The Feathered Bone

by Julie Cantrell

  She nods. “Why would he leave me now? When I’m too old to start over? Look at me.”

  “You’re beautiful,” I tell her.

  She doesn’t believe me.

  “You are. Tell me, how would you describe your marriage? Have you been happy?”

  “Yes, yes. Very much so. We were the couple everyone else wanted to be. That’s what makes no sense. We rarely argued. We took great vacations as a family. We hardly had any real problems. Not like our friends. He loved his job; I loved being home. We shared the workload, managed our money, got our kids off on solid ground. They’re doing great—all three of them—married, successful. I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

  “What do you think happened?” I sit back, ready for a story.

  “I don’t know. I can’t explain it. He started getting depressed after he retired. Spending more and more time up at the golf course. Or fishing. Just alone. And then last Tuesday we’re sitting at the breakfast table, drinking coffee, reading the paper, as we have done every morning for almost forty years, and he doesn’t even look up from the sports section. Just says, ‘I’m going to file for divorce.’ It didn’t register at first. I said, ‘What did you say?’ And he repeated it, this time looking directly at me. I laughed. I thought he was joking. But he wasn’t.”

  “You haven’t told your children?”

  “No. I haven’t told anyone.” She touches her hair, feeling to make sure it’s set in place.

  “Would he be willing to come to counseling with you? Or by himself?”

  “He doesn’t believe in counseling. Says it’s a waste of money and time.” Then she tilts her head and says, “Sorry. That’s not what I think, of course.”

  I wave my hand to assure her I’m not offended. “Are you financially secure if he leaves?”

  She nods. “Money’s not the problem.”

  “And you’re healthy?”

  “Oh yes, for now anyway.” She knocks a few times on my wooden desk.

  “And you have your children as a support network. Friends, I’m betting.”

  “Yes, yes. All that. I’m luckier than most. But . . .”

  I wait while she gathers her thoughts.

  “I love him. I never imagined myself without him. I gave my whole life to him, and now we get to the really good part, and he quits.” She tosses a hand in the air as she says it. “That’s it! That’s the thing that’s really pinching me. I chose him above all the others. And you know why? Because he wasn’t a quitter. He’s got a stronger work ethic than anyone I know. There’s not a half-finished shed on our property, no vehicle in need of repair. He finishes what he starts. Yet here he is, quitting on me.”

  Hello Sparrow,

  One time, in second grade, we went to see the circus. I wanted to be the lady who rode the elephants. She had long black hair, and her costume was shiny gold. Her boots came up to her knees. They were made of glitter. She sparkled.

  The elephants marched in a big circle, holding on to each other’s tails, while the lady walked across their backs.

  Mom told me someone has to train an elephant to be tame like that. First, they catch her in the jungle, and then they chain her between two trees so she won’t run away. They beat her until she stops trying to escape. By that point she’s so thirsty, all she can think about is getting some water. She doesn’t want to die.

  Just when the elephant is about to give up, the owner brings her some water. And then some food. She knows he’s a bad guy, but he’s the one who feeds her. And he gives her water. And he talks nice to her sometimes. So she tries to stay on his good side. No matter what it takes. Because he’s keeping her alive.

  This goes on for a long time, until she is “broken.” That’s what they call it.

  The other elephants have already been broken. They teach her how to do her new job. Eventually she learns what she’s supposed to do, and she finally gets off the chain.

  “So then she runs away?” I asked Mom. “Back to her family?”

  “Nope,” Mom said. “The chains are gone, and she’s not even fenced in, but the elephant stays right there, trying her best to make her trainer happy.”

  I asked Mom, “Why wouldn’t she stomp the man and try to escape?”

  Mom said it’s because they have a bond now. A strong one. “Sometimes, Sarah, the chains around the heart are the hardest to break.”

  Yesterday Bridgette took me to the grocery store with her. It was the first time they let me leave the house. I could have run, Sparrow. I could have told someone in the store that my name was Sarah Broussard. I could have gotten help and gone home.

