Chapter 5
FIVE
The leaves outside the window sway and twirl in the gentle morning breeze, their movement fluid and graceful, before they descend into brief chaos as a sudden gust of wind sweeps through. Their edges are crisp and fresh, the new growth almost glowing a brilliant green, causing them to stand out vividly against the backdrop of a bright blue sky. Sunlight filters through them to cast an intricate pattern of shadows and light that dances on the ground, flashing and shifting with each rustle of the leaves. It’s one of those perfect spring mornings, where it feels like the earth is breathing life into itself.
“More coffee?”
My attention is brought back to the dining room as Dad sets a stack of pancakes on the table, and gestures to my now empty coffee cup before me.
I shake my head and shift in my seat, letting my gaze roam over the table. I didn’t even notice Mom and Dad have breakfast all set.
As Dad heads back into the kitchen with Mom, their voices fade into the background once again as my attention drifts back out the window. My gaze traces the tops of the trees, then lifts to the sky where the clouds drift lazily overhead.
I wonder if the bird I took to the vet will ever be able to fly up there again…
My pulse quickens as my eyes lock on one of the slow-moving clouds, and the image of the bird’s broken wing flashes in my mind. She had surgery last night. Surgery that’s supposed to fix her.
But what if it doesn’t? What if she’s never able to fly again? What if she’s released and then has issues with her wing or hurts it again? How will we know if she’s ok when she’s released? How do they know when to release her and that she’s ready to fly? What if she’s not ready when they do?
“Arthur?”
A hand gently lands on my arm, and I blink, turning my head to face Mom as she takes a seat beside me.
“Sorry, honey,” she says, smiling softly but eyeing me curiously. “Something on your mind?”
I rub at my eyes and nod, blowing out a breath. “I brought a bird to the vet yesterday.”
“Oh?” Dad says as he takes his seat across from me. Then he places two pancakes on my plate, then Mom’s.
I stay silent for a moment as I watch him, the familiarity of our routine settling me a bit. Every time I have breakfast with my parents, which is every Saturday we’re all in town, Dad always serves me and Mom first.
“Yeah,” I continue. “A Pine Grosbeak.”
“What happened?” Mom asks, taking the bowl of scrambled eggs Dad passes her and scoops some onto her plate.
“She had a broken wing,” I explain, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. “I found her in Witless Bay, and she was on the ground. I took her to the vet, and he took her to the conservation centre last night for surgery. ”
Mom passes me the bowl of eggs, and Dad nods.
“Good thing you found her,” he says.
I nod, looking down at the eggs before me. But my fingers hesitate over the spoon, and my brow furrows. I just stare into the bowl, unable to move, like my body and brain are stuck. My thoughts continually loop back to the bird and the questions taking over, despite my best efforts to shut them down and just put the eggs on my plate.
What if I didn’t find her?
What is she doing now? Is she ok in her cage?
Mom’s hand gently reaches out and takes the spoon, scooping eggs onto my plate for me.
I look up at her and she smiles. “Tell us more,” she says softly.
I glance between my parents as they wait patiently for me to share more about the bird. “The vet sent me a text, because he said he would update me on her surgery. And he did,” I say. “He texted me last night when he finished and said it went well and she’s doing ok.”
“That’s great news,” Dad replies and takes a sip of his coffee.
I nod and pick up my fork, but all I do is push the eggs around the plate as a heavy feeling sits in the pit of my stomach. It is good news. But now what? Now what happens? It’s been thirteen hours and twenty-two minutes since she had surgery, and I don’t know what comes next.
My heart starts pounding again, and I shift my gaze out the window to let nature calm me.
But the movement of the leaves no longer feels comforting. They now feel frantic and disorganized, reflecting the feeling building inside myself. And I can’t tear my gaze away from them as they pull me deeper into their chaos.
“Arthur.”
The sound of Mom’s voice cuts through the mess in my head, and my eyes snap to her.
She tilts her head as she observes me, her eyes warm and soothing. “What has you feeling worried?”
I swallow hard as my leg bounces under the table. “I don’t know how she is now.”
Dad nods thoughtfully. “You could text the vet and ask for an update?”
I nod in agreement and let out a sigh as I drop my gaze to my plate, picking up a forkful of eggs. But I set it down before I can take a bite, squeezing my eyes shut.
It’s all too much.
I can’t stop thinking about the bird, and I need to know. But the thought of texting the vet, Trevor he said his name is, feels… overwhelming. And I don’t know why.
But I really want to know about the bird.
Suddenly, the clatter of utensils against plates and the pouring of coffee grows impossibly loud, and each sound presses into me. My body tenses as the noise amplifies, and everything feels too close, and too much. The chair against my back feels harsh, the light streaming in from the window is too bright, and I’m trapped between needing to escape, and being frozen in place. My insides buzz with an overwhelming tingling, and the steady thumping of my heart against my chest is so intense it’s almost painful.
Then Mom’s hand slips into mine, and she squeezes hard. My eyes stay shut as she holds my hand tight, the pressure seeping through me and damping down the chaos trying to take over. Slowly, the tension begins to ease, and my heart slows.
“Let it out,” she murmurs in a soothing voice.
I sit quietly, trying to understand what it is I’m even feeling. I don’t even know what I should be letting out. I want to text Trevor to ask about the bird. But it feels too hard, even though I’ve done it before. I texted him back after he told me about the surgery to say thank you. And I want to know more this morning, so I should just do it…
A soft hum escapes me, and I let the vibration flow through my chest as Mom squeezes my hand again. Calm flows through me, and slowly, everything that feels out of place inside me seems to slide back to where it belongs.
When I open my eyes, I take a deep breath in and nod. “I want to know how she’s doing,” I say quietly.
Dad takes a bite of his pancakes and nods. “Good. Honestly, I’m pretty invested now too and want to know. Don’t leave me hanging here.”
I tilt my head at him, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips as he grins back at me.
Mom chuckles, letting go of my hand to pick up her fork again. “You do whatever you’d like to do.”
I just nod, picking up my fork as well and bringing my gaze down to my breakfast. I take a couple bites of my pancakes as my parents fall into conversation about something they want to do with their patio this summer… but I can’t get my mind to focus on anything else.
Before I even realize what I’m doing, my hand slips into my pocket and I pull out my phone. Then I open up the conversation with Trevor, and type out my message.
How’s the bird?
My eyes skirt over the text he sent last night, informing me that the surgery went well and that she was recovering in her cage. I sigh as I lock my phone, hoping he texts back soon because I’m going to be thinking about this all morning…
But before I can even set my phone down, it buzzes with a text and Trevor’s name lights up my screen.
Trevor
Morning! I actually just got to the clinic to check on her and she’s doing great.
I’ll be here for a couple hours, so feel free to come by and visit her if you want.
My eyes stay glued to his text as I read it over and over, and my heart starts thumping again.
I do want to.
I really want to.
Ok. I’ll be there soon.