Pieces of Home

29. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Rye

The birds sang outside—sharp chirps, mixed with longer whistles that seemed to swirl and flutter, and then in-between ones that lifted higher as they went. Rye loved listening to them. He’d spent every morning for the last two weeks doing just that—curled up on the couch in his mom’s living room with a mug of tea, staring out the window and just . . . listening. He didn’t know what kind of birds they were, and he could really only get glimpses from inside the house, occasional bursts of brown, black, and yellow diving in or out of the bushes and trees outside. But he thought maybe he’d try to ask his mom to get him a book so he could learn.

When he found his words, that was.

He’d wanted to mention them to Jake, too—the birds. Two weeks ago at the police station, Jake had asked him if there were too many trees around his house for him to see the ocean, and Rye had wanted to mention them then. He’d wanted to say, “Yes, but that’s okay, because the birds love the trees, and listening to all the birds singing this morning was calming.”

But he hadn’t been able to find his words then, either. Or since.

The birds continued their song and play, their chirps jumping back and forth, up and down, and Rye rested his head on the couch cushion and closed his eyes.

Maybe today. Maybe he’d find his words today. Then he could tell Jake all about the birds and ask his mom to get him a book.

And maybe he could also answer the nice police officer lady’s questions.

She’d tried again and again and again almost every day for the last two weeks. Almost every day since that first day at the police station, Pamela had shown up at his house, along with the scary FBI agent, Roscoe, or with Rachel or Wayne or that other man named Craig. And every time they’d shown up, they’d said they were just there to check on him and his mom. Yet they hadn’t been able to leave without trying to get him to talk .

Always the same questions.

“What happened on that day you disappeared?”

“Did someone take you?”

“Can you tell us about it?”

“Where have you been all these years?”

But he could never form any words. And the more he tried, the worse he felt. Pain and tightness in his chest, nausea, fear. Like there wasn’t enough air in the room. The only time he could say more than a word or two seemed to be when he and his mom made breakfast together in the mornings or when Jake came to visit.

Like he was going to today.

Rye straightened up and glanced over at the kitchen. The clock on the stove said 7:36 a.m. His mom would be leaving for work soon, and Jake would be stopping by to visit with Rye while she was gone. He’d visited three times in the last couple of weeks, but today was the first day he’d be staying for longer than just a few minutes; it was also the first day Rye’s mom would be going back to work after she’d taken as much time as she could off to be home with Rye.

He closed his eyes as some deep warmth spread through his chest. His mom had done so much for him in the last two weeks, and everything she’d done had shown him over and over and over just how much she loved him. It was still hard to believe sometimes, though. The voice in his head still echoed all those awful, rotten words the man had told him off and on for years. How Rye was a burden and how his mom was happier without him and how she’d never actually loved him. But he’d been working really, really hard to fight against them and see and feel all the love she was giving him every day.

He owed her so much. And he loved her back so, so much, too.

Quiet footsteps approached from down the hallway, and he opened his eyes as her soft voice carried across the room. “Good morning, sweetie.”

“Hi... Mom,” he answered. It’s a pretty morning outside, and the birds are singing. He forced a small, tight smile, knowing how much she loved to see him happy. And it had the effect he’d wanted. Her grin grew wide, and her eyes lit up, and the heaviness that always seemed to be in her posture lifted.

“You like that spot on the couch there,” she said softly as she paused near the kitchen counter and straightened her faded blue work shirt.

He nodded but then made himself say the words too, because... because he could right now. “I... do. It’s...” Comfortable. Sunny. And the birds!

“What, sweetie?” she asked, and she walked slowly across the room and then took the seat next to him on the couch. Her smile warmed him, and for another second, he just looked at her, letting the feeling settle .

God, it was good to be here with her.

He blinked and then smiled again, maybe a little less forced this time. And he tried harder. “It’s nice to... listen to the birds.”

“Oh, is that why you like it here?”

With another nod, he glanced back out the window toward a line of bushes along the edge of the lawn between their yard and the neighbor’s yard. “There,” he said, pointing. Several small brown-flecked birds hopped around on the ground under the bush, and one sat on a branch poking out of the top of the bush, singing a series of distinct chirps.

