Be Light Like a Bird Read online

  “And you think they’re box turtles?” Mrs. Russo asked.

  “That’s what they look like,” Theo said.

  “My father used to take photos at the pond, just like these kids do now,” Randle added. “I think it’s curious that he found the same kind of shell, about forty years ago, at the same place.”

  “And they each have two pairs of holes drilled in them,” I said. “Isn’t that strange?”

  “It is,” Mrs. Russo agreed. “We could log on to one of our databases; that will exclude all of the commercial sites.” She sat next to us, and her fingers flew across the keyboard. “I can’t get anything offhand,” she said after a while. “Why don’t you leave the shell with me, and give me a few days. I’ll see what I can find.”

  35

  Ma and I hadn’t really talked since portfolio night. Well, to be fair, we hadn’t talked much before that either. But now it was just “pass me the salt” or “did you finish your homework?” or “I’m running a wash with dark clothes, do you have anything to add?”

  I was fine with that and didn’t mind the super quiet dinners. The strange thing was, despite the silence, the cloud had gotten smaller. It wasn’t that I didn’t think of Dad anymore. It was more that when I did think of him, it hurt less.

  Maybe there were stages of grieving after all, and I had reached another one. Or maybe I was on top of a peak on a zigzag graph of healing, and soon I would drop down again to a place where it hurt more. Or maybe there was only enough space inside my heart for one bad feeling at a time and being so mad at Ma had washed out the pain about Dad.

  On Saturday morning, Ma didn’t have to work. When I heard her leave the apartment early that morning, I figured it was to avoid me, but she came back soon with a bag full of fruit, whole wheat bread, and artisanal cheese.

  “This must have cost a fortune,” I said.

  “Now don’t worry about the cost,” she said as she unpacked the groceries. “I got an employee discount at Mr. Leroy’s.”

  “You went to Mr. Leroy’s?”

  “I did,” she said. “What a nice man, and he’s full of praise for you.”

  “What did he say about me?” I asked.

  “Just that you’re so kind and helpful,” she said, getting out a juicer that I didn’t even know we owned. “He told me you like these.” She held up a bag of my favorite coconut granola bars.

  “I do,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “I have a new job, too,” Ma said.

  “A third job?” I asked, watching her squeeze oranges. “When will you have time for that?”

  “Well, it’s actually an addition to the job I already have at the nursing home,” Ma said. “There’s this old lady whose daughter was looking for someone to read to her. So she hired me to read during lunch and after my shifts.”

  Now I knew why we’d seen Ma the other day. “You get paid for that?”

  Ma nodded. “I do. Handsomely. I’ve already put two hundred dollars into the savings account.” From the way she looked at me, I could tell she was checking my reaction.

  “That’s nice,” I said.

  “What’s new in your life?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “Something must be happening,” Ma urged.

  “Everything is fine,” I said.

  “I saw your petition at Mr. Leroy’s,” she continued, trying to make conversation. “That’s something new you could tell me about.”

  She clearly wasn’t going to let this go. “Theo and I are going to the farmer’s market today to collect signatures,” I said. “State Senator Larsson is scheduled to go through the aisles to talk to voters, and that’s when we’ll show him our petition. It’s going to change everything.”

  “How so?”

  “A team of television reporters will be there, following him around. When we talk to him, we’ll pull out our posters, demanding that Pete’s Pond be saved, and maybe they’ll put it on the evening news.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Ma said, handing me the juice.

  I took it. I could tell she was trying to be extra nice. But one fresh-pressed juice wouldn’t make up for what had happened between us.

  36

  “This is really nice of you to help us,” I said to Theo’s father later that morning. He’d already carried a table and easel from his car to our spot at the farmer’s market.

  “You’re welcome,” Mr. Guttner replied.

  I could see the resemblance between Theo and his dad. Mr. Guttner had the same bushy eyebrows and dark blue eyes as Theo. He also didn’t seem to pay much attention to his clothes — his jeans were two inches too short, and there was a moth hole in the brown sweater vest he wore under a vintage rain jacket.

  When his dad went back to the car to get the chairs, Theo turned to me and said, “I can’t believe it. When I told him about the petition, he was all excited and called it a ‘true civil action’ and wanted to help.”

  “Maybe it reminds him of his days in politics,” I suggested as we fastened the photographs onto the easel and taped the poster to the top. The words Save Pete’s Pond — Sign Our Petition Here! stood out in large green letters.

  “Maybe,” Theo said. “Whatever the reason, I’m just glad he came.”

  In front of the town hall, workers had assembled a platform for the senator to give his speech. Next to it stood a white van with a satellite dish on its roof and the words 9 & 10 News — Northern Michigan’s News Leader printed in large blue letters on the side. A woman in a red pantsuit got out and arranged her hair, looking at her reflection in the side window. I recognized her from the local news. As she primped, a young man in a lumberjack shirt set up a camera in front of the platform.

  Theo’s dad returned with the chairs and wanted a coffee, and I walked over to the coffee shop to order one black coffee to go. While I waited in front of the counter, the woman in the pantsuit entered, followed by the cameraman. She looked at the menu and complained, “I told you that there wouldn’t be anything healthy to eat here. Everything is deep-fried or made of carbs.”

  “I think you should try a pasty,” the cameraman said, smiling. “That’s good, hearty food.” He pointed to a plate under a glass cover. “It’s a type of turnover filled with meat, potatoes, and some veggies. Famous dish here in the U.P.”

  The reporter shook her head. “That doesn’t sound very good.”

  “I can show you where you can buy a healthy breakfast,” I offered.

  “Where’s that?” she asked.

