Skyward (34 page)

“You’re going to leave, aren’t you?”

Ella tossed the leaf, then looked at her empty hands and nodded. “I have to. I’m not needed here anymore. Fannie has been giving Marion her injections and managing her diet. I’ve no reason to stay.”

“But Harris…”

“Please, don’t talk to Harris about this. Don’t make this any harder for him than it already will be.”

“Oh, honey, are you sure?”

“No,” she said with a short, self-deprecating laugh. She laid her hand on Maggie’s arm. “But it’s what I’ve got to do. Promise me you’ll keep an eye on things?”

“I always do.”

They hugged and Ella felt the warmth of friendship swirl through her blood to bolster her resolve. Then she slipped from Maggie’s arms and stepped back. There was never an easy way to say goodbye. She’d always found it best to simply wave, smile and walk away as quickly as she could.

Brady sat with his father in a johnboat on the Wando River. It had been a fair-to-middling morning of fishing and the sun was getting too high and hot in the sky. Roy was pulling in what he’d claimed would be his last fish of the day.

“Well, shoot, look at that. Ain’t no more than an appetizer,” he said in his gravelly voice, pulling the hook out of the spot tail’s mouth.

“That one’s undersized, Daddy. You ought to toss him back.”

“Aw, no one gives a damn about that, anyway,” said Roy, opening the fish bucket on the bottom of the boat.

Brady shifted his weight on the narrow slat and took a breath. “I do,” he said.

Roy paused, the wiggling fish dangling from his hand. He eyed his son narrowly and considered. “You telling me you care about this puny fish?”

“Yes, sir.”

His father shook his head and chuckled low in his chest. “If that don’t beat all. Those tree huggers really got to you, didn’t they?” He held up the fish to look at it up close. “Explain it to me how this one little fish is gonna make one scrap of difference in that big river out there?”

It would have been so easy to shut down his defenses as he usually did, to just shrug and let him toss that nothing of a fish into the bucket and leave it be. But something in his gut told him it was time to make a stand. Even if the issue was this puny fish, on this morning, in this boat, the consequences loomed large.

Once, months ago, his father had asked him if he was with him or against him, and Brady had fallen in line against his better judgment. Even against his own nature. He’d never felt right about that, never felt the same about his father—or himself—since that day.

Brady looked up at the man sitting only a few feet away. The years of hard living, hard drinking and smoking had coursed deep lines in his weathered face. His youth was long gone. That fact was clearly evident in the increasing amount of gray scattered in the coarse stubble on his cheeks and at the temples of his hair. Brady tried to see Roy Simmons as a man, not just as his father. Doing that made him feel more a man himself.

“You’re right. I can’t make a difference with every fish out there in the river. Or even one measly creek. That’s too big. I can only do what I can do.”

As he began trying to explain his newfound beliefs to his father, he was amazed when the belligerence on Roy’s face slackened and he actually began listening to what his son had to say.

“See, if everyone went and kept the undersize fish they’d caught, that would be thousands of fish each summer that wouldn’t grow to breed. Wouldn’t be long before they’d die out and there’d be no fish left for anybody. But if I tossed my undersize fish back in the water, and the next guy did, and so on and so on, then we can all come back here and go fishing another day. So the way I figure it, it does make a difference if I put that puny fish back in this river. Leastwise, I’d know I did the right thing. A man can live with that.”

His father shook his head and half smiled. But he didn’t laugh at him. To Brady’s surprise, he leaned over the edge of the boat and tossed that puny fish back into the river.

Roy looked at him sideways. “Happy now?”

Brady’s chest expanded and he looked his father square in the eye. “Yes, sir, I am. Thank you.”

Roy looked at his son, really studied him in the way he might if he were some stranger he came across and had the feeling he might have met him sometime before.

“You really like it at that bird place, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Brady replied with a sinking feeling, wondering where this was headed.

“Your mama tells me you’re going to keep volunteering there this summer. Even though your court time is served.”

“I’m going to work there,” he said with pride. “Harris gave me a job as a bird handler. He even gave me my own falcon to train. I got to name it, too. I call him Totem.”

Roy screwed up his face. “What the hell kind of a name is that?”

“A good name. I like it. And I really like flying the birds. Daddy, I’ve finally found something I’m good at.”

