The Feathered Bone

by Julie Cantrell

  “Tell me about the picture.” I pat the bed, urging her to come cuddle beside me. She does.

  “It’s supposed to show us being free.”

  “I like that idea. Free from what?”

  “Just free,” she says. “Completely free. Free from our sadness. Our anger and our fears. Free from what we’re supposed to do and what we don’t want to do. Free.”

  Trying not to cry, I hold Ellie against my heart, her drawing in my hands. Out my window, the morning gifts us with a golden arch of light. Looking at the sky, I whisper, “You’ve always been so smart for your age. Such a deep thinker. When you were little, you used to stare into the clouds. You said the sky was the wild blue yonder.”

  She smiles. “I wanted to know what was up there. I wanted to fly.”

  “What do you say we get in the car, and we start driving, and we don’t stop until we get where we’re going?”

  Ellie laughs. “Okay. Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know. Somewhere we feel free.”

  In less than two hours we’ve reached Gulfport, a navy town on the Mississippi coast, known more for its working seaport than its beaches. In these parts, the barrier islands keep the inner waters brown and unappealing. Katrina has done a number on the entire stretch, but by taking Captain Skrmetta’s boat from the yacht harbor out to Ship Island, we’ll reach white sands and dolphin waters that aren’t all that different from Florida’s Emerald Coast, our preferred vacation destination.

  With swimsuits and sunscreen, we load our small cooler onto the Pan American just in time for the nine o’clock departure. The boat is crowded with passengers equally eager for surf and sun. Temperatures are supposed to reach ninety today, and the warmth is good for us both. Ellie stays close to me as the boat pulls from its dock and heads out toward the open sea.

  Neither of us says it, but I imagine we’re both remembering the ferry ride from Algiers, when Sarah stood on the deck shouting at the wind, “We’re free! We’re free!” It’s one of the last images I have of Sarah. Her arms stretched like wings, her head tilted toward the sun, her smile shining with delight. Wherever she is now, I hope she’s somewhere feeling free.

  The captain thanks us all for returning, explaining how tough it’s been since Katrina. We’re one of the first voyages out to the island since the company resumed business last month.

  “You won’t believe it now, but that Friday night before Katrina, it looked like the Normandy invasion with all those boats coming in. They were trying to stay ahead of the storm, get upriver. But the forecasts were saying it would hit Florida. We didn’t start tying boats until twenty-four hours before landfall. That’s not enough time. It was every man for himself.”

  He continues to tell us about the extensive damage done to East Ship Island. With nearly two-thirds of it being lost to the storm, the channel known as Camille Cut was significantly widened. He assures us West Ship Island, our destination, fared much better. Then, with a sailor’s spunk and a survivor’s grit, the third-generation ferry captain blows the ship’s horn with a celebratory howl. A signal to all: the worst is over.

  Ellie turns her back to the wind and asks, “Think we’ll go to Destin this year?”

  “I’m not sure yet, honey. Let’s just enjoy today.”

  Ship Island sure isn’t the Emerald Coast, but it’s the best I can do without Carl’s help. He hasn’t contributed a dime since he moved out, and I’ve been struggling to keep up with all our living expenses on my salary alone. Any little kink, like the new tires I had to buy last month, or Ellie’s theater costumes the month before, can send me looking at my credit cards, a place my mother taught me never to turn. If it weren’t for the rental income I get from her house, we’d be in trouble.

  As the waves lick the ship, I’m betting that Carl and Ashleigh will be enjoying a week’s vacation in Florida this summer. They may even invite Ellie to go with them. And of course she’ll want to go. Why shouldn’t she?

  It takes about forty-five minutes to complete the eleven-mile journey to Ship Island. As the vessel docks, I point east and challenge Ellie with a bit of trivia. “Did you know there used to be another island out there—between here and Horn?”

  She shakes her head and carries the mini-cooler from the ship. The sand is already warm, but it’s not yet too hot for bare feet, so I kick off my flip-flops and hold them as we walk along the beach. Ellie does the same.

