Uncontrollable (The Nature of Grace, Book 2) (4 page)

“So you have him covering your back now?” I ask.

Birdee spins around with a pair of green camouflage binoculars swinging from her neck. The second she spots me, she smiles the exact replica of Dad’s silly grin, dimples and all. Her algae-green eyes fix on me for a second. She smiles and feeds Petey another seed.

“You wish! I heard you – along with every bird within a hundred yards – ten minutes ago when you opened that squeaky back door of yours. How many times did I tell your Daddy to get that damn thing fixed? At least a hundred. Never did listen to me.”

I lump forms in my throat at how easy she’s able to throw around Dad’s name.

She walks over to me, the whole time scanning the trees for birds. In the frame of her aging face, I can see the picture of a young woman who used to help her father – my great grandpa – tend the farm from dawn until dusk. Now her tanned wrinkles tally up all the years of hard work. She holds out her arms but remains in place.

“Long time no see,” I say.

Her eyes moisten slightly. “Hey, Chicken.”

I jog over and hug her. Tight. She wraps her arms around me like a bat’s wings. “You know I hate when you call me that.”

“Hell, you’re a teen. You’re supposed to hate everything. What’s one more thing gonna matter?”

She squeezes me extra hard and a little longer than her standard thirty second embrace. Birdee and I say a lot in that one hug. Things we can’t say out loud. Things we don’t want to say.
How are you
?
I’m sad. I miss Dad. This sucks. How will I live without him
?
We will never be the same, but we’ll try to move on. For him
.

Eventually, she pushes me back with both arms. “I would ask how you are, but I can already see you’re way too skinny. Like no chicken I ever raised. Has Mary not been feeding you? Maybe I need to teach her a thing or two about being in the kitchen.”

I look down at my thin legs and notice how my jeans are baggier than a few months ago. “Excuse me! I’m eating.”

“Eating what? Grass? You’re a omnivore not a herbivore.” She studies me and pats both my cheeks with her wrinkled hands. “Well, don’t worry, Chicken. Birdee’s here to fatten you up for the winter.”

“I’m not a bear. I don’t need to hibernate.”

She taps her lips. “Hm. How about a date then? No self-respecting boy likes a bony girl. No matter what those damn magazines say. I’m sure Wyn likes a little meat on his girls.”

I gasp. “Birdee!”

She laughs and acts innocent. “What?”

I squint my eyes, and it dawns on me that Birdee knows nothing of what’s happened in my life outside of Dad. She doesn’t know about Tommy’s betrayal, that I fell in love with Mo only to lose him shortly after, and she obviously doesn’t know Wyn’s MIA. She’d probably chase him down and beat him with a stick.

I suddenly feel like I don’t know her like I used to – the woman who sat with me every night after Dad died and stroked my hair until I went to sleep, the woman who always stuffed me with Moon Pies whenever Mom and Dad went out of town together, the woman who still smacks my hand when I don’t put my napkin in my lap. I make a mental note to fill her in later.

I clear my throat of all the feelings swirling around. “Why are you here?”

Birdee straightens up and gives me an indignant look. “Excuse me? What, I can’t come and visit my only granddaughter? Besides it’s my birthday.” She leans in and whispers, “I’m going to be sixty, you know.”

I cackle. “Ha! You wish. You’ve been seventy for like
five
years now.”

She grins, and her eyes twinkle. “Have I? Well, damn. Guess I was lying then.
This
is the year I really turn seventy.”

“Mm-hm. If you say so.”

To be honest, I don’t have a clue how old Birdee is, and I’m guessing I never will. Though I’m pretty sure she didn’t have Dad when she was ten.

A bird chirps in the distance, and Birdee spins around. She grips her binoculars up and jams them up against her eyes. She pivots as she scans the trees like she’s on some spy mission on a stakeout.

“Oh, Lordy, did you hear that, Petey?”

A few other birds join in the chorus, mimicking the same call. I stand quietly behind her and relax, feeling better. Even though everything around me is different, Birdee hasn’t changed one bit. It’s the one thing about death that’s been the hardest for me, how much people change.

Either they aren’t the same as they were before, or they don’t act the same around me now. The looks of pity, the awkward silences, the cut-off sentences when they think they’ve said something wrong. That kind of strangeness forces relationships to shift, making it hard to continue being around people. The weirdness is then followed by the pain of knowing you’re losing more people than you ever expected.

