Bird Song (Grace Series)

by S. L. Naeole

  Shaking my head, I felt the irritation of tears start to form again, my vision becoming blurry with the liquid emotion. “So why didn’t she tell me about her cancer? I would have visited her. I would have gone over every day.”

  I felt Robert rubbing my hair with the side of his face, his hand drawing slow, dizzying circles on my back that offered a sort of distracting comfort, and then he sighed, the answer difficult for even him to discern. I don’t know why, Grace. I think perhaps she felt that you had already experienced far more loss than any child should, and in such a personal way, too.

  “Or…maybe she didn’t want me to see her that way, because she knew I’d be seeing her—or someone that looked like her—in the library,” I announced, an idea starting to form in my mind.

  I thought about how healthy she had seemed when I last saw her; she looked healthier than I had ever seen her, and she seemed so lively, so strong. She had been carrying several piles of books, which was highly unusual for such a small library—to have that many books out of place would have meant a backlog of books…

  “It wasn’t her, Robert. Miss Maggie would have never let that many books just sit off their shelves. She was such a stickler for neatness and order. Oh, why didn’t I notice it then?”

  Robert squeezed me and I felt his shrug as he, too, admitted that he was at a loss for an explanation. I didn’t delve that deeply into her thoughts, Grace. I wish now that I did, but that doesn’t change the fact that she cared about you a great deal, and her last thoughts were of you. You’ve had a profound effect on her life, and it only reaffirms how special you are.

  There were words that could have expressed how grateful I was then to have someone like Robert in my life; someone who was able to share with me the intimate details of those who valued me as a person, as something more than just an oddity to discuss behind my back. But none of those words were available to me right then. Instead, what came to mind was the fact that Miss Maggie knew so much about my life and had felt such a great affection for me, but I didn’t know anything about her other than her name and that she worked at the library. And now I questioned even that.

  Grace, don’t. She was never dishonest with you. She might not have divulged her life story with you, but she did give of herself to you. She gave you what you needed, and in return, she received what she needed. Isn’t that enough?

  I wanted it to be enough. But Heaven help me, I was greedy. “I’m tired of people window shopping when it comes to my life, Robert.”

  The gradual loosening of Robert’s hold on me told me of his confusion and his disappointment at my answer. I don’t understand what you mean by that, Grace, but you could try to be more charitable about someone who was there for you during one of the most difficult times in your life.

  It was now my turn to be confused. “What do you mean? She wasn’t-”

  Robert’s hand pressed against my lips as he quieted me. You don’t remember—you remember your first time in the library, but that was not the first time you met Maggie.

  The memory of my childhood was fuzzy and tainted with so much pain, I couldn’t begin to sift through the different layers in order to find the specific event that Robert could see so clearly. It was too difficult.

  Grace, you only have difficulties with the memories of events that had the biggest impact on your life. It’s a defense mechanism for you, much like how your thoughts separate in your mind to protect them. This was after your mother’s accident. Do you remember being in the hospital?

  I remembered some things about the hospital, but mainly about the trip home. Robert had broken a few rules in order to allow me to witness what had happened when my mother had died, but nearly everything that happened afterwards was a mystery.

  Grace, you spent nearly a week in the hospital after the accident. You were in shock, and the doctors couldn’t get you to speak. You don’t remember that?

  With my head shaking no, and my mind racing to sift through the thoughts to try and find what it was that Robert was trying to get me to see, it was almost impossible to miss the fact that I really had no clue about what it was that Robert was talking about.

  Maggie heard about what had happened to you and your mother. She came to the hospital room to visit you. She brought the one thing that she could relate to you with.

  “She brought a book…”

  He nodded. I felt the motion, knew what it was, and it felt like the acknowledgement flipped a switch inside of my brain. “It was a book, but it wasn’t one that you’d find on a shelf. It was a journal… She wrote in it. I remember she had poems in it, some that she had written, and others that she had copied from other sources.”

  Robert shifted beneath me and raised me up above him so that he could see me better as I spoke. Or so that I could see him better. I nearly lost my train of thought just staring into the luminescence of his eyes. Grace, do you remember what she read to you?

  I had to blink a few times, and finally closed my eyes to block out the silver glimmer that demanded my attention so that I could think. The book that Miss Maggie had held in her hands was old, some of the pages severely dog-eared and yellowed with age. I could hear the rhythm in her voice as she had read the lines that were written. There was a strange familiarity to the words that were muffled in my mind.

  “I can hear the rhythm. I can hear it, but the words…they’re lost on me.”

  It happened so quickly, I barely noticed the movement. Robert had sat up and left me to retrieve something, only to return to the exact same position, his arms holding me up, my face above his. Only this time, he was holding me up with one hand. In the other, he held a book.

  “That’s the book that Lark gave to me for Christmas,” I noted, and reached for it; the leather cover was unmistakable, the smell of an old book just as intoxicating to me as a new one. I thumbed through the pages until I found the one that I had felt drawn to, the one that always pulled at me. “Al Aaraaf,” I breathed.