His mom paused to listen with him for a moment, and then she watched with him as the one bird was joined by another on the higher branches of the bush, their songs alternating several times before the whole group of birds took off all at once and flew up and out of sight.

Do you know what kind of bird that is? That one and the one that’s bright yellow with the pretty, short whistles.

Sometimes, he imagined he could actually say all the things he was thinking, and then his mom could answer him, and they’d have a real conversation. Like two normal adults. But then he stuttered and faltered and failed, and his words refused to work.

He really, really wanted today to be different, though, and so he turned away from the window and back to his mom and tried again. “That bird... what is it?”

“They’re sparrows,” she said softly. “The little brown ones are sparrows.”

Sparrows. He repeated the word in his head, and it felt almost magical, to have knowledge that he hadn’t a minute ago. All because he’d been able to ask his simple question.

“What about . . .”

“Shut the fuck up, child. I don’t wanna hear your mouth.”

He closed his eyes and gripped the mug in his hands.

“What, sweetie? Did you want to know about another bird?”

He nodded and then pursed his lips. “A... yellow bird. There’s a yellow bird.”

“Oh, hmm, I’m not sure,” his mom mumbled, and when he looked at her again, she was staring off out the window. “I’m not sure about the yellow bird,” she admitted, and with a smile that almost seemed a little sad now, she turned to him and slowly reached out to pat his knee. “I think I’ve seen it, but there are so many different species that live up here, and I really don’t know much about them all. But, do you remember Elsie? She was your friend when you were young. She moved to San Francisco for a few years to study wildlife, and then she just came back to town last year. She teaches at the school part-time and does educational talks during the spring and summer for the tourists. I bet she knows a whole bunch about birds.”

Rye couldn’t answer this time. He did remember Elsie. Sort of. He remembered that he’d had a friend named Elsie. But not much more than that. When he tried to picture her, all he saw was a hazy, vague outline of a short girl with brown hair. It was like the rest of his memory was stuck somewhere, as so many of his memories seemed to be.

With a frown, he glanced back outside. A familiar silver car was just pulling up along the road, and Rye could see Jake in the driver’s seat, bundled up in the same heavy gray coat he’d let Rye borrow.

“Oh, good, Jake’s right on time,” his mom said, and she patted his knee again and then stood. “I’m, um...”

A slight wave of unease rippled through Rye’s stomach as his mom trailed off, uncertainty in her voice. He shifted his attention away from where Jake was climbing out of his car and turned to face his mom. She’d crossed her arms over her chest and was watching him, her expression definitely filled with concern and doubt. She shook her head as their eyes met.

“Sorry, sweetie, I’m finding it hard to think about leaving,” she said quietly. She took a long, slow breath. “But Jake will be here with you, and then Aunt Tanya is coming over in the afternoon. And Wayne said he or Rachel would be stopping by, too, and...”

And I’m an adult and don’t need a babysitter.

The words sounded almost bitter in his head, and he immediately hated himself for it. That wasn’t what it was. They weren’t all making sure he was never alone because they thought he needed a babysitter. Or at least maybe that wasn’t the only reason.

“I just love you,” his mom continued, “and I’m so happy to have you home, and the thought of leaving is just really, really hard...”

That was the other reason. The real reason. They’d just found each other again after so long apart, and to be away, even just for his mom to go to work, didn’t quite feel right. Not yet. He thought she probably also didn’t want him to feel like he was alone or to be scared and have no one to help remind him that he was safe. And she was probably right to think that.

He nodded in agreement but didn’t say anything, and he lowered his gaze to his mug, which was about half empty now. He could still smell the slight fragrance of the... what had his mom called it? Chamomile, maybe? It was slightly sweet and had a warmth to it. He’d had a similar tea when he’d been at Jake’s.

His mom knelt down next to him just as a light knock came at the door. “Can I hug you, sweetie?” she asked softly .

With a nod, he leaned forward and set down his tea on the coffee table, then his mom scooted up next to him on the couch and wrapped her arms around him in a gentle embrace. It didn’t linger long, probably because she knew Jake was waiting at the door, but it felt good and soothing. Like how he felt listening to the birds outside.

When they parted, his mom didn’t say anything else; she just gave him a small, kind smile and then stood and hurried over to open the door. Rye pulled his feet up under himself again and then let his gaze drift back outside as he heard the door open, followed by quiet voices and rustling as Jake took off and hung up his coat.