“Is that a fact?” Roy rubbed his jaw, his eyes sparkling with wonder. “Did I ever tell you your great-granddaddy used to hunt with falcons? Raised them, too.”

Brady’s brows rose in wonder. “You’re kidding?”

Roy’s face broke into a wide grin. “Yep. I’ll tell you about him on the way back. You remind me of him. He was stubborn, too.” He turned to the bucket, checking the day’s catch before he sealed the lid. His movements were stiff, not as swift or agile as Brady remembered. “Well, we ain’t got much, but we have something to give your mother for dinner. Ready to go home, son?”

Brady met his gaze and nodded. Then he turned and began pulling up the anchor out from the muddy bottom.

It was very early when Ella walked down the hall to Harris’s bedroom for the last time. The dawn had not yet risen and the hall was black as night. Another rainstorm had pushed through the day before, clearing away the oppressive humidity and leaving the night air refreshingly cool. They’d left the windows open to cool the house. She could hear the pulls on the wooden blinds gently tapping as they fluttered in the wind.

She didn’t knock on his door, afraid she might awaken Fannie and Marion sleeping directly upstairs. So she eased it open, grimacing when the hinges squeaked.

The moonlight from the open windows filled the room with soft gray light. The room was a shambles of tossed clothing and tilting piles of papers and books that appeared as shadowed lumps on the floor and desktop. She tiptoed around them to the twin bed in the corner.

Her stomach clutched as she looked at him lying on his stomach, deep in sleep and snoring lightly. She didn’t want to wake him, didn’t know if she had the strength to tell him goodbye. In the past several hours before dawn she’d writ ten dozens of letters, yet she’d ripped them all up. In the end, she couldn’t leave him another note on the kitchen table.

She reached out and touched the bare skin of his shoulder. It flinched under her touch. Gathering her courage, she shook him, gently at first, more firmly the second time.

He awoke with a start, jerking his head up from the pillow. She stepped back anxiously. He blinked, then looked at her with groggy, uncomprehending eyes.

“Harris, it’s me,” she whispered. “Ella.”

He mopped his face with his hand, waking up more, and when he dropped his hand he looked at her again. His blue eyes shone in the shadows as he focused. He seemed surprised to see her at first, then pleased. His face softened to a lazy smile of welcome.

“Ella…” He moved to the far side of the bed and lifted the thin sheet to welcome her. His arm paused midair as he noticed that she was completely dressed in khaki pants and a T-shirt and that her hair was neatly wound and pulled back on her head.

“What time is it?” he asked, suddenly alert.

“Five o’clock.”

He tensed and sat up on the mattress, pushing his hair back from his face. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.”

His arm shot forward to grab hold of hers. “Don’t do this, Ella.”

She pulled back, but he would not release her. “I have to go, Harris.”

“No,” he said urgently, drawing her closer.

“Please, let me go.” Ella resisted, but he was stronger. He pulled her nearer, down to the warm, scented cocoon of his bed and into his arms. He moved his body to cradle hers and she felt the heat of his skin and the hardness of bone against her.

“You can’t go,” he said against her cheek.

Tears were pooling now and she put her small hands against his bare shoulder, afraid to let down her guard even for one moment. She strained against the force of him, pushing him away. “I must. I will.”

“You’d really go?” he demanded in a strained whisper, looking into her eyes. “You’d leave me like this? Leave Marion?”

“Don’t be unfair,” she rasped, trying to keep her voice hushed. “We both know that you’ve made your decision. It’s not the one I’d hoped for, but it’s the one I must live with.

You must promise me one thing, though,” she said, her voice resolute. “You must promise to watch Marion closely. Make certain that she gets her medicine and follows her diet. You have to trust your instincts, and if you suspect anything, act quickly. Promise me!”

She felt his muscles relax as he gave up the fight. They looked at each other, their faces so close their breath inter mingled in the space between them. In each other’s eyes they saw the unspeakable sadness of defeat, knowing that it was over.

“I promise,” he replied in a raspy voice.

She smiled a sweet, sad smile, then reached up to smooth his hair from his forehead. He closed his eyes tight.

“I tried to write you a note,” she said, her voice gentler now as she loosened herself from his grip. “But I couldn’t. I felt that what we’d shared deserved a proper ending.”

“Ella…”

“No!” she uttered with a muffled cry, putting her hands over his mouth. “We’ve said all there is to say. Except goodbye.”