  “Supposedly the Native Americans who lived on the coast—some of them your ancestors, by the way—used to talk about an island that would appear and disappear.”

  She gives me a strange look, as if she’s way too old for fairy tales.

  “Seriously,” I tell her, “it would be seen for years at a time, and then it’d be gone again. Only to come back many years later. Some sailor found a dog that had been stranded there, washed in during a hurricane. So they named it Dog Island. It was on maps in the early 1800s, disappeared before the Civil War, and then came back again around the end of the century.”

  “Cool.” Ellie chooses a spot to sunbathe and arranges her towel across the sand. I do the same, claiming a space beside her. The beach is long, with plenty of room for families to spread out, so we find a patch of privacy. And peace.

  “I think at one time there was a big casino on the island. Back during Prohibition, when people had to come way out here to drink. They called it the Isle of Caprice, and they would bring boatloads of gamblers in to party. They even bet on swim races. People would swim all the way from the coast to the island. Twelve miles across the Gulf. Supposedly it was a pretty fancy place, with all kinds of imported furniture and luxurious carpets. Can you imagine? The Roaring Twenties.” I say this with flare, prissing like a flapper.

  “What happened to it?” Ellie pulls out her iPod, hinting this could be the final conversation we have for the day. I try to make it last.

  “What do you think happened?”

  “It disappeared?”

  “It disappeared!”

  Just before inserting her earbuds, Ellie looks out to the endless green sea and sighs. Then she says, “Nothing lasts forever.”

  June 2006

  Hello Sparrow,

  I would be going to eighth grade if I wasn’t stuck here. I always liked school. I miss it.

  Bridgette brought me more books today. She’ll keep buying them as long as I read to her. I don’t think she knows how to read.

  One of the books is called The Little White Bird. She says books shouldn’t be written about places she “ain’t never been to.” I told her that’s what’s so magic about books.

  She told me to read this one by myself. Here’s my favorite part: “The reason birds can fly and we can’t is simply that they have perfect faith, for to have faith is to have wings.”

  See? I believe.

  Hello Sparrow,

  Bridgette asked me why I’m always writing. I told her I like to journal. She said I’m weird.

  I didn’t tell her it helps me remember who I am. If I couldn’t write it, I might forget all about Sarah Broussard. I might start believing I’m nothing more than Holly. The girl in the back room.

  Sometimes, when I have to do the things I have to do, I remember the story about Gomer. Pop said it’s about a girl who nobody thought was any good.

  I think Gomer was kind of like me. They paid her to be with men. But Pop says that all of us are born to love and to be loved.

  I told Bridgette about Gomer. She said, “You know, not every story’s got a happy ending.” And I told her, “Mine does.”

  Hello Sparrow,

  Bridgette says I talk about God too much. That if he’s real, then why do bad things happen? I told her it’s because God lets people make their own choices.

  She said that God should make everybody be good. “He does make us all good,” I said. “But some of us don’t want to stay that way.”

  Then I asked her why she does bad things, and she said because she’s a bad person. I said, “No, you a
ren’t. God made us all the same. So why did you take me, and why do you keep me here?”

  That made her mad. She hasn’t talked to me since.

  But today is her birthday. She’s 23. I want to give her something special—my gold cross pin. Maybe then she can learn that even the worst story can have a happy ending.

  Hello Sparrow,

  I gave Bridgette her present. She cried. I told her I was sorry I made her mad with all my stories, and she said she wasn’t mad. I gave her a hug, and she cried some more. Then she asked me why am I so nice to her. I told her I’m nice to everybody. That made her laugh.

  I’m glad I gave her the pin. I think she likes it.

  Sunday, June 18, 2006

  Father’s Day

  I pull shepherd’s pie from the oven just as the Parmesan begins to turn gold atop the mashed potatoes. “My favorite,” Carl says, pouring himself a glass of iced tea as if he still calls this house his home.

  I let the casserole cool while fixing glasses of water for Ellie and me. Carl waits to be served. Ellie joins us, accepting his hug. “Happy Father’s Day.” He gives her the attention she craves, asking about her summer.