“Shirley, hi. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Jake. Thanks for coming over. How are you?”

“Doing okay so far. It’s chilly, though. And you? How’ve things been...”

Rye stopped paying attention, and his heart sped up a tick as he saw one of those little yellow birds in a tree just across the street. Its feathers were bright, catching the sunlight as it hopped from one branch to another. He sat up straighter, leaning toward the window, and then he closed his eyes and tried to listen for its song. It took a second for him to pick it out among all the other birdsongs outside, but he found it. A series of whistles and chirps in a pattern that he’d already figured out how to identify.

And as he listened, he found himself really, really wanting to know what kind of bird it was. Maybe Jake could help him find the answer.

Rye opened his eyes again just as his mom and Jake stopped a couple of feet away. His mom’s hands were clasped together tightly in front of her, but she still wore a smile. She glanced from Jake back to Rye, and then her smile softened.

“I’ve gotta go, sweetie.” She took a step closer and then stopped again. “I’ll see you on my lunch break, okay? You have a good day with Jake. And—and Jake, you’ll call me if anything...” She shook her head and trailed off, and Rye frowned, pushed himself up to his feet, and pulled her in for a quick hug.

“I’ll... be okay, mama,” he said quietly into her hair.

Her breath caught, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, returning the hug. “I know you’ll be okay, sweetie. I’ll just miss you.”

“Me too.” He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, trying to ignore the deep shame that surrounded him as he felt her shaking.

Her pain was his eight-year-old self’s fault. He wasn’t that child anymore, and he couldn’t change things. But he could keep fighting to be better and do better, so he’d never cause her pain again. He scrunched his eyes shut tighter and squeezed her gently. “I’ll see you... at lunch,” he said, making the words happen somehow .

And he felt her smile against him. “Okay, sweetie.” She seemed to want to say more, but she couldn’t, and so she just backed away and let her arms drop from around him. Then, with a final smile—one in which Rye wanted to imagine he saw some hope rather than some sadness—she grabbed her coat and purse from the hooks near the door, gave him a little wave, and headed out.

Rye watched the door close behind her and then turned to Jake, who stood a few feet away, leaning slightly on his cane. And for a moment, Rye stared at it, frowning. Then he shoved his hands into the pockets of his new-to-him jeans and lifted his eyes to Jake. “How is... um...”

So much for his words working. Rye shook his head as though that might somehow shake away his inability to speak, and he tried again. “How is your leg? It still... hurts?”

Jake smiled softly, his brown eyes warm. “It’s not so bad. Definitely nothing like it was. But it helps if I use my cane, even if it’s not hurting too much,” Jake explained. Then he seemed to laugh a little, and he glanced out the window. “I still haven’t been brave enough to try to head down the stairs to the beach at my place. I miss it, though.”

Rye heard a longing in Jake’s voice, maybe, and he followed Jake’s gaze out the window. If he looked exactly from the right angle, he could just barely see a tiny glint of blue from the ocean through a hole in the trees. It was nothing like the view Jake had of the ocean from his own patio, and even if they walked all the way down to the end of the street, Rye still didn’t know if they’d have a better view. He tried to remember, but nothing came, like always.

“We could, um...” He looked over at Jake and bit his lower lip. Then he shook his head. It was a dumb idea anyway.

“We could, what?” Jake asked gently.

But Rye shook his head again and turned away from Jake to look back outside. He saw that same little yellow bird sitting on a branch, still chirping away.

We could drive to the beach in town. I think there’s a beach in town. And there wouldn’t be stairs there, so it wouldn’t hurt for you to walk. And then maybe we could also stop at the bookstore. Is there a bookstore? If there is, we could stop there, and I could get... a book on birds. Maybe...

He closed his eyes. He needed to say the words out loud, not just in his head. At least some of them. His chest ached suddenly, but he turned back to Jake, his eyes still squeezed shut, and he tried.

“Is there a beach... with no stairs?” Gosh, that was only slightly better than not finishing his previous sentence. He shook his head again, trying not to feel too frustrated with himself. “In t-town. Or... nearby? We could... go?”

He hadn’t mentioned the birds or the bookstore. And he wasn’t sure he was really ready to go into town or if Jake would want to go. So, really, he shouldn’t have said anything at all. He should have just kept his fucking mouth shut, like he was supposed to, and—

“That’s a wonderful idea, Rye.”