  It’s all I wanted to do. But The Lady said, “Don’t be stupid. He’ll find you. Cut you into a million pieces. He’s done it before.”

  So there I was, Sparrow. Off the chain. No fence. But too afraid to do anything.

  Chapter 26

  Sunday, June 15, 2008

  Father’s Day

  “I’M GLAD YOU’RE HERE,” I TELL CARL. I’M ALSO GLAD HE CAME without Ashleigh, but I don’t say that. It might trigger a fight. I navigate the conversation as if I’m walking a minefield, the way I’ve done throughout our entire marriage. Only this time my stomach isn’t in knots and I don’t carry the burden of blame. He planted those mines. Not me. I finally accept that his deepest wounds are not my fault, and that his anger has nothing to do with me either. What is my fault is that I served as his emotional punching bag for nearly twenty years, allowing him to take all his resentment out on me. Set the mines. I’ll walk them for you. Blow me to bits again and again. I can take it. Because I love you. And you’re worth it. No matter how much it hurts.

  Well, no more minefields, Carl. Enough is enough.

  “I’ve made copies of the photo albums and DVDs.” I hand him the box of memories. “Ellie always liked this sort of stuff. She was so sentimental.”

  Carl says nothing as he puts the box to the side and takes a seat at my kitchen table.

  I set a stack of papers in front of him. “I’ve signed them. We can go forward with the divorce whenever you’re ready.”

  He looks at me, and for the first time in years I get a glimpse of the man I married. The one he buried deep beneath defensive layers, protecting his heart to the point he could no longer love. Or be loved.

  “What changed your mind?”

  “It’s taken me awhile, Carl, to work through it all. I think you had been preparing yourself for years before I ever knew. I needed time to catch up with you. I couldn’t give up.”

  He nods. “What about the house?” He looks around the kitchen, examining the simple window valance and the expensive stand mixer, as if he’s seeing it all for the first time. “When do you want to list it?”

  I’m not prepared for this. “Sell it? Carl, I don’t know if I can leave my home.”

  He looks down the hall toward Ellie’s bedroom, the place where she died, and he says, “I’m surprised you want to be here.”

  I move to the window, looking out into the yard at the long-forgotten swing set. “This is my home. It’s where Ellie took her first steps. Learned to ride a bike without training wheels. She did her first backbend out there in the grass. And look . . . that swing is where she learned to pump without a push. All those memories, Carl. Her whole life is here.”

  “Then you can buy it out from me. Is that what you want?” He stares toward the box of photos but remains matter-of-fact.

  “Honestly, I need some time to think about it.”

  “More time? It’s been almost three years, Amanda. How much time do you need?”

  I lean in. “Can you give me a month? The lease is ending soon at Mom’s place. I need to weigh my options.”

  “Whatever.” He sighs, but he doesn’t draw any reaction from me. Instead, I stand at the window for what feels like a very long time. Outside, the pecan trees are green and thick with leaves, growing their fall crop of nuts. The neighbor’s children race their bikes through a homemade obstacle course, and Beanie
sits on the swing, watching the commotion. Carl stays seated at the table in silence.

  “I wish I could understand, Carl. Why did you leave us?”

  “I’m not doing this, Amanda.” His voice gets hard. He stands with fast aggression, and the chair scratches across the floor. “Let it go.”

  “Carl, listen.” I stay soft, slow. “We don’t have to talk about it. I’m healing. It will be okay. Besides, I’ve decided to look at it in a different way now.”

  He simmers down a bit. “How’s that?”

  “Before, I saw our marriage as a failure.” He stiffens. “My failure, Carl. I had failed to be a good enough wife. But I don’t believe that anymore.”

  He waits, and I speak slowly. “Viv said something that has shifted things for me. Instead of looking back on our marriage as a failure, myself as a failure, or you as a failure, I see a lot we should be proud of.”

  “You do?”

  “I really do. We had almost twenty years together. Way more good than bad. I mean, look.” I point to the photos and videos I’ve prepared for him. “There’s a whole box of memories there to prove it.”