  “I can’t believe you’ll be in eighth grade this year.” He hands her a wad of cash to buy some new school clothes.

  “It’s nice to have you here,” I say, a nervous tremor to my voice as I carry the hot pan to the table and sit for the blessing. The three of us hold hands and Carl says grace, just as he has done for years.

  After the amen, thirteen-year-old Ellie looks at her father and asks, with all the hope of a little girl, “When are you moving back home?”

  Carl sits taller, puffing out his chest a bit. “I guess that’s up to your mother.”

  This takes me aback. Ellie looks to me for the answer, fidgeting with the cloth napkin in her lap.

  “Let’s enjoy our meal,” I say. “We’ll talk about it later.” The last thing I want is for Carl to get Ellie’s hopes up again. He’s played this card before, showing up unexpectedly, full of kind words. But as soon as I start to cave, he builds his walls back in a hurry and bolts for something safer—Ashleigh.

  “Ellie’s got a performance next week. A preview of the play they’ll perform in New York.”

  “You’re coming, right?” Ellie pleads with arched brows. “I got you a ticket.”

  “Of course I’m coming. Tell me about it. What play is it? Do you have the lead?”

  Ellie sinks a little. “No, not the lead.”

  “But it’s a big part.” I jump in. “She’s been studying her lines for weeks. And she’s got a solo.”

  “You do?” This piques his interest.

  Ellie nods. “Scary, huh?”

  “You’ve nailed it every time,” I tell her. She rolls her eyes and slumps down. I defend my claim. “You’re doing a great job. It’ll be incredible.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be the star,” Carl says, adding salt to his dish. “I’ll be there. Front and center. Count on it.”

  After dinner Carl and I go outside to talk on the back porch. “How’s the car?” He eyes my Honda, moving to look under the hood. “You put a lot of wear on it, searching for Sarah. You changing the oil? Every three thousand miles?”

  “Yes. I get it done. It’s been fine.”

  After checking the fluids, he closes the hood and moves to look over our one-acre lot. “And the yard? Mower holding up okay?”

  I nod toward the freshly cut lawn. “Not a problem. I always did like cutting the grass. Ellie helps sometimes. It’s manageable.”

  “You should clean out your gutters.” He taps the aluminum shaft, pulling out a fistful of leaves still there from fall.

  “Yep. I probably should.”

  “And did you call the exterminator?” Kicking the bricks, he adds, “That’s got to be done once a year, you know?”

  “I know. Already done.”

  With nothing else to worry about, he finally takes a seat in one of the rocking chairs. I choose the swing. The excess links of chain clang against the taut stretch as I begin to sway.

  “You’re doing good, Amanda. Better off without me.”

  I take this in. It’s been eight months. Am I better off without him?

  “I guess this is what you wanted all along, isn’t it? Run the ship. Be in charge of everything.”

  “Carl, do you hear yourself?”

  He sneers. “What, what’d I say? Here we go again. We’re out here for two minutes and you’re already attacking me.” He rocks faster, with force. “Rude!”

  I don’t bother adding fuel to the fire. I pet Beanie and watch the neighbor’s rambunctious crew of kids as they play in the sprinkler. They send plastic balls and Frisbees up in the high-pressure stream of water, trying to run beneath them without letting the toys fall to the ground.

  “Remember when we made Ellie that enormous Slip’N Slide? You brought home a giant sheet of Visqueen and we soaped it down with Dawn? It was so slippery the kids couldn’t stop at the end. They’d go sailing way off the edge into the grass every time. Remember?”

  Carl smiles. “Yeah. We did have fun together, didn’t we?”

  “What went wrong, Carl?” I look at him now with soft eyes, trying to understand his choices. Something about him still gets to me. His strong jaw. Dark eyes. That scar below his eye from wrecking a dirt bike when he was a kid. I turn away before I become putty in his hands again.

  “I don’t know, Amanda. You couldn’t be happy. Nothing I did was ever enough.”