Even if they aren’t dead, they have kinda become dead to me.

Tommy pops into my head, and my spirits sag, remembering how close we used to be. And now, after growing up with him in my life, in a matter of three short months it’s like we’re merely acquaintances whose only conversation is about the weather.

Yet, no matter what happens, Birdee is always Birdee – same jeans, same old cowboy boots, same haggard straw hat. Dad always called her the same tough old bird. It’s hard to believe she still finds the strength to laugh as much as she always has after losing her husband many years back and then Dad this year.

I, on the other hand, can’t seem to remember the last time I really laughed. The gut-wrenching kind that leaves your stomach aching. I think I might have smiled last week for the first time, but I’m not entirely sure it was totally intentional.

In the distance, the bird sounds off another distress call. Birdee cocks her head with her ear pointing up and listens. When the bird tweets again, she nods as if it’s talking to her. “Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit.” She peers in her binoculars and then quickly pulls her eyes away. “No, it’s can’t be.”

I stare up at the tree. “What is it?”

She looks again and beams when she hears the squawk. I swear she clicks her heels like Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz
. “Ha! I do believe we have a Carolina Parakeet here.” She does a little jig. “Ohhhh, this is so exciting.”

“You’re crazy.” I laugh and grab the binoculars. “Let me see.”

Birdee points to the bright spot of green and orange standing out against the brown branches.

“Carolina Parakeets have serious distress calls that can be heard up to two miles away. Some thought they were extinct. Though others have said that bird smugglers may still bring them in and out of the country. Someone must’ve let this little guy loose.”

I pass back her equipment. “You don’t need another looney bird in the house.”

I point to Petey, who nips at my finger. He meows when I pull away, “Come here, kitty kitty kitty.”

I shake my head and glance at Birdee who is smirking. “You are sick to teach him that.”

She giggles as she jots some scribbles in her little notebook covered in colorful birds. She hollers up at the trees. “Come on, Big Guy, gotta make it harder than that if you want to trick me!” Then she mutters under her breath, “You old coot. My mind is just as good as ever. I know every bird in this dang state, extinct, endangered, or stuffed.”

Petey repeats after her in his own high-pitched parrot voice, “Old coot.”

I laugh out loud. “So you and Petey are challenging God now?”

She winks and strokes the gray bird’s head. “Gotta keep the dialogue open so Big Guy don’t forget about me. Just in case.”

My smile drops at the same time as my stomach. “Why? Is something wrong?” I step back even though my legs quake beneath me. “Is that why you’re here?” I can barely get the words out, so I whisper, “You’re…you’re dying?”

Birdee laughs out loud and picks up her rifle, slinging the strap over her shoulder. “Jesus, child. Don’t get all crazy on me. I’m as healthy as Shoney’s veggie plate.”

She wraps her arm around my shoulders and squeezes me with every step as we head up the path toward home.

“I ain’t going nowhere, Chicken. You hear me? I’m right here. So stop trying to kill me off. Besides, I ain’t got no money.” She winks. “That you know of. Though I could leave you Petey.”

Petey falls over on his side and squawks, “I’m dead.”

As Birdie talks to her bird, I sigh out loud and push down the frantic feelings that rose so quickly, so unexpectedly. I can’t lose someone else. Not now. Dad’s death almost did me in, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be okay again. Birdee is all I have left of him.

Petey gets another seed from her palm as she rambles on. “Petey’s too young to lose me now. He’s only fifty. When your daddy gave him to me, he failed to mention I have to live to be more than a hundred to take care of my fine feathered friend. No pressure or anything.”

“You love your feathered friend,” Petey says and bobs his head up and down.

My dad found Petey in a trailer after he busted some guy for hunting deer off-season. Later, they found out the man was also importing animals. Dad confiscated all his animals and eventually gave Petey to my grandmother. Now they’re inseparable.

She kisses his head as I shake mine, sucking on the fingertip he practically bit off. “You’d better live that long, because I’m not taking the little nipper.”

Petey squawks, “You don’t want to ruffle my feathers.”

I eye Birdee. “You have waaaaay too much time on your hands. You’ve taught him to be the only bird in the world that speaks in complete sentences.”