  His mouth relaxes into what could almost be called a smile.

  “We were kids when we started out together. And look how far we’ve come. We’ve gotten each other through some tough stuff. Really tough stuff.”

  “Don’t you know it.” He nods, agreeing with me for the first time in years.

  “And you know what else we did together? We brought one amazing little girl into this universe, and we gave her fourteen years of love and laughter. She had one heck of a good life.”

  Carl’s hands begin to shake.

  “We just grew apart. It happens. We went different directions. I didn’t know how far you had strayed, is all. I thought you were right around the corner, waiting for me to catch up to you. I’ve been chasing you down for years, believing if I could just reach you again then we’d finish the journey together. But I get it now, Carl. And it’s okay. I understand. I forgive you.”

  “You forgive me?” Defensive again.

  “Yes, I do. And I’m asking you to forgive me too. For not being able to reach you in time. For not being aware of how much you were hurting and for not knowing how to make you feel loved enough here in our home. You were loved. You just couldn’t see it.”

  Tears well up now, for both of us. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Carl cry.

  “You were a good wife, Amanda. You always were. I didn’t deserve you.”

  These words . . . these words.

  “I couldn’t be who you needed. All that with Sarah. Then Ellie.” He cries harder now. For the first time, he doesn’t turn to some mundane task to release emotions. He doesn’t pick up a hammer or work on the car or mow the lawn. Instead, he holds his head in his hands and he sobs, finally mourning our child with raw expressions of grief.

  I move to touch him, place my hand on his shoulder, lean over and kiss his head. He is still the man I love. Despite it all.

  “I wasn’t good to you, Amanda. I know I wasn’t. I’m sorry.”

  “Carl.” I wait for him to look at me. “I’m letting it go. All of it.”

  He cries for a long time here in our kitchen and then on the couch. It all rises from within him, the anger, the hurt, the darkness that has tried so hard to drown his light.

  As the sun begins to set, it’s time for Carl to leave. I walk him to his truck, and we say good-bye. I offer one final wish. “I want you to be happy,” I tell him. “I want you to know how it feels to love someone with your heart wide open. I want you to know you are loved.”

  The minute I tell Raelynn about Carl’s visit, she’s rushing over here to vent. I think I’ve touched a nerve about her own abusive marriage, a wound for which she’s never found closure. She needs to let off some steam. Carl is an easy outlet, so I give her room to blow.

  “Remember back in school, that time he punched Jay? For no good reason. Just didn’t want him to look at you. And the time he threw a tire iron at an old man for taking too long at the gas pumps?”

  I don’t bother arguing. The list of things Carl has done is endless. I spent years making excuses for him, apologizing to everyone he insulted, trying to convince everybody he was not as bad as he sometimes seemed. Especially during our younger years, before he learned to target his rage at me and present a polished surface in public. Now I have nothing to say. But Raelynn does.

  “You sold yourself short, you know?”

  Reverting back to old habits, I begin to tell her what a hardworking person Carl is. How good he was at handling money, taking care of the house, the yard and cars. How much fun he was as a father, playing with Ellie almost like he was a kid himself. But this time the words won’t come.

  “Now Jay, on the other hand . . .” She fumbles with her purse and pulls a stick of spearmint gum from the pocket, popping it into her mouth. “I don’t know what you’re waiting for.”

  A rise of heat blushes my face, and I can’t hold back a smile.

  “Aha! So there is something going on between you and Jay!” She says this with such volume, I jump.

  “That’s ridiculous. I’m finally free. The last thing I want is another man.”

  “This is Jay we’re talking about. You’re the one who got away.” She’s relentless. “His first love. From way back in kindergarten.”

  “Okay, now you really have to stop. You’ve been reading way too many trashy romance novels. It was Riley he loved.” Truth is, I’ve often wondered what might have happened if Jay hadn’t gone off to Lafayette for college. What if he had gone to LSU instead of leaving me here to marry Carl?

