Bird (20 page)

“Jewel, I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't say anything.”

“Who did you tell?” I demanded. But I was starting to get confused inside.

“About the cliff? No one,” he said simply. “But your mom lost her job?”

I was so stirred up I didn't trust myself to speak, and in that pause Eugene climbed up the rope. He sat on the second branch, the one right below mine.

“Either tell me or get back down,” I said. I was surprised at how bossy I sounded.

“Is your mom okay?” Eugene asked.

“Just tell me who you told,” I said loudly. “And then go and tell everyone that it was another of your big, fat lies.”

Eugene didn't say anything for a long time, and the crickets whirred through the night, shivering the air around us. I thought he was going to slip back down the tree and head home, but instead he said, “Jewel.”

“What?” I said, agitated.

“I've been coming out here every night since . . . you know,” he said. His voice was tentative. “So I could apologize to you about my name.”

A lump suddenly formed in my throat. “Really?” I asked. “Is that the truth?” My voice caught.

“Sure is. I would stand at the base of the trunk and say, ‘You up there?' and if you weren't, I'd head back home. I have the mosquito bites to prove it.”

A dam that I didn't know was in me burst open, and I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes to stop the tears, but it didn't help. “How can you apologize about your name but not about the cliff?” I asked. “Don't you know what you did to us?”

“Jewel,” Eugene said quietly, “I didn't say anything about the cliff.”

“But they
know
,” I insisted.

“Who?”

“Mr. Robinson, everyone.” Tears flowed off my chin. “People are talking about me spending so much time at the cliff, with my stones,” I said, “and Mr. Robinson didn't want one of his employees to be the cause of so much talk.”

“Are you serious?”

“So Mom told him she didn't want to work for someone who didn't have the courage to stand up to gossip, and left.”

“She did that?” Eugene sounded impressed.

That upset me even more. “She doesn't have a job because of you!” I said.

“But I didn't say anything about your cliff,” he insisted. “Not a word.”

“How can I trust you, John?” I cried.

He shifted on his branch.

“I mean Eugene,” I said quietly.

“No, it's okay,” he said. “Look, Jewel.” He took a deep breath. “I said I was John as a joke, at first. I didn't know you at all; you were just the girl in the weird family whose kid brother died and there was this strange talk about curses and spirits. I knew you were the Campbell girl the moment you came walking to this tree.”

“You knew it was me from the road?” I asked, confused.

“Who else would be walking from the direction of your house, looking like no one around here?” he asked.

“Oh.”

“So I said my name was John.” He paused. “To freak you out a little, maybe, okay. Because my uncle said your family is superstitious. But I didn't think you'd be so smart or fun. And the longer I was John, the better it felt. The better
I
felt.”

“But how did your uncle know about . . . your name?” I asked.

“When my uncle first told me about you guys, I laughed and said, ‘Wouldn't it be great if I pretended my name was John?' and my uncle said, ‘Don't you dare,' and I told him I was just talking. Nothing serious. He had no idea what was going on until you came over that night and asked for John.

“And anyway,” he continued, “what's the big deal lying about a name?”

I looked at him, confused. That seemed pretty big to me.

“I lie all the time to my parents—in fact, they like it when I lie to them.”

“That's not true,” I said.

“Yes, it is,” Eugene replied.

I didn't know what to say to that. He sounded so certain—but how could that be, his parents like it when he lies? The lightning bugs were coming out, little lights scattered all over the earth. Lights above, lights below.

“Are you really adopted?” I asked.

Eugene paused. “Yes.”

“And your real name is Eugene.”

Another pause. “Yes.”

“And Mr. McLaren is really your uncle,” I said.

“Yes,” Eugene said. “I'm visiting him because Mom is having a baby. Of her own.” His voice got tight. “And my parents dumped me off at my uncle's house while they got the nursery ready.”

My stomach sank. No wonder he didn't want to talk about his uncle. Or his family. How could they do that to him?