  The words that had had no structure, no form in my mind, suddenly gained an almost impossible clarity. This poem represented, in so many ways, the love I felt for Robert…

  “But I don’t get it. It’s such an intense piece. Why did she choose this to read to me?” I asked, my fingers touching the words as though each letter connected me to Robert even more so.

  Robert’s hand covered mine and together we traced the lines that he had whispered to me on that first night he had stayed… I looked at him and waited for him to answer.

  She did not know why she chose it. It just seemed to call to her. You needed an angel to help you, and she had nothing else to give, I suppose. Even she knew that I was your future.

  “But why would I block that part out? Why would I choose to not remember something that significant?”

  You chose to block out many things about that time in your life, Grace. It was the way your mind coped. But you see, Maggie wasn’t just…how did you put it?

  “Window shopping.”

  Yes, window shopping. Maggie wasn’t just window shopping when it came to you. She was fully invested in your recovery, and your future. She might not have been as significant a…shopper as you would have liked, but she was still there.

  I avoided looking into his eyes because he was right. He knew he was right; he had said it, and I couldn’t deny that doing so meant it was the truth. Miss Maggie had, indeed, been a part of my life. That didn’t mean I wasn’t still bothered by it. It didn’t seem right, or fair, that I had missed out on knowing her in the way that she knew me. I felt…robbed.

  “I don’t know why she didn’t just let me in…” I finally muttered, more to myself than to anyone in particular.

  Really, Grace. The woman has died, with no children or grandchildren, no family or any real friends around to mourn her, and all you can think about is yourself? He sat up with a huff, and I immediately felt guilty. I had been selfish and uncharitable, unwilling to empathize with the loneliness that Miss Maggie must have felt, and that
was everything that an angel was not—I had offended Robert immensely.

  “Robert, I’m sorry,” I was able to get out before he left me alone on the bed to pace my room.

  You were just told that someone you cared for has died, Grace. I told you that she cared for you a great deal, that she was there to help you when you were in need of it the most—she helped your father by doing that as well…and the only thing you can think about is how you feel, how you were denied something. Why? You give more care and concern for Graham’s father, who’s done nothing but treat you with contempt. Why?

  Whatever charitable feelings I might have had disintegrated as he unleashed his thoughts on me. His eyes were cold, his face hard, and I couldn’t find it in me to hold back the iciness that I felt in return.

  “I feel more concerned about Richard because he’s Graham’s father. The only one he’s got. He and I don’t have the luxury of having parents who don’t die, and we definitely don’t have the ability to read their minds either, so when something is wrong, and they start hurting themselves or other people I care about, forgive me for giving a damn.”

  I didn’t bother to stick around to gauge his reaction. I simply got up off my bed and stormed out of the room. I headed downstairs towards the kitchen, hoping that by the time I got there, I’d have cooled off enough to deal with him. Because I knew he was going to be there when I turned on the kitchen light.

  That was very childish of you.

  I scowled at him as I opened the refrigerator. I needed a distraction, and the leftover pot roast from dinner would fit that bill just fine. No more childish than you leaving me on the bed.

  I heard the snort in my ears as well as in my mind and it felt like he’d taken a foam bat to my head and hit it…twice. I did that to protect you.

  I slammed the refrigerator door shut at that comment and glared at him, my jaw hurting from jutting out at such an exaggerated angle, but needing it to do so to help emphasize just how angry I was. Protect me from what? You? If I’m not mistaken, the only time I ever seem to be in any danger is when you’re not around, and you’re not around a lot.

  I shouldn’t have thought it. The instant I did, I hated myself for it, but it didn’t matter. The hurt and guilt in Robert’s face before he disappeared were enough to knock me to the ground. “Why do you open your mouth?” I groaned out loud, and hung my head, too ashamed to do anything but sit on the cold, tile floor, my knees throbbing, a small cramp growing in my thighs, and the image of Robert just before he left staring at me from every visible object.

  “Grace? Why are you on the floor?”

  I looked up and saw Graham standing in the backdoor, a concerned look on his face. “Just sitting here, thinking about how my mouth always gets me into trouble,” I muttered, taking his hand as he pulled me up to a standing position.

  “Well, you definitely do have to work on what you say to some people—especially the stupid ones. We tend to lash out and hurt you,” he said, smiling half-heartedly as he implicated himself. “So what happened this time?”

  I shook my head, unable—no, unwilling really—to discuss Robert with him as I sank back down to the floor. They might have hashed out their differences, but I was still a sore subject with them. Well, with Robert at least.

  “Did it have something to do with Robert?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Graham.”

  He shrugged his shoulders, and opened the refrigerator door, being careful not to bang my knees in the process, and carefully removed a package of sandwich meats and a jar of mayonnaise. I watched in my awkward position on the floor as he made himself a sandwich, whistling while he did so.

  “Here,” he said as he handed me a triangle of bread and meat. “Eat. You look like you need something on your bones other than Robert.”

  There was a time when something like that would have resulted in my reaching out a closed fist and punching Graham in the arm…or in this case, his face. But something inside of me failed to connect with that part of my reflex, and instead, I burst into tears—big, fat, embarrassing tears that I had never been able to shed in front of Graham, and yet there they were, leaving pools of saline on the floor and on my thighs.