She beams proudly as if watching her baby walk for the first time. “That’s right. He’s smarter than half the fools in this state.”

“That’s not saying much.” I fling my arm around her tiny waist as we head toward the house. “I love you, Birdee.”

She hugs me back. “I love you too, Chicken.”

Petey bounces up and down. “I love chicken.”

We both laugh, and Birdee pinches my waist. “Now let’s get some meat on those bones.”

* * *

Birdee doesn’t stop talking through the entire meal.

As I scarf down Dad’s favorite dinner – meatloaf and macaroni casserole with a buttery side of Brussels sprouts – I can’t help but notice how quiet Mom’s been the whole night. Every time I look at her, she avoids meeting my eyes, and I think I know why.

Even though Birdee’s visit brightens things up around here, like a breeze blowing through a boarded-up home, she can’t help but remind Mom and me of Dad. Birdee’s got the same dimpled smile, the same obnoxious laugh, and the same quirky mannerisms – the way she piles her food into little separate piles and goes from one pile to the next, the way she scrapes her fork across the plate after each bite, and the way she wipes her mouth with her napkin using both hands. Those are just a few of the thousands of things they do alike. She is so much like Dad, it makes me more aware of the fact that he isn’t here.

Birdee rambles on in the background about the Carolina Parakeet she spotted. How they were thought to be poisonous because they ate toxic seeds. I glance over at Mom. This time, she smiles weakly and reaches over to squeeze my hand. She knows what I’m thinking, too.

Birdee reaches over and slaps my hand. “Napkin, Chicken.”

I shove the cloth into my lap as she clinks a glass with her knife. “Hello? Attention, peanut gallery? Why am I the only one talking? You know it’s not polite to let the guest carry the whole conversation. Too much pressure for one old lady.”

I smile. “We were waiting on you to pause. Maybe use a period at the end of a sentence for a change.”

Birdee eyes me and then addresses my mother. “Girl’s getting too smart. Just like her Daddy.”

The D-word hits me hard, almost knocking the breath out of me. I even hear myself gasp for air out loud. I suddenly realize I’ll never call out for my daddy again, and tears spring to my eyes.

For a few seconds, no one says a word. We all grasp for a filler-sentence or maybe linking sentences that can take us from the topic of Dad’s death quickly to another subject, like the bad weather. It doesn’t matter, any subject will do. Suddenly my mind goes blank. No topics scroll through my head. It’s just a black screen with a big picture of Dad’s face plastered in the middle. Everyone looks at each other – Birdee to Mom, Mom to me, Mom to Birdee, Birdee to me.

Birdee places her napkin on the table and sits back in her chair. “Well. We’re going to have to get used to talking about Joe at some point.” Her voice cracks a little when she says Dad’s name, and she pauses as if collecting herself. “We can’t all hide from his name forever, and he wouldn’t want us to crumble every time he pops up in the conversation. And the good Lord knows Joe wouldn’t want to be forgotten. Not even for a second.”

A tear trickles down my Mom’s cheek. She quickly wipes it away as if that means it never fell and struggles to find words. “It’s just, we don’t like to talk about it. I guess it hurts too much.”

Birdee shakes her head, and her blue eyes water. The way they glisten reminds me of Bear Creek, and all the times Dad and I fished there together in the bright sunlight. I can’t help but get choked up when I see her face. I’ve never seen her cry. Not even at the funeral.

She swallows and speaks softly. “Mary, honey, maybe you two have been trying to forget him. To make it easier. Not me. I
need
to remember him. It’s the only way I can get through each day. The more I forget, the harder it is.”

I glance back and forth between them, tears clouding my vision. Mom and I talked about Dad a little in the beginning, but at some point after the memorial service and after Birdee left, he fell out of the conversation. I guess it was easier that way, but now I realize Birdee is right. We can’t forget Dad just because it hurts to remember.

I half-laugh and half-cry. “Boy, Dad would love us arguing over him right now.”

Birdee cups Mom’s hand. “Yes, he did love being the center of a conversation, even though he always pretended like he didn’t need to be.”

Mom nods. “That is so true.”

Birdee pats my head. “Chicken, it’s okay to be sad. All of us.” She reassures Mom. “It just means we’re feeling something, girls. Better to feel pain then nothing at all. When we feel nothing, that means we’re dead, too.”