “I was just going to call you back. We’ve been touring Nashville all day and there wasn’t—”

  “Nick called me,” her mother said in a voice that was tight and clipped. “He said you weren’t answering your phone. He tried calling your grandmother’s house but of course there was no answer. He was afraid something was wrong. So he called me.”

  Megan closed her eyes and exhaled slowly through her nose. She could feel her throat start to tighten and there was a heavy, thudding knot in her chest where her heart used to be.

  “Imagine my surprise when I realized he had no idea you had taken off on your little madcap road trip,” her mother went on coolly. “And imagine how foolish I felt when he told me you hadn’t been living together for almost two months. When were you going to tell me, Meg? Ever?”

  Megan said, with her eyes still closed. “I’m sorry, Mother. I thought …”

  “What did you think, Megan?” Her mother’s voice was approaching shrill. “Or did you think at all? Could you tell me that for just once? Then maybe I’ll be able to sleep tonight!”

  “I thought,” Megan managed, with her eyes still closed, “we could work things out.”

  As her mother’s voice grew more strident, Megan’s voice grew smaller, quieter. In fact, her whole presence seemed to shrink, curling into itself like one of those human-sized balloon dolls that was slowly losing its air, until she knew that in another sentence, maybe two, there would be nothing of her left except the withered remnants of what she should have said.

  So when her mother replied sharply, “Well, it didn’t sound to me as though that was going to happen any time soon!” Megan opened her eyes. And she saw her grandmother standing at the open door of the bathroom, wrapped in her fluffy pink robe with the legs of her silk pajamas just visible below the hem, watching her with interest.

  Megan drew a breath. “What did Nick call about, Mom?”

  “He said his lawyer had some papers for you to sign. You can just imagine what papers those might be! The minute he mentioned lawyer, that’s when I knew something was wrong. Something my own daughter hadn’t even bothered to tell me about when we were standing in the same room together, when we talk on the phone every day, when …”

  Megan said, “Thanks, Mom. I’ll call him back.” Her eyes were on her grandmother, who nodded approvingly. “Everything is fine here. Gram sends her love. I’ll check in with you tomorrow. Good night.”

  She disconnected and hesitated for a moment before checking her call log. There were three missed calls from Nick. He hadn’t left a message on any of them.

  So then, she thought, and the pit of pain that opened up inside her was bottomless and cold and empty. It’s over. But what had she expected?

  Annabelle sat on the edge of her own bed, wedged off her slippers, and swung her feet up slowly onto the bed, using her hands to guide the leg that was stiffest. She propped up the pillows behind her back and reached for the remote control, flipping through the channels until she found a home renovation show they both liked. Megan slipped on her shoes.

  “I think I’ll go down to the bar for a little while,” she said.

  “Bring me a gin and tonic, will you, sweetie?”

  Megan forced a wooden smile as she bent to fasten her sandals. “Sure thing.”

  “The problem with your mother is that she’s afraid,” said Annabelle conversationally, and that was when Megan realized her grandmother had not turned up the volume on the television. “Afraid things will sneak up on her, get out of control, behave unpredictably. That’s why she’s such a pain about everything, really. She’s just trying to keep life manageable.”

  Megan straightened up slowly, one sandal yet unbuckled. Her grandmother’s eyes were on the television, her finger on the remote control.

  “It was my fault, of course. I taught her—I taught all my children, really—that the world was an uncertain place and that they must always be wary of what lurks around the next corner. I didn’t mean to. I thought I was protecting them. But it turns out, you can only teach what you know. And what I knew was the uncertainty and insecurity of a fatherless child.”

  Megan smiled tightly, and even that effort felt as though it might crack her face. “Mother has never seemed to me to be particularly insecure.”

  “Of course not. You never let the enemy see your weakness.”

  That surprised Megan. “The enemy?” There was a note of amusement in her voice. “Are you saying my own mother sees me as an enemy?” Although, as she thought about it, the idea did not seem completely unreasonable.

  “She sees life as the enemy. By the time I realized that it was too late to undo the damage, which is probably why I tried so hard to make sure you were better equipped than either she or I ever were to deal with whatever life threw your way.” Annabelle smiled a little, dryly. “That was my intention, dear. I’m sorry if it didn’t work out that way.”

  “Oh, Gram.” Megan let her shoulders sag. “The things that are wrong with my life now have nothing to do with you. Or with Mom, as much as I’d like to blame her. I managed to screw this up all by myself.”

  She could feel her grandmother’s eyes on her, but Megan could not turn to look at her. She took a breath, and she said softly, “Nick wants a divorce.”

  “I take it you don’t.”

