Page 41 of Other Birds
Eventually he pushed himself away from the door and took a sheet from the stack on the chair in the corner. He spread it over his bed and crawled under the covers.
And when he woke in the morning, he was again covered in cornmeal.
Chapter Fourteen
HUNTER’S RUN, VERMONT
Ten years ago
It was so quiet at the camp that the ticking of the clock on the bedroom wall could be heard. There was a girl, just sixteen, on the bed in her parents’ cabin, no longer shivering. Another girl was sitting on a hard chair beside the bed. They hadn’t allowed her to see the girl in the bed for days, so she’d just crept through the window, tracking in mud that was several inches deep from the spring thaw outside. It covered her shoes and the hem of her baggy jeans. She was crying quietly as she held the dead girl’s hand. It felt like she’d died along with her.
Voices suddenly broke through the quiet in the next room, adults. The girl beside the bed turned sharply to the door, frightened she might be caught. She recognized Minister McCauley by his booming voice perfected on street corners where he called dramatically to sinners. Minister McCauley was upset that the death of the girlcould mean that so-called authorities would get involved at their camp. He was telling the dead girl’s parents that it was everyone’s fault but his own that the poor girl didn’t survive.
But even the girl sitting by the bed knew that the dead girl could have easily been saved if they’d just taken her to a hospital. These were adults. They should have known better. They should have seen through Minister McCauley. Instead, the dead girl’s parents were agreeing with him. The dead girl’s father was even telling Minister McCauley that he was sorry.
They were going to bury the dead girl soon. Several men had just gone into the woods with shovels to dig through the wet earth that coated everything during Vermont’s mud season. The girl sitting beside the bed knew she had to go. This would be her only chance. But she was petrified. She didn’t think she could do this alone. That had never been the plan. The two girls were supposed to run away together. But she couldn’t stay, either. She’d just discovered the bag of money in Minister McCauley’s office. He was leaving. The bag of money made that clear. He had killed the girl on the bed with his negligence, and he was leaving everyone else to face the consequences.
By taking the money, the girl knew Minister McCauley couldn’t go anywhere. Eventually every bad thing he’d ever done would catch up to him, and she wanted people to know exactly where he was when it did.
Trembling, the girl sitting by the bed fell to her knees, not in prayer—she was long past that—but to pry up the loose board and take out the diary. She stuffed it into the waistband of her jeans and then crawled back out the window. The only thing that got her moving, and kept her moving for years to come, was her promiseto keep the dead girl’s memory alive, even if it meant losing herself entirely.
Especiallyif it meant losing herself entirely.
Charlotte awoke with a start.
She heard a vacuum cleaner, which was strange because she didn’t have a vacuum cleaner. She didn’t own any rugs to clean.
She lifted her head and found a cat lying on her stomach, staring at her through sleepy, half-closed eyes.
The vacuum cleaner shut off and Charlotte sat up, remembering where she was.
Fig jumped down and went to sit by Mac’s bedroom door. If Charlotte left now, she wouldn’t have to face him, to talk about things that were so frightening in the dark but seemed completely blown out of proportion now. This was awkward enough.
But then Mac’s bedroom door opened and he walked out as Fig sauntered in, as if she wanted to inspect his work. It had the feeling of a well-worn routine.
Mac looked apologetic when he saw Charlotte. “Did I wake you?”
“That’s all right,” Charlotte said as she stood. She smoothed her hair, which had come out of its braid in the night, and tried to rearrange her dress into something less messy. She was never at her best in the mornings, even when she hadn’t slept in her clothes. It didn’t help that he looked so composed with his red hair still wet and neatly styled back. How had he survived what he’d survived and ended up sofunctional?“Do you always vacuum first thing in the morning?”
“Fig’s deaf, so it never seems to bother her.”
“Oh,” Charlotte said, inching toward the patio doors in retreat. “I didn’t realize she was deaf.”
“I didn’t either, at first.” Mac watched her progress, his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts.
She reached the doors. “I should go.”
“Do you want to talk to Frasier now,” he asked, “or would you like some breakfast first?”
She was running as if he were chasing her, but he hadn’t even moved. He wasn’t asking questions or demanding answers. He wasn’t trying anything.He wasn’t attracted to her.He was safe. He was only offering her food. And food was touching all sorts of soft spots in her lately. Potato chip sandwiches. Lemon-glazed doughnuts. Corn bread in a glass of milk. She dropped her hand from the door handle. “It’s not every day an executive chef offers to make me breakfast.”
He smiled, turning toward the kitchen. “Now the pressure’s on.”
“Can I use your bathroom first?”
“Of course,” he said. “It’s through the bedroom. You’ll probably find Fig there, drinking water out of the bathtub. She pretends her water bowl doesn’t exist.”
Once Charlotte closed the bathroom door behind her, she put her hands on the sides of the sink and lowered her head, telling herself to get it together. Then she looked at herself in the mirror. It was as bad as she’d thought.