  I sigh. “I wasn’t the one who wasn’t happy, Carl. I wasn’t the one who went off looking for something better. This family was everything to me. Still is.”

  “Yep. I should have known you’d do this to me. You can’t ever let anything go, can you? Always bringing up the past.”

  “The past? You’re living with Ashleigh right now. We’re still married, Carl. You show up every couple months, telling me you’re sorry and want to move back in. This is not the past. This is today.”

  “Then sign the papers, Amanda. Let’s be done with it.”

  Chapter 21

  August 2006

  “FIRST DAY OF EIGHTH GRADE! YOU READY FOR THIS?” I WAKE ELLIE with a kiss and give her a tall glass of ice-cold chocolate protein milk. She props herself up on her pillow as I move to open the blinds. “Look at this beautiful day. Must mean good luck.”

  She yawns, stretching before drinking her milk.

  “I’ll make a spinach tomato omelet. Any other requests?”

  She shakes her head.

  I hand her the outfit we bought for the big first day. She could hardly go to sleep last night, she was so nervous about her last year of junior high.

  “I think I want to be homeschooled.”

  “You’d be bored by day two. And can you imagine me teaching you algebra? Not pretty.”

  “I’m serious, Mom. I hate going to school without Sarah. It’s not the same.”

  I sit beside her and hold her hand. She lets me.

  “We were always together. Like sisters. Stuff like this isn’t supposed to happen, Mom. Kids don’t just up and disappear. Not from a field trip.”

  “Does it make you feel unsafe?”

  “Kind of. Yeah. I’m always looking around, wondering if someone is about to take me too.”

  “I sensed that when we were in New York with your theater group. I was scared too. I think that’s a normal reaction, given what we’ve been through.”

  “Yeah, but I always wonder who I can trust, who might be dangerous. And the sick part is, half the time I wish they would take me. I know that’s crazy, but it’s so I could know what happened. I just want to know. Where is she? When is she coming back? Is she coming back at all?”

  We don’t cry. It’s been nearly two years since Sarah disappeared, and we can talk about it now without a complete meltdown, but the wounds are not healed and the pain remains, even on our best days.

  “I’m not like the others, Mom. All they care about ar
e stupid things like spirit contests and pep rallies. None of it matters. Not to me. Nothing matters.”

  I sit quietly, letting Ellie release her thoughts, knowing there’s not a word I can say to make this better for her. I listen.

  “Ellie didn’t want to go to school today.” I pour Viv a cup of coffee and fix my tea. Then I move to her desk and deliver the caffeine.

  She smiles. Accepts. “First day jitters?”

  “I’m worried it’s more than that. I know it’s been nearly two years, but honestly, she hasn’t ever come back from all of this with Sarah. And with Carl leaving. It’s been too much. I’m afraid I’m losing her.”

  “Therapy helping?”

  I shake my head. “Not really. We’ve tried everyone I know. Brother Johnson too. And teen groups. I think it’s such a unique situation. No one else can really understand what she’s going through. Most of the kids in her group are there because of drugs, alcohol. Or self-harm. Some have been abused. Some even have criminal records. Ellie’s not them.”

  “I can see that.”

  “It’s kind of like, one day she’s a happy teen, joking with her friends, blowing us away onstage, or hanging out at parties. The next day she’s dealing with survivor’s guilt again, struggling to see the point of anything. That’s how she was this morning. It scares me when she starts thinking like that. Like there’s no point to staying alive anymore.”

  “Did the antidepressants help?” Viv sips her coffee.

  “Not really. They numbed her grief, but they numbed everything else too. Turned her into a zombie. Everything alive in her just kind of disappeared.”

  “Maybe the wrong dose? Wrong prescription?”

  “Tried a few. Psychiatrist said we may want to go without. At least until her head can clear. I’m hoping our new 5K training can get her balanced again. It’s no marathon or anything . . .”

  I smile at Viv, and she thanks me for cheering her across the finish line on her fortieth birthday.

  “. . . but I’m running with her every evening. It’s been good for both of us.” I blow on my tea to cool it and finally take a sip.