  Megan shook her head. Until that moment she hadn’t even asked herself what she wanted. Now at least she knew, but she wasn’t entirely sure that was a good thing.

  Annabelle said practically, “Do you think there is anything you can do to change his mind?”

  Again, Megan shook her head, her throat too tight to speak.

  “Do you mind if I ask why?”

  Megan drew in a shallow breath through her nose. She said in a small voice, “Nick thinks I had an affair.”

  There was no reply for a moment. Then Annabelle said, “Did you?”

  Megan was silent for a long moment, and then she started to cry.

  ~*~

  Josh made it as far as a Waffle House two blocks away before the pain and adrenaline gave way to shame. He took an empty booth and ordered chili fries and coffee. The waitress refilled his coffee cup twice while he let the fries grow cold. He tried to eat, but every time he picked up his fork he felt as tho
ugh he might choke. How the hell had he managed to screw everything up so badly? Again?

  He was not at all surprised when Artie slid into the bench opposite him. He barely even looked up. “How’d you find me?” he said.

  Artie returned in that jovial way of his, “It wasn’t that hard. You couldn’t get far with your feet in the shape they’re in, and this was the first place that served coffee. I’ll have a cup, black, if you don’t mind,” he added to the waitress who’d stopped by, “and a grilled cheese sandwich would hit the spot on a wet night like this. How about you, Josh? You want a sandwich?”

  Josh muttered, “Nah, I’m good.”

  He lifted one of the soggy fries with his fingers and let it fall again while he waited for the waitress to return with the coffee, not meeting Artie’s eyes. She set a mug of coffee before Artie and topped off Josh’s cup. When she was gone, Josh sat back, cradling his mug in his hands, and looked at Artie.

  “Seems like I’m always saying I’m sorry to you,” he said. “And you’re always finding me so I can say it.”

  Artie gave a little shrug, smiling. “You know what they say—good things will chase you down if you let them. Seeing as how it was you that found me the last time, there just might be some truth to that.”

  Josh frowned, too low and dispirited and tired of it all to even try to figure out what that meant. “What are you doing here, Artie?”

  “Just getting out of the rain, is all,” replied the other man, sipping his coffee as he settled back against the booth. “My, that’s good coffee. What about you? What are you doing?”

  It was a long time before Josh could summon up the energy to reply. “Giving up,” he said at last, heavily. “I’m just sitting here … giving up.”

  Artie seemed unsurprised. “Harder than you thought, huh?”

  Josh picked up another french fry, twirled it in some cheese, and let it drop back to the plate. “Yeah,” he said. “Just like everything else in my life.”

  They sat for a while, surrounded by the fragrance of fried food and hot coffee, the clatter of the kitchen and the hum of voices, and then Artie said, “You know how many pioneers in the old west died of thirst in the desert?”

  Josh sighed. “No.”

  Artie started to say something, thought about it, and admitted, “Well, neither do I. But I do know how many documented reports there were of people who died of thirst within fifty feet of water. Two hundred fifty-nine. Can you imagine? They came all the way across the country on foot, on horseback, in covered wagons. They left most of what they loved behind. They buried children, husbands, wives, and parents on the journey. And they gave up when they only had fifty feet to go.”

  “Let me tell you something, Artie,” Josh said without looking up, “and you can take this to the bank. Even if that story is true, not one of those two hundred fifty-nine people gave up because they thought it was too much trouble to try to make it to the watering hole, or because they didn’t think it was worth it, or because they thought they’d just sit there and think about it for a while before going on. They gave up because they’d already given everything they had and they couldn’t go another step. They gave up because they had no choice. Because that was the only thing left to do.”

  The waitress came with Artie’s grilled cheese, and he dug into it with gusto, giving Josh alert, interested glances between bites. Finally he said, “So what is it, exactly, that you’re giving up on, if you don’t mind my asking?” And when Josh gave no reply, he suggested, “Yourself?”

  Josh made a small sound that might, under other circumstances, have been a smothered laugh. He shook his head, slowly, once. “I gave up on that a long time ago.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Yeah.” Josh let out a breath. “That’s a fact.”

  He glanced at Artie, seemed to debate with himself for a moment, and then sank back against the booth. “What the hell. I guess I owe you the truth, at least. For your human nature study.”

  Artie’s expression went soft with delight. “Why, I would be obliged. Truly.”

  Josh picked up his coffee, started to take a sip, and put the cup down again. He met Artie’s gaze. Artie gave him a brief, encouraging nod and took a bite of his sandwich.