“And everyone wants me to say that I'm happy about the baby. So I do. Even though it's all a lie. And the more I say it, the more they like it, even though they know it's a lie too.” Eugene stopped for a while and watched the lightning bugs. “That seems like a lot worse than just lying about a name.”

A slight breeze blew, and it quivered the leaves like rain. “I don't know what happened about the cliff,” Eugene said. “But I want to help.”

I thought for a long, hard moment. “Okay,” I said finally. When I said that, his moon-teeth smile opened up, and I got all shiny inside.

We climbed down from the tree, and when we reached the bottom, Eugene said, “You can still call me John if you want.”

“No, that's okay,” I said slowly. “But you won't get mad at me if ‘John' slips out every once in a while, will you?”

“Only if you don't get mad at me for never eating Reservation Chicken again,” he said.

I instantly remembered the look on his face at the dinner table. He'd never have to worry about eating Mom's cooking, but I could tell him about that later. So I laughed hard instead and felt lighter, like I could breathe again. Like I was coming home.

The next day when I looked out my window, I was startled to see that Dad's tree saplings weren't doing so well. In fact, they were drooped down and withered. With all the hours Dad had been putting in at Max's Appliances to make more money for us, he hadn't had time to take care of his garden.

What was worse, the rosemary was dried-up, dead. Every last bit of it.

No one seemed to notice that besides me. I even caught Grandpa taking the red sweater and socks and the horseshoe down off the wall, as if no one needed the extra layers of protection anymore.

My parents didn't notice much of anything because they were too busy acting strange, as if I was going to break at any minute, like I wasn't a jewel, all tough from being in the ground for hundreds of thousands of years. Instead, they talked quietly and made sure not to look at me more than usual. I wished I could be who they wanted me to be, the good kid who didn't give them any problems, but it was too late for that.

I bit my lip. I couldn't do much, but at least I could water what remained of Dad's garden. I lugged the hose across our backyard and made little pools of water around each sapling, then around the tomatoes and cucumbers. Then I pulled up the dead rosemary, all the way down to the roots, and threw it in the garbage. Grandpa must have been watching me from his window because he came out there and stood with me under the cloudy sky.

I was thinking about the rosemary I'd just torn out, and how I felt kind of ripped up, and how Grandpa must feel that way sometimes when he wants to use words to speak and can't. We were quiet for a while when I turned to him and said, “Grandpa, why don't you talk?”

He jolted a little bit, startled. Like I asked a question I wasn't supposed to ask. Or maybe it was because I was talking again.

“Your tapes were fantastic.” I gave a little smile. “I really liked the part where you were at the river, splashing and yelling up a storm.” Mom had pulled up some river weed from the mucked-up bottom and put some down Dad's pants. Dad screamed like a lunatic. So did Mom, but in the victorious way.

I moved the hose to the next plants. It was good I was watering the garden; I didn't have to look at him. “And I loved how you and Granny were always joking around, telling stories about each other.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Grandpa sucking in his breath.

“And I know that Bird dying was really sad and all, but why don't you talk?” I lifted my eyes to his, finally. “What happened that night?”

Grandpa's lips twitched, and a sadness covered him, as if he were suddenly back at the pond.

“You can tell me, Grandpa,” I said. “I won't say anything—”

He tensed, and I followed his eyes. Mom was coming down the sloping grass to where we were. “Jewel, I've been looking everywhere for you,” she said, but her eyes bugged out at Grandpa and me together.

“We've been here this whole time,” I said.

Her head jerked back. This was the first time I'd spoken in days. “That's so great, honey,” she said, all happy. Then she realized that she wasn't making sense. “I mean, I'm glad you're feeling better.”

I shrugged. “A little.”

“Well, that's terrific.” She glanced at Grandpa again. “I'd like for you to get ready. We have an appointment to go to.”

I gave her a look. “We do?”