  “That was a long time ago, Amanda. Trust me. Mr. Long and Strong is back in the game and ready for action. Has been for a while now.”

  “Jay’s a friend, Raelynn. Nothing more.” I straighten the curtains and open the windows.

  “Good to know.” She sits in Carl’s old La-Z-Boy, pulling the lever to recline. “Then you won’t mind if I go after him.”

  “As opposed to the way you flirt your skirt off with him already?”

  “Oh, believe me. If I thought I had a chance with Jay Ardoin, I wouldn’t hold back.” She hums.

  “How about that UPS guy who comes by your office all the time?” I ask. “The one who looks like he could bench-press a tiger. He’d be a good one.”

  She roars. “Married.”

  “Honestly, Raelynn. I don’t get it. After all you’ve been through with that ex of yours, after all we’ve learned searching for Sarah, seeing what disgusting animals men can be, how in the world are you still thinking about landing one?”

  “I don’t know. I guess . . . here’s the thing. If I start to believe all men are monsters, then that means I’d have to give up on my own sons. And I won’t do that. No way, nohow. So I choose to believe some good ones still exist. You should too.”

  Hello Sparrow,

  The Man has been buying me and Bridgette a lot of nice things.

  He puts our movies online now. People pay to watch them. I don’t want anybody to see that stuff. But I’m trying to find the good. If people can see me, then maybe Mom and Pop will find me.

  Hello Sparrow,

  The Man has been making lots of money. He says we don’t need The Boss anymore. We can do it on our own. He says we’re getting a big house. One with a swimming pool.

  I asked Bridgette if The Boss will hurt us when he finds out we moved away with The Man. She said yes. He will.

  Stay with me, Sparrow. Follow me to the new house, just like you did before. I’m scared.

  Hello Sparrow,

  I’m so glad you followed us here! I like the new house. I have my own bedroom and bathroom. It’s very big.

  The Man said we don’t have to worry about The Boss or anybody else ever again. I don’t even have to hide anymore. The Man said to tell people I’m his daughter, and we’ll be fine. He said I belong to him now. Just like Bridgette. And that’s how it will always be
.

  He lets me watch TV now too, like a regular family. I watch the news sometimes, but I never see anything about me being kidnapped. Maybe The Man is right. Maybe everybody thinks I’m dead.

  He said more girls might come here to live with me, like sisters. I always wanted a bunch of sisters. If I don’t think about the films and the men, it’s not too bad.

  Hello Sparrow,

  The men who visit now are rich. They are not like the men who came to the shed in Chalmette. They wear nice clothes and drive cool cars. They never chew tobacco or smell like sweat.

  “You don’t know how lucky we are.” That’s what Bridgette tells me. “We’ve got the best pimp in the game.”

  The Man makes me call him Master now. I don’t like that. When I was little, I learned a Bible verse that says, “No one can serve two masters.”

  Bridgette said, “You only have one master. LeMoyne.” That’s what she calls The Man. “God is his master.”

  And I said no. Money is his master. And I told her the other part of that verse. “You cannot serve both God and money.”

  “Well, God ain’t givin’ us no fancy clothes and car and house,” she said. “So I’ll take LeMoyne.”

  Chapter 27

  Saturday, November 1, 2008

  SUNRISE ON THE WATER IS AS HOLY A SIGHT AS ANYONE COULD ever see, even for someone who hardly believes in holy anymore. This morning makes me feel as if God is right here with me. The simmering mist rises hip-high against the smooth, dark currents, brewing a mood that is almost mystical, beckoning me back to a foundation of faith.

  All around me, the faint fog is broken only by weighted, dew-soaked leaves. They drip into the silken surface of the river, forming ripples. Mosquitoes and swamp flies dart low near the water’s black face, tempting hungry fish to bob for breakfast. Blue herons swoop against tapered trunks while gators and turtles slide out to sun between weathered cypress knees. The morning air is still. A few determined fishermen cast hoop nets, pull catfish jugs, and race to their honey holes, whipping fine lines across the sky to snag a biting bass.