The air left his lungs in a big whoosh, and then he sucked in a breath and opened his eyes slowly. Darkness blinked away to light as the room came back into focus. Jake watched him, his expression so gentle and kind, and Rye grabbed onto that, using it to help remind him of where he was and who he was with.

“Yeah?”

“I think so. There’s a beach right near the marina in town, and I think there’s just a few steps from the boardwalk to the sand. And if you’re up for it, we can grab breakfast, too. Silas’s café is right on the waterfront. They’ve got pastries and breakfast sandwiches, and I could go for a coffee.” Jake paused and glanced at Rye’s tea on the coffee table. “Did you eat already?”

Rye shook his head, and Jake smiled at him again.

“Great. What do you think then? We could drive down there? It’s only a few minutes.”

This time, Rye started to nod but then stopped himself and frowned, the thick chill of doubt creeping in. He’d only been out of the house two more times since he’d gotten home: once to go with his mom to the store to buy him a few things—a razor and some shampoo and something called deodorant—and then once to go back to the police station. He hadn’t been anywhere else otherwise. And on both of those trips, he and his mom had been with either Rachel or Wayne the whole time.

It felt scary, to think about going into town, to a café and to the beach. And he still hadn’t even managed to ask about the yellow bird or about going to the bookstore. If there even was a bookstore in town.

“I... don’t...” he mumbled, unable to finish his sentence, and he immediately felt awful, his head swimming and his heart fumbling for its rhythm. He hated it. He hated the fear making his stomach sick and the voice in his head screaming at him to keep his mouth shut. And he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to keep his mouth shut anymore.

“Ahh, that’s okay. We can stay here, really. Or, um, if you want, we can just go to the beach and skip the café since—”

“Do you know the yellow bird?” Rye blurted out, his eyes darting back up to meet Jake’s. He swallowed back his fear, and he forced out a few more words. Because he was going to beat it. He was going to beat that voice. He could . “I want to know... what it is. The yellow bird. ”

Jake looked confused, which of course made sense, and so Rye turned back to the window and pointed across the street, where the little yellow bird still sat in the tree, now with a nearly identical partner sitting next to it. It sang, but he couldn’t really hear it over the sound of his heart hammering in his chest.

“Oh, that’s a yellow warbler. Is that what you wanted to know?”

Rye nodded once and then again, and he turned back to Jake as he repeated the name in his head. Yellow warbler. Sparrows and yellow warblers.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Jake said, still staring out the window. “They don’t really show up much by my place, maybe because I’m right on the beach, I’m not sure, but they’re pretty common in this area in the spring and summer. I’m actually not sure why there are any here right now. I thought they were migratory birds, so they should be down south for the winter.” Jake paused and tilted his head a bit. “You know, maybe this would be for another day, but there’s this shop in town called Beach and Beyond. It’s one of those touristy kind of places with knickknacks and things, but they’ve also got this little section on Northern California wildlife. There’s a few books that—”

“Yes!” Rye nodded again, and he felt silly for his reaction for only about half a second as Jake’s eyebrows shot up. Then he just felt so... seen. Like... like Jake had really been listening and had heard all the words Rye hadn’t been able to say.

Jake laughed lightly. “Okay, well, I guess we have a plan, then,” he said. “I think they don’t open up until nine, though. So, if you’re up for the beach, too, we can make a whole morning of it. The Cove Café for breakfast, a short walk on the beach, if my leg lets us, and then we’ll stop at Beach and Beyond when they open?”

This time, all Rye could do was nod. But something inside him felt so much lighter, and even the prospect of going to a new place—or three new places, actually—didn’t seem quite so terrifying.

“Alright, then. You’ll want a coat; it’s pretty cold. Do you have a coat?”

He did. His mom had bought him one from the secondhand shop at the general store. So he nodded again.

“Alright.” Jake smiled, and that feeling—that lightness inside of Rye—uplifted him more.

He blinked and looked back out at the two little yellow birds across the street. Then he smiled. Yellow warblers.

“I’ll... get my coat,” Rye said, slowly finding the words, and he turned back to Jake, who just nodded. Then he hurried off to his bedroom to get ready to go.