Letting Go Read Free

head.
    “ Mum, make him stop crying,” the oldest kid whined over the little one’s howl. His awkward voice teetered on the edge of breaking, but the accent was cute. “I can’t concentrate with all that shouting.” He slammed his book shut, folded his arms across his chest, and pouted.
    “ I know, darl. I’m trying.” The anxious woman fussed over the screaming kid, attempting to lure him back to his chair with crackers, a cup of juice, a toy—to no avail. The father pulled the middle boy into his lap and bounced him on his knee, perhaps as a preventive measure.
    Ignoring the ruckus, Zoe reread the scrawl-covered sheet of paper in front of her. Before the loud family arrived, she’d been listening to humpback whale songs through her headphones, tallying the types of units—upsweeps, drags, grunts, or squeaks—in each phrase of music. Her system for transcribing the whales’ “music” used simple geometric symbols. Each one stood for a particular sound.

    She played the songs whenever she had a free moment—and sometimes when she was supposed to be doing homework or reading. She couldn’t go to sleep without a whale lullaby. The songs haunted and fascinated her to the point of obsession. Like a word on the tip of her tongue, the meaning behind the music felt so close but always remained one step ahead of her. It was maddening, really. She’d figure it out one day.
    Lying beside her messy pages, the wooden bird stared at her. Warmth flared in her gut, and a smile snuck out of her lips as she thought about the old man. She closed her eyes and traced the lines in the wood for the tenth time, memorizing every tiny notch in the grain, and “seeing” the swirling patterns through the pads of her fingers. She imagined the lines were liquid neon sigils, as magical as the man who’d given her the bird.
    A loud shuffle of papers brought Zoe’s attention back to Mother. Her brow creased. The little tike’s godforsaken wailing seemed to have kidnapped her last functioning brain cell and demanded a ransom.
    Eyebrows arched, the woman from the other table turned in her chair and leaned over a bulging round belly. Zoe swallowed hard. Good God. Another kid on the way? Wow.
    “ I’m so sorry. We just can’t take them anywhere.” Her breathless voice barely made contact over the boy’s desperate shrieks. The woman’s face betrayed an air of exasperation laced with genuine apology.
    Mother flashed a brusque, condescending smile. The all-too familiar gesture set Zoe’s teeth on edge.
    Zoe switched her focus to the kid on the floor. He had black hair, bright but tear-drenched eyes, and a hefty set of lungs that had no qualms about sharing his displeasure with the world. What had set him off? Tired? Hungry? Sick? Just plain fed up? She could so relate.
    “ When are you due?” A whiff of feigned politeness snuck into Mother’s voice.
    “ Any time now. I hoped having a meal out with the family would get the process moving along. Considering how well lunch is going, I might have this baby by nightfall.” The woman faced the screamer and opened her arms for a hug. “Come and sit with Mummy.”
    He stood up and stomped his feet. The little spitfire had an attitude. Zoe wished she could be so bold with her mother.
    Candace laughed, her tone warming from icy cold irritation to tepid empathy, a testament to her Mother of the Year parenting style.
    Zoe returned to the falcon in her hand. Marveling at the series of hidden pulleys connecting the separate parts of the bird, she tugged the string. Its delicate wings beat in response. So simple, yet so brilliantly executed. She smiled at the natural symbolism. The wood came from earth, the bird itself represented air, branded details for fire, and the shells came from water. Perfect.
    It had only been a couple hours since the guy on the street had given it to her, but she felt an unexplainable connection to the bird.
    She pulled the string several more times, picturing