She let her fingers lovingly trace his lips. “So, goodbye, Harris. Each day with you and Marion was like a gift. I thank you for them. And I wish you much happiness.”

“If you leave, you curse me with unhappiness.”

“Goodbye,” she whispered again, and kissed him, keeping her eyes open, memorizing every detail. Then, extricating herself from his arms, she slipped from the bed.

This time he didn’t resist.

Habitat.
The area where an animal finds nesting sites, hunting territory and water is known as its habitat. Loss of habitat due to construction, draining and filling of wetlands, cutting of forests and the use of agricultural chemicals have taken their toll on raptor populations and is the greatest threat to wildlife populations worldwide.

22

JUNE BEGAN WITH A HEAT WAVE THAT WOULD burn till the equinox. Local tongues were wagging about global warming and the upper-state folks were shaking their heads at ponds and rivers drying up. Everyone was praying for much-needed rain. Fires sparked in the tinder-dry grass, causing forest rangers to prohibit campfires. Only the tourists on the beaches were delighted with the weather.

Harris grunted under the weight of the lumber he was carting across the withered grass. The heat streamed down his face and chest but he kept on hauling like a beast of bur den. At last he’d secured enough funding to begin his dream of building the large flight pens. He’d talked with Ella about the plans for months, couldn’t wait to start building. Since she’d left, however, the joy had fizzled out of the project, as with most other things. He dropped the final load of wood on the ground. It landed with a loud clutter.

“Sit down and take a load off,” Lijah told him, handing him a cold drink. “You work hard enough to cause the dirt to rise.”

Harris slumped down on the pile of wood and took the drink. It was true. He was working round the clock, either at the clinic or training the birds or building the flight pens. Working was the only time he felt any peace these days, but it was exacting a toll. His back was sore, his arms felt like rubber and his stomach was growling. On top of all that, he was bleary-eyed. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in the weeks since Ella left. And his appetite was off. He couldn’t believe he missed Ella’s cooking, too.

He almost chuckled just thinking back on those soggy pieces of bacon and lumpy grits of Ella’s first few days. As with everything else, she’d kept trying. She studied cookbooks and practiced recipes from all over the world. She used to laugh and say the most exotic food she ever tried was good ol’ Southern cooking. Okra was an enigma to her.

Fannie made fried okra better than anyone he knew and her grits were creamy smooth. But he had to admit, coming home to one of her meals wasn’t nearly as much fun.

“That wouldn’t be a smile I see on your face?” Lijah asked. “Ain’t seen one of those since Miss Ella left.”

Harris looked up, startled from his reverie. “I was just wool-gathering.”

“Been doing that a lot, far as I can tell. Yessir, I miss her myself.”

Harris took a long swallow from his soda. That old coot didn’t miss a trick.

“That Fannie gal, she cut from a different piece of cloth, that for sure.” Lijah sniffed in his haughty manner, making his opinion clear. “Can’t trust a woman who don’t make a decent cup of coffee.”

“Give her some time,” Harris replied wearily.

“Humph. That woman just flutters around doing no good.

She won’t cut her teeth to talk to me, but I seen her slinking ’round young Brady, offering him a cool drink, sweet-mouthing him.”

“She gave a drink to all of us,” Harris countered. He wanted to steer clear of the battle between Lijah and Fannie. He got an earful from Fannie about Lijah every night. The two were like baking soda and vinegar. Nonetheless, the image of Fannie smiling coquettishly at Brady took root in his mind and festered. She did seem to turn on the charm whenever the young man came near.

Hell, the heat was frying his brain, he told himself, putting the cold can to his forehead. A haze hovered over the ground and the sound of insects swelled and bellowed.

“Clouds coming,” Lijah said, looking up. “Change in the weather.”

“Hope so. We need the rain. You can cut this humidity with a knife. I’d like to finish the pen before the sky opens up, though. It’s taking shape, don’t you think?”

“This here’s going to be a fine flight pen once we’re done. And my Santee will be the first one to test it out.”

“Yep. She’ll be more than ready for it, too. Her lungs sound great and with a little exercise, I’d say she’s set to go. She’s a beautiful specimen of eagle and I’m glad she’ll be back in the breeding pool. Though…” He slanted a glance at Lijah. “I’d be sorely tempted to find an excuse to keep her longer if it would mean you’d stay on, too.”