  Graham was squatting in front of me, his features twisted with concern and confusion. “It’s just a sandwich, Grace,” he muttered as he tried to wipe the moisture away from my face.

  “Oh, I feel so stupid,” I sniffled, and quickly shoved the sandwich into my mouth, hoping that I didn’t choke on it…or maybe that I would. “Migh-shed-shumfing-bad-foo-shim,” I mumbled, bits of bread tumbling out of my mouth as I spoke.

  Graham laughed, his head cocked to the side in confusion. “You wanna try that again with less food in your mouth?”

  After gulping down the remainder of the sandwich, I replied, “I said something bad to him.”

  “Aah.” Graham nodded his head and reached for me, his arms circling wide around me in a strong, comforting hug, my shoulder pressed against his chest, the side of my head leaning in against the soft dip that rested between his shoulders. This was an embrace that felt…different. The depth of emotions that I could feel from it was the same, but they were just taking a different path. It felt like I was being hugged by a brother.

  “I don’t think he’s going to forgive me,” I told him, my voice muffled against his shoulder. “What I said was really bad.”

  “You want to tell me what it was? Maybe I can tell you if you’re overreacting.”

  I allowed my head to move in a silent “no”, and then felt him sigh, not liking that I was keeping a secret from him and that he was seemingly fine with it.

  “Grace, he’ll get over it. Let him cool off. He’s a guy and we all get our egos bruised once in a while. Don’t stress too much about it, okay?” He squeezed me, the way a brother would, and I nodded my head in confirmation even though I knew Graham was probably way off base.

  “Could you at least tell me what started the argument?”

  Wanting to be honest, I told him as much of the truth as I could. All five words of it. “It started with Miss Maggie.”

  “The librarian?”

  I nodded my head and the grief that I had not yet felt, the grief that I had subconsciously put on the backburner because of my stupid selfishness, suddenly came running to the forefront of my emotions, and brought with it a whole new set of tears.

  “You want to tell me what happened?” Graham asked, his voice soft and overflowing with concern.

  But as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t. I felt him exhale at my response, and the influx of tears only increased as my guilt and my self-hatred dog-piled onto each other.

  I felt Graham’s shoulders shake as he chuckled softly, finding some small amusement in my uncharacteristic behavior. “You must really like books to let Miss Maggie come between you and Robert.”

  I hid my smile on his shoulder. If he only knew the truth.

  BOMBS AND BOMBS

  Graham and I both went to bed right around the time the sun should have come up. I say should have because the winter storm that had made its appearance shortly after midnight continued to pour snow and the occasional balls of hail onto Heath well past dawn, completely blocking out any beneficial light. It was only when the pounding of hail went from sporadic to incessant that I finally woke up.

  The gray glow that shined through my window deceived my inner clock when I looked at the actual one sitting on the dresser and fell back onto the bed with a loud grunt of dissatisfaction. “It’s only nine-thirty!”

  I rolled over onto my side and reached for the familiar shape that felt like it had always been there, as much a part of me as my own skin. But nothing was there. The spot on the bed where Robert normally slept beside me was empty, the void on the bed obvious by the lack of disturbance on the comforter or the pillow.

  I hadn’t expected just how bereft I would feel at the return of the emptiness that, until just a couple of months ago, had always been there. My fingers clutche
d at the empty space, my palm itching to feel the warmth of another’s skin that it had grown accustomed to.

  The tears that had flowed too freely just a few hours earlier renewed their path down my face as I felt wholly pitiful, Robert’s absence filling me with more regret than I thought possible. I had to learn to control my mouth.

  Yes, you do.

  “Oh!” I exclaimed, and sunk my face into the covers of my bed. I didn’t know where he was, but I didn’t want him to see my face all swollen and puffy like I’d just been attacked by a nest of yellow-jackets.

  I’ve seen you look a lot worse. I felt him seat himself on the edge of the bed, and with a speed I knew I shouldn’t possess, I was against his chest, my arms wrapped around his waist, my face pressed up against the hollow of his neck.

  “I’m sorry,” I said in a low whisper, the sobs that I had barely held off finally breaking through and pouring out onto his shirt. “I shouldn’t have said it. I shouldn’t have been so selfish.”

  When his arms finally came around me, holding me as I did him, it should have been enough to calm me down. I should have been relieved, elated. Instead, the bawling only grew in intensity; the sobs turned into hiccups while my eyes, which had merely been puffy before, were now nearly swollen shut from the demands of so many tears. I couldn’t breathe out of my nose, and I could tell by the warmth in my cheeks that I probably looked as red as a strawberry, with mottled seeds to match.

  “And you’re still beautiful,” Robert sighed, his chin resting on my head, his arms squeezing me rhythmically, a calming pattern that slowly worked its way into my breathing. “And absolutely, ridiculously, and wholly silly.”

  I smiled, not caring what he said, as long as he was here to say it, here to hold me while saying it…just here.

  “I’m sorry, Grace. I shouldn’t have left like that. It was the wrong thing to do. I promise it won’t happen again. We have to face our problems head on, otherwise this is what happens: We hurt each other.”