  Josh said, “Things went downhill after my mom died. I emptied out my savings account and lived on that for a couple of years. A lot of it went to drugs. That’s how I met Eva. She was a sweet girl, no more messed up than I was, but fragile, you know? She needed taking care of. The funny thing is, I got straight because of her. Because I was afraid if I didn’t, something would happen to her and I wouldn’t be able to stop it. You know how some people, even messed-up people, are just good for each other? It was like that with us. With me, she wasn’t messed up. She even managed to stay clean for a while, a long while, and it almost felt like we could have a normal life. We were living with her sister in Kansas City, a nice woman with a husband and kids and everything, and I got a job—no big shakes, just managing the computer department of one of those big electronics stores, but it was real money coming in. Enough for us to move out, get married, the whole enchilada. The only problem was, she couldn’t stay away from her old friends. She had a baggie full of cocaine in her purse when the cops pulled us over that night. She said it wasn’t hers, she was just holding it for a friend, and the thing is, that was probably the truth, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t let her go to jail, so I put the baggie under my seat and told the cops it was mine.”

  Artie nodded thoughtfully as he took a bite of his sandwich, looking interested but nothing more. “That was pretty noble.”

  “It wasn’t noble.” He took a gulp of his coffee. It tasted bitter in the back of his throat. “It was what I had to do.” He put down the cup. “I made sure she got back to her sister and had a place to live while I was doing my time. There wasn’t much I could do for her while I was locked up, but her sister Leda was a good person and I knew she’d do the best she could until I could get there.”

  “So that’s who you’re trying so hard to get to in Kansas City.” Artie smile. “Your girl, Eva.”

  Josh was silent for a long moment before he shook his head. “She died two months before I got out. Overdose.” His lips compressed bitterly. “I went to jail for her. And she couldn’t stay straight two more lousy months.” He gave a small sharp shake of his head, as though to fling off the thought. “She always said she couldn’t do it without me. I guess she was right.”

  Artie put down his sandwich. His small hazel eyes were rich with understanding. “Ah,” he said, “no wonder you’re so angry. Betrayed by everyone you’ve ever loved.”

  Josh didn’t even bother to answer that. “She sent me a picture. It was the last thing I had from her. I made sure I always kept with me, no matter what else I lost. It was like having her with me. It was all I had.”

  Artie nodded slowly. “You kept the picture of Eva in your jeans.”

  Josh looked up at him, his expression bleak. “The picture wasn’t of Eva,” he said. “It was of our little girl. My daughter.”

  ~*~

  Megan blew her nose, balled up the soggy tissue, and pressed the heels of her hands against her wet, swollen eyes. “At first it was the two of us against the world, you know,” she said. “It was like …” She found a small smile as she glanced at her grandmother. “Like a great adventure, a grand quest, a quest to make our dream come true. I guess all newlyweds feel that way. But after four years, five years, six, the dream wasn’t quite as shiny as it once had been, and even with both of us working day and night we were barely keeping our heads above water. We had to have some money coming in, so I started taking freelance bookkeeping jobs for some of the restaurants around town and eventually ended up managing Coquette. For the first time ever things started looking up for us. The business took off, we were able to buy a house, even talked about having children … although how that was going to happen I don’t know since we never saw each other. Nick was working fifteen
hours a day and so was I, and the thing is, it never felt as though we were working for the same thing.”

  Her voice was growing tired, heavy with the defeat she had been carrying around for too long. “I should have figured it out a lot sooner, I know. And maybe I did. Martin Craig, my boss, was Nick’s biggest competitor, and I was spending every minute of every day with him. Nick’s work was my biggest competitor, and he was spending every minute of every day, and most nights, with it. We both told ourselves we were doing it for each other, but I think we knew we were doing it to spite each other. Sometimes it scares me, to think how easily love can be turned on its side like that. Almost before you know it.”

  She looked down at her hands, somewhat surprised to realize that she had shredded the damp tissue into confetti in her palm. She balled up the pieces again. She took a breath. “I didn’t have an affair with Martin Craig. But I wanted to. And when we kept working later and later at night in my office, I knew what the danger was. When he kissed me, I might not have kissed him back, but I didn’t pull away. And when I looked up and saw Nick standing there, it seemed—I don’t know, fair. Inevitable. Like the final rhyme in a poem. Sad, sweet, predictable.”

  The tears started again, and she pushed them back with her fingers. “He had come to surprise me for our anniversary. He had flowers. I’ll never forget the look on his face.”

  Annabelle silently offered her the tissue box, and Megan pulled one out but did not use it. She simply looked at it for a moment as though having forgotten what it was for. “I could have told him there was nothing going on. I should have told him. He was waiting for me to tell him. He wanted me to tell him. But I couldn’t.”

  “Why not, dear?” asked Annabelle softly. “Why in heaven’s name not?”