“Can’t do that,” Lijah said, regret tingeing his voice. “Though I thank you for the sentiment. No, it’s time for my Santee to go off and find Pee Dee. Then she can go on back home.” He reached up to tug at his ear. “Same holds true for me. My Martha is waiting and I expect I’ll be crossing over to meet her before too long.”

Harris swung his head around to look closely at the old man. “Are you ill?”

“My spirit’s fine. It’s this old body that’s feeling weary now.”

“Let’s get you in to see a doctor,” he said, alarmed. “I know of a good one in Mount Pleasant.”

“And what would he do if he find something? I ain’t going to no hospital.” He shook his head and waved his hand in a calming gesture. “Don’t worry, son. Ain’t something I can specify. Just aches and pains. It’s the way it is when you get old. When you been in a body as long as I been in this one, you just seem to know when your boat’s getting close to shore.”

Harris rose and put his hand on Lijah’s shoulder, guiding him toward the shade of the spreading oak tree. “You just sit down in that shade over there and relax. You’re the craftsman. I’m the grunt labor. I’ll finish this with Brady later.”

“Maybe just for a spell. Mind you, I want these hands here to build this flight pen. It’ll be something I can leave behind when I gone. Something with my mark upon it that I’m proud of.”

“You’ve left your mark on every one of us, old man. We’ll none of us forget you.”

Lijah held his gaze for a moment, deeply moved, then nodded slowly. “That the finest mark a man can leave behind. That for sure.”

“Mama, I’m not feeling so good.”

“Aw, you’re fine,” Fannie replied, her eyes glued to the television. “Come on over and watch this movie with me.”

Fannie was spread out on the sofa in the living room. Two fans were whirling, but even oscillating at full blast they couldn’t move enough of the thick, humid air to bring much relief.

“I don’t wanna watch no more TV,” Marion whined, stomping her foot petulantly. “We’ve been lying here all day.”

“And we’re gonna lie here all night.”

“Ella used to take me for walks. Can we go for a walk? We can see the crows.”

“In this heat? Are you crazy?”

She tsked loudly and pouted. “Can we play a game?”

“Precious,”
Fannie replied with an impatient drawl. She began tapping her fingers along the back of the sofa. “Can’t you see I’m trying to watch a movie?”

Marion scowled. “I miss Ella.”

Fannie swung her head around, scowling and sweaty. “I’m sick and tired of you whining about Saint Ella.
Ella did this… Ella did that,
” she said in a singsong manner. “Well, El la’s gone, hear? And I don’t want to hear her name one more time.
I’m
your mama and
I’m
here.”

Marion sighed lustily, wiped her sweaty brow and shuffled over to the sofa. She stood there for a while, watching the movie with a listless expression. Then she leaned against her mother, wrapping her arm around her and putting her head on Fannie’s shoulder with a sigh.

“Oh, baby, don’t do that,” Fannie said, pushing her away. “You’re all sweaty and it’s too hot.”

“My head hurts and I feel icky. Maybe I need to check my ’betes.”

Fannie turned to look at her face carefully. “Your blood was okay a little while ago. Oh, it’s this damn heat. You’re just hot.” She reached out to put her hand on her forehead. “You really don’t feel so good?”

Marion shook her head.

Fannie chewed her lip, then her glance flicked over to the television set. “Tell you what. Go on in the fridge and get one of those orange juice packs. That’ll make you feel better.”

Marion’s shoulders fell but she did as she was told.

Fannie heard the fridge open, then the footfalls up the backstairs as Marion went to her room.

Thank heavens, she thought with a sigh of relief. That kid was driving me nuts.

Harris returned home that night feeling gritty and sweaty after an afternoon of labor in the sun. Lijah was a remarkable craftsman. His large, gnarled hands could work a piece of wood till it was as smooth as silk, and Brady’s strong back had been a boon to the project. At this rate, they’d be finished with the pen by the week’s end.

He stepped into the house, and though the air was moving, it wasn’t much cooler than the outdoors. The whir of fans and the blare of the television seemed deafening to his ears. Fannie was lying on her back in front of the television, her dirt-caked feet hanging off the armrest. The fans were aimed to whirl air over her slender body, clothed only in skimpy shorts and a bra.