“Well, you and me,” she said quickly. Why was she acting like Grandpa wasn't standing next to me? She hadn't even acknowledged him. “And we need to get going if we're going to be on time.”

“Okay.” I turned to Grandpa. “Could you finish watering the garden?”

Grandpa took the hose.

“Thanks,” I said.

Mom's jaw dropped. Then she blushed.

It served her right, being so rude like that.

The appointment happened to be with a priest in a church forty miles away—far enough so no one would know about us.

“But why?” I asked as we pulled onto the highway. “We don't go to church anymore.”

“I know, honey,” Mom said. “But Dad and I thought it best that you . . . talk with someone.”

“About what?”

“There have to be other people,” she continued, ignoring my question, “but he wanted to try this first.”

I sighed. Rain streaked against my window. It came down pretty steady, and it turned the land soft and gray. I suppose we didn't need to water the garden, I thought, picking at the peeling vinyl on the side of the door. Even though it had been nice to spend some time with Grandpa.

But Grandpa would be really upset if he found out that I was friends with Eugene again. I got scrunched up inside thinking about yet another secret. But seriously, if Grandpa found out I was talking with Eugene, he'd run and get a fresh bushel of rosemary, straightaway.

Somehow I just kept messing things up.

“Jewel, don't pick at the door,” Mom said as she pulled into the parking lot of a church. A sign in front said
ST. MICHAEL'S PARISH WELCOMES YOU!

“Can I help you?” asked the receptionist as we stepped inside. She had poufy blond hair that couldn't be a real color. I mean, hair like that doesn't just happen to people.

She stared at my hair. Maybe she was thinking the same thing.

“We have an appointment with Father Jim,” Mom said.

“Ah, yes,” she said, her eyes going back and forth between Mom and me, as if trying to figure out how we're related. Then she smiled. “Let me get him.”

She led us into a little room with a cross and a lot of books and some comfy chairs. After a little while a man stepped in and shook our hands. “Good to meet you, Mrs. Campbell,” he said. His nose had a bump on it, like a tiny turtle had dug under his skin, but his smile reached all the way into his eyes.

“This is my daughter, Jewel,” Mom said. “And we're here because she has . . . a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Father Jim asked, settling back into his chair. He looked at me expectantly.

This was what they wanted? For me to tell some stranger that I have problems with duppies and circles and rocks? My chest burned with anger, and I gripped the sides of my chair, hard.

“We all have problems in our lives,” Father Jim said, his voice calm and nice. “Sometimes it's good to talk about it.”

We'll see about that, I thought.

“Jewel, tell the priest about what happened,” Mom said, her voice sharpening.

I sat for a moment, trying to figure out what Mom wanted me to say. Then it hit me. I was sick of trying to make Mom happy. Dad too. They're not trying to make
me
happy, I thought. They threw my stones over the cliff and forbade me from going there again. They treat Grandpa like an idiot. They don't want me to dig for arrowheads or talk about anything important or do anything that makes me truly, truly happy.

I looked straight at Father Jim. “There are a lot of problems,” I said.

He waited.

“Like, Mom doesn't make us go to church anymore because she says religion is a bunch of lies to keep people obedient.”

“Jewel!” Mom cried.

“But I think there are a lot of things out there that we don't know about, and they're out there and they sure know about us.”

Mom stood up and grabbed my arm. “We are going,” she snapped.

Father Jim raised a hand. “Mrs. Campbell, don't you think it's worthwhile to hear your daughter's perspective?”

I didn't wait for Mom to answer. “And Dad is a Christian too, but he believes in other things, like duppies and bad luck and good luck, even though he doesn't talk about it in front of others because in this country people would say he's superstitious,” I said.

“Please, Mrs. Campbell,” Father Jim said, gesturing to Mom's chair.

Mom's face got dark. She sat back down.

“And my parents are really mad at me because I go to the cliff where my brother tried to fly.”

“Tried to fly?”

Mom put her head in her hands.