Bird After Bird Read Free

jeans, and he scratched his forearm as I dropped it, beneath the sleeve of a light blue work shirt. I expected there would be a red oval with a name embroidered on the chest, but it was just out of sight at this angle.
    Outside the ladies room, the bluegrass ensemble playing the bar side of the Beer & Bait drowned out all other sound. He leaned down and whispered into my ear, and I smelled that clean musky denim scent again. “I know it sounds kind of gross, but there’s a port-a-john out back if you really need to go.”
    “Can’t be any worse than that, can it?” I pointed at the ladies room. “Thanks,” I called over my shoulder as I hit the exit door with both hands.
    I found the potty booth around back, alright. It was leaning toward the lake, and a band of folks I suspected were old high school cronies of mine were loudly making drunken bets from the deck of the bar about whether or not it would fall when someone entered it.
    “Well, if it ain’t Wren Riley!” one of them called. “Hop in that turd closet and ride it down the hill, girl!”
    I couldn’t see who it was. The sun was starting to set over the water and they were just far enough away to be blurry strangers. Their voices carried over the lake, though.
    “That ain’t no Wren Riley,” another voice answered. “You oughtta know that stuck up bitch ain’t shown her face around here since her daddy died! Shut up and leave this one alone, rude ass redneck.”
    Even better reason to turn away. If they didn’t know it was me, there was no chance I’d be pressured to join them in a beer, no chance I’d be asked to relive the glory days of high school. No matter what names they were calling me behind my back, people around Birdseye always acted friendly to my face—usually too friendly.
    “Hey! Where you going, Wren?” That voice, I recognized. Cindy Wiseman. At my dad’s funeral, she had spoken at length about her own recent loss—of her Chinese goldfish. Still numb from my grief, I’d patted her on the back and hugged her until her crying stopped. “Wren, come back! I know it’s you!”
    I took a deep breath, put a smile on my face, and turned around. I made out Cindy’s shape next to five people I didn’t yet recognize. “Is that you, Cindy?”
    There was a set of steps from the deck, and Cindy started down them, gesturing for me to join her. “Come say hello! Don’t be a stranger!”
    Maybe it won’t be so bad , I told myself. Maybe this time will be different.
    As I hit the first step, Cindy grabbed me in a bear hug. “I knew that was you. What you doing down here? Chicago finally bore you to tears?”
    As she let go, I caught a whiff of beer on her breath. Her hair smelled like cigarettes and her eyes were bloodshot. The last time I’d seen Cindy drunk was our five year class reunion.
    It was two years previous and Dad was doing chemo. I was in town caring for him, and he’d urged me to go.
    “I don’t have anything to wear, Dad.”
    He’d gestured to my old bedroom. “Got some dresses in there, I know you do,” he’d said between puffs of oxygen.
    I didn’t like leaving him, but I disliked saying no to him even more, so after his third urging, I’d slipped into the nicest of my old casual dresses and gone.
    The class president had made fancy nametags for everyone with their “Most Likely to” title emblazoned on them. Mine had a layer of gold tulle around it and said HOMECOMING QUEEN WREN RILEY. It was embarrassing. I felt like everyone was looking at the nametag, then looking at me, deciding whether I still deserved to be their queen.
    The more they drank, the worse their faces were at hiding their decisions.
    “I remember that dress,” one girl said. I knew her face but was having trouble remembering her name. “Screw you for fitting it still.”
    “Cindy Wiseman,” I said, suddenly recognizing her. She’d put on so much weight, my heart went out to her. “How’ve you been?”
    She’d muttered something