Senseless Acts of Beauty by Lisa Verge Higgins

“you’re up early.”
    “Old habit.” Tess let go of her knees, then tucked a pack of cigarettes into the breast pocket of her denim button-down shirt. “When I’m working, the earlier I’m on the road, the quicker my route is done. I can’t seem to shake the schedule, even on vacation.”
    “How’s the migraine?”
    “Better.”
    Riley reserved comment. She had a suspicion those migraines could be summoned at will. Her and Tess’s friendship had always been an uncertain thing, born as they were in the same town but worlds apart. Riley didn’t want this dispute over her resident runaway to drive a wedge between them.
    “If you’ve got a minute,” Riley said, “I’d like to show you something.”
    Tess snorted. “Last time I heard you say that, you showed me a box full of baby birds.”
    Riley remembered that spring when a clutch of fledgling starlings had been knocked out of their nest during a storm. “When I find them hopping around here now, I just put them back in their nests.”
    “Such a softie.”
    “It doesn’t always work. Half the time their nests are in pieces on the ground.”
    “Still,” Tess said, brushing off her jeans as she stood up from the stump, “it’s always a good idea to return ‘fledglings’ to wherever they belong.”
    Tess looked at her from under the swoop of those bangs, and Riley suddenly remembered that hummingbirds were believed to be the reincarnated spirits of Aztec warriors.
    “You and I are talking about different kinds of fledglings, I think.” Riley gave her a sideways squint. “We seem to be talking across each other a lot lately.”
    “What we have here is an honest difference of opinion.”
    “Our little runaway isn’t any trouble.” Riley turned toward the path, gesturing for Tess to follow her. “You’ve noticed that, right?”
    Tess fell into pace beside her. “I haven’t seen her much.”
    “She’s sitting in the kitchen right now polishing off blueberry pancakes while she reads War and Peace .”
    “Can’t say I ever cracked that book.”
    “I’m just saying, I can’t imagine many child grifters read Tolstoy.”
    “Riley, you’ve made your decision. You don’t have to justify it to me.”
    “I’m not.”
    “Then why do you sound defensive?”
    Riley blinked, nonplussed. “Maybe because you told me that I was crazy not to call the police?”
    “Look.” Tess raised her hands, and the way the light moved over her tatted shoulder gave Riley the impression of a bird ruffling its wings. “I see situations like yours and I think up worst case scenarios. That’s what I do. But, hey, this is your business, Riley. I wish you and Sadie luck.” Tess peered ahead. “Where exactly are we going?”
    “To the barn. Trust me; you’ll want to see this.”
    Riley led Tess across the sun-blazed lawn, past the table feeder and the pole with the house for martens, to the opposite side of the clearing. She felt a little off balance at Tess’s swift dismissal of their dispute. Riley wasn’t used to people ceding disagreements, accepting differences of opinion, and breezily changing the subject.
    She’d better not get too used to this behavior. She was meeting her mother for lunch this afternoon.
    At the barn she flung open both doors so light flooded through to the back wall. One side was cluttered with the usual machinery: a sturdy ride-on mower, an industrial snowblower, rakes and shovels and hoes and gardening equipment, tins of oil and bottles of blue windshield wiper fluid. Fishing tackle and rods were lined up against the wall by the workbench, which had a clamp on the edge for making flies. In the corner leaned a fleet of rusted bikes she should really put out for bulk waste collection, but she kept thinking she could restore some of them. Scattered all about were old canoe paddles, boxes of shotgun shells, bear mace, and a new plastic kiddie pool, bought when Riley’s nine nieces and nephews visited for a summer afternoon.
    Riley