Harris’s face hardened and his gaze searched the room, landing on Fannie with reproach. The living room was cluttered with toys, a basket of unfolded laundry spilled over in the corner and dirty dishes lay on the table. When he saw the two empty beer bottles on the coffee table, however, an old trigger from way back clicked and he felt a bubbling fury well up. He slammed the door behind him.

Fannie heard the noise and swung her head around. Seeing him, she sat up on her elbows and said, “Thank God you’re home.”

“Where’s Marion?”

Fannie heard the cold tone of his voice and immediately sat up on the sofa. “Oh, she’s upstairs in her room,” she replied with an easy wave of her hand, trying to defuse his anger. “It’s cooler up there.”

He walked over to the television and turned it off. Then, putting his hand on its top, he ground out, “It’s burning hot. I told you I didn’t want you watching television all day with Marion.”

“It’s hotter than hell out there,” she fired back in defense. “In here, too. You’ve got to do something before we burn up. Can’t you get an air conditioner?”

“I told you, not now. I just spent all the extra cash for the flight pen.”

“Damn that flight pen. Damn the birds. Everything always goes to them. It’s always the same with you. Nothing’s changed, not in all the years I’ve known you.” She slapped her hand to her chest. “What about us?”

“There are two air conditioners in the house, go in one of those rooms! This hot spell has to break soon.”

“I can’t bring the TV in there.”

“So, don’t watch so much TV!”

“There’s nothing else to do in this godforsaken place,” she shouted back, rising from the sofa to square off in front of him. She bounced around on the balls of her feet like a bantam. “I’ve been here for six weeks and I’m going out of my frigging mind.”

“You knew what it was like. You begged me to let you stay. And it’s not like you don’t have anything to do. There are lots of things you’re supposed to be doing that aren’t getting done. Things that I count on you to do.”

“Like what? Laundry? Oh, great. I can hardly wait. And digging a garden? Playing Chutes and Ladders? Cooking? Man alive, I never knew such a thrill.”

“Are you done?” he said, trying to hold his temper.

“No, I’m not done! I’m just getting started.”

Harris pinched the bridge of his nose. They seemed to fight all the time now. She wasn’t happy about anything or anybody. They slept in separate bedrooms and ate in silence.

“I don’t suppose you cooked dinner tonight?”

She began rubbing her arms as though she were scratching. “It’s too damned hot to cook. I thought we’d order a pizza.”

“We did that last night.”

“So do it again tonight!” she shouted back at him. She raked her hair with her fingers, then reached over to the table to grab a clasp and pin her hair back. Harris noticed that her hands were shaky.

“Are you okay?” he asked, searching her face. “Is it too much for you, Fannie?”

Fannie heard the concern in his voice and stopped pacing to look at him, her face frazzled and tear-stained. “I’m trying, Harris. Really, I am. It’s just so hard.” She began rubbing her arms, gaining steam. “I can’t keep up. Every time I turn around, the kid needs something. And I’m bored! Maybe if I had a break. I just need some time to myself. I need some fun.”

He sighed heavily, feeling the heat and fatigue weigh his heart to his shoes.

Sensing the change in mood, she came close and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I don’t want to fight no more,” she said against his ear. “I didn’t come home for that. I miss you, Harris. You haven’t come to my bed. How do you think that makes me feel? Maybe if we were, you know, together, I’d feel more like I belong here.” She pressed herself against him, rubbing her hips seductively.

He put his hands on her hips and held her there, tight. All the anger that had roiled inside of him switched like quicksilver to passion.

“Come on, honey. Make me feel like I belong here.”

He brought his lips down over hers in a crushing embrace that had more to do with release than love. Fannie stretched against him, seemingly climbing him, hungry and demanding.

He moved his hands along her back, her rear, up and down, feeling her softness against him as a million memories from years past assailed him. When he moved his hand across her hips, a sharp plastic edge scraped his palm and a package slipped from her pocket into his hand.

He looked down for a second to toss whatever it was onto the table when something jogged his mind. He tore his lips away to blink and focus at it.

Fannie was kissing his neck when she noticed he’d stopped moving. In fact, he was standing rock still. She dragged her lips from his neck to look at his face, then followed his stern gaze down to his palm. She froze.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, flattening his palm.

Fannie dropped her arms and took a step back. She didn’t reply.

Harris held up the small plastic container of pills. Several pockets had been popped open. “How much of this did you take? This stuff can tranquilize an elephant.”