myself with gathering litter from the roadside.
A few yards down the shoreline, the glare of a white piece of garbage caught my eye. I treaded carefully in the muddy marsh to retrieve it.
I gasped as I realized it was another paper bird. This one was folded into the shape of a swan, and I couldn’t help but open it, immediately.
Much of the ink was washed away, but the pencil sketch of a bluebird was unmistakable in the corner of the page. I could make out a few words from a paragraph on the right edge.
…day will come when I don’t wake up and think of you
… morning. I know it’s natural, I know it’s right, I know
…it doesn’t make it any easier. Sometimes I wonder how
much of my guilt over your death is mingled with guilt over
…odriguez’s. Can you forgive me? Can I forgive myself? Maybe
…the question, really.
I couldn’t refold the swan, but I carefully pressed the letter and tucked it into my jeans pocket, hoping it would survive the day.
Eventually the birders ran out of steam and we returned to the fairgrounds to release our charges. Not before I caught a glimpse of a lone truck, though. Something about it seemed familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“Rhoda, do you know whose green truck that is?” I gestured to an old restored pickup, almost blending in with the wild grasses of the marsh. No one was in it, but a black and white puppy ran out from under it, chasing the bus for several yards before the tall, lean figure of a man ran after it, leashing it and pulling it back.
Laurie.
“No clue. Cute guy,” she said, checking him out in her rearview.
“You coming to the bar for drinks with the rest of us tonight?” Rhoda said as the last of the tourists disembarked at the fairgrounds. The little boys from the back of the bus were calling out their thanks, one of them hugging my leg at the last minute as though he wasn’t ready to leave. “I owe you a brew, at least. I’m headed there as soon as I drop off the bus.”
“You know, Rhoda, I’d like to…but first I have to check on something.”
“You don’t mean the green truck guy, do ya?” She flashed a knowing smile. “Tell him to keep his dog on a leash. Great opening line.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“Can it, Groucho. I think I know the guy.”
“Oh, I hope you do, honey. He was cute. Go bring him back to the bar, and I’ll buy each of you a beer!”
Chapter Eighteen
Laurie
Before I could let Hap off-leash to train, I wanted to find my missing swan. I’d been writing the letters and leaving them folded as birds at the different parks, but when I got to Goose Pond, I realized one must have flown out the window.
“Damn it, Hap. I didn’t mean to come up here and litter the place.”
It was one of the weirdest parks I’d ever seen. No monkey bars, no picnic areas—just a lot of cornfields and the kind of shallow lakes that farmers give up and let go after years of losing crops to flood.
I was retracing my steps, and had finally reached a section of the park without many people around, so I let Hap off the leash.
The first thing he did was run right after a bus. Once it was gone I walked him on-lease again. No sign of the swan.
Finally, I showed him the treats in my pocket and let him off-leash again. He ran right up to a car. The first car I’d seen in a half an hour.
A little blue Beemer.
Wren’s car.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” she said.
“What, at lakes with questionable bathroom facilities?”
She nodded, chuckling. “Good to see your face, Laurie...” She hesitated for a moment, like she intended to say my last name, but forgot.
She looked amazing. The cool breeze off the marsh lazily wisped her long red curls. There was minimal parking at this place—maybe that’s why the DNR called it an “area” and not a park, I realized. She pulled to the side of the road and got out of her car.
“Wow,” I said, Hap biting at my pant leg for
A few yards down the shoreline, the glare of a white piece of garbage caught my eye. I treaded carefully in the muddy marsh to retrieve it.
I gasped as I realized it was another paper bird. This one was folded into the shape of a swan, and I couldn’t help but open it, immediately.
Much of the ink was washed away, but the pencil sketch of a bluebird was unmistakable in the corner of the page. I could make out a few words from a paragraph on the right edge.
…day will come when I don’t wake up and think of you
… morning. I know it’s natural, I know it’s right, I know
…it doesn’t make it any easier. Sometimes I wonder how
much of my guilt over your death is mingled with guilt over
…odriguez’s. Can you forgive me? Can I forgive myself? Maybe
…the question, really.
I couldn’t refold the swan, but I carefully pressed the letter and tucked it into my jeans pocket, hoping it would survive the day.
Eventually the birders ran out of steam and we returned to the fairgrounds to release our charges. Not before I caught a glimpse of a lone truck, though. Something about it seemed familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“Rhoda, do you know whose green truck that is?” I gestured to an old restored pickup, almost blending in with the wild grasses of the marsh. No one was in it, but a black and white puppy ran out from under it, chasing the bus for several yards before the tall, lean figure of a man ran after it, leashing it and pulling it back.
Laurie.
“No clue. Cute guy,” she said, checking him out in her rearview.
“You coming to the bar for drinks with the rest of us tonight?” Rhoda said as the last of the tourists disembarked at the fairgrounds. The little boys from the back of the bus were calling out their thanks, one of them hugging my leg at the last minute as though he wasn’t ready to leave. “I owe you a brew, at least. I’m headed there as soon as I drop off the bus.”
“You know, Rhoda, I’d like to…but first I have to check on something.”
“You don’t mean the green truck guy, do ya?” She flashed a knowing smile. “Tell him to keep his dog on a leash. Great opening line.” She waggled her eyebrows.
“Can it, Groucho. I think I know the guy.”
“Oh, I hope you do, honey. He was cute. Go bring him back to the bar, and I’ll buy each of you a beer!”
Chapter Eighteen
Laurie
Before I could let Hap off-leash to train, I wanted to find my missing swan. I’d been writing the letters and leaving them folded as birds at the different parks, but when I got to Goose Pond, I realized one must have flown out the window.
“Damn it, Hap. I didn’t mean to come up here and litter the place.”
It was one of the weirdest parks I’d ever seen. No monkey bars, no picnic areas—just a lot of cornfields and the kind of shallow lakes that farmers give up and let go after years of losing crops to flood.
I was retracing my steps, and had finally reached a section of the park without many people around, so I let Hap off the leash.
The first thing he did was run right after a bus. Once it was gone I walked him on-lease again. No sign of the swan.
Finally, I showed him the treats in my pocket and let him off-leash again. He ran right up to a car. The first car I’d seen in a half an hour.
A little blue Beemer.
Wren’s car.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” she said.
“What, at lakes with questionable bathroom facilities?”
She nodded, chuckling. “Good to see your face, Laurie...” She hesitated for a moment, like she intended to say my last name, but forgot.
She looked amazing. The cool breeze off the marsh lazily wisped her long red curls. There was minimal parking at this place—maybe that’s why the DNR called it an “area” and not a park, I realized. She pulled to the side of the road and got out of her car.
“Wow,” I said, Hap biting at my pant leg for
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