  “The local health food store has a booth at the farmer’s market,” I said. “I can take you there.”

  “It can’t be any worse than here,” she said with a sigh. She turned to the cameraman. “Are you coming?”

  “No,” he said. “I’ll have the greasy local food!”

  I led the way to Mr. Leroy’s booth. He had decorated his stall with a jug of wild flowers on a red-and-white checkered tablecloth and built a little pyramid of small jars filled with honey and jam next to a basket of different granola mixes. He was cutting thick slices from a dark loaf of bread when we arrived.

  “This looks like real bread,” the woman said. “What are you putting on it?”

  “I have goat cheese from a creamery in Mackinaw, and I’ll sprinkle it with watercress,” Mr. Leroy replied.

  “Mmm. That sounds good,” she said. “I’ll have one of those.”

  “Aren’t you Kelly Gustafson?” Mr. Leroy asked as he prepared her sandwich. “I’ve seen you on TV.”

  “Yes,” she said. “That’s me. We’re here to follow the senator around. Not much else going on around here, I suppose.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Mr. Leroy said. “You talk to Wren here, and she can tell you about a very important cause she’s fighting for in our community.”

  “What’s
that about, Wren?” she asked.

  “There’s a wetland area surrounding a pond — Pete’s Pond — on the outskirts of Pyramid with lots of birds,” I explained. “But now the owner of the landfill, which is next to the wetland, wants to drain the pond. Maybe you could come with me to our stall. A friend of mine and I have —”

  Just then Ms. Gustafson’s cell phone rang and interrupted me in midsentence. She answered, and after just a few seconds, she snapped the phone shut. “The senator is here. I have to go.” She paid for the sandwich, and before she left, turned to me. “Thanks for showing me the way to a good breakfast! I really appreciate it! Here’s my card in case you have anything interesting to report.”

  * * *

  “The senator has arrived,” Theo’s father said when I returned with the coffee. “I think we should get ready.”

  “Here are the clipboards with the signature sheets,” Theo said, handing me one.

  “Now all we need are people to sign and the senator to come by,” I said.

  “And the weather has to stay dry,” Theo added. “It’s supposed to rain later. That wouldn’t be good for our plan.”

  Soon after, Senator Larsson climbed onto the stage and went behind the microphone and began his speech. He praised his connection to the Upper Peninsula and promised new employment opportunities.

  “This is boring,” Theo said.

  “I agree. But look over there,” I said, pointing. A woman was buying tomatoes at the stall next to ours. “We should ask her to sign the petition.”

  “Go ahead,” Theo said.

  I quickly walked over. “Would you like to sign our petition?” I asked, holding out the clipboard. “We’re asking the township not to allow the expansion of the landfill. We want Pete’s Pond to be protected.”

  “Sure,” the woman said. “I heard about your project at the library. It’s great that young people like you are standing up for something like this.” She signed her name, returned the pen with a smile, and said, “Good luck!”

  “Thank you,” I said. I walked back over to Theo.

  “There you go,” Theo said. “The first signature, and we’ve only been here a half hour.”

  “That was easier than I thought,” I said. Just then, I heard a familiar voice behind me and turned around to see Ma standing there. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I thought you might like some help,” Ma said. “You could give me one of these clipboards, and I could start asking people for their signatures.” She turned to Mr. Guttner, acting as if we were just any normal mother-daughter pair. “You must be Theo’s dad. I’m Wren’s mother.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Mr. Guttner said.

  “Can I have one of these?” Ma pointed to the clipboards with the signature sheets.

  “Sure,” Mr. Guttner replied.

  Ma got right to work. She stopped an elderly couple a few stalls down, and after only a quick talk, they both signed. Next, she approached a woman with a stroller, who also signed right away.

  “Your ma is a natural,” Mr. Guttner commented.

  Theo looked at me, and I shrugged. I knew Ma was doing this to get on my good side, but I couldn’t be entirely upset. She’d already gotten several signatures for us.

  Suddenly Carrie was standing in front of our booth leading a small poodle on a leash. “Hi,” she said.

  “Oh, hello,” I said. “You got a dog.” I felt awkward and was glad I could bend down to pat the dog’s head.

  “Her name is Bonnie,” Carrie said. Bonnie was eager to greet me; she jumped up and licked my hand.

  “She’s very cute,” I replied. “So you didn’t have to take a dog from the shelter after all.”

  Carrie looked at the posters and didn’t say anything.

  “I guess you don’t want to sign this,” I said. “It’s a petition against the landfill expansion.”

  “No, I won’t sign,” Carrie snapped, her voice sharp. “The landfill expansion is a done deal. I don’t even know why you’re wasting everybody’s time.”

  “Well, a lot of people don’t think it’s a waste of time,” I said calmly. “It’s worth a try, in my opinion.”

  Carrie looked at Theo, who was handing a pen to a young man with a ponytail.

  “Suit yourselves,” Carrie said. “Come on, Bonnie. Let’s go.” She tugged on the dog’s leash and stomped away.

  A little farther down the aisle, Ma stopped Carrie and held the clipboard with the petition up. Carrie shook her head and walked on.

  37

  “The senator has finished talking,” Theo said, pointing toward the stage. “Now he’ll start walking the aisles.”

  Sure enough, the senator left the stage, followed by his wife and the TV crew, and approached the first stall. He shook hands with its vendor. Next, he stopped at a table selling homemade candles. Again, he shook hands with a customer, a wide grin on his face.

  “That’s what politicians do best,” Mr. Guttner said. “Glad-handing!”

  I frowned. “If he continues this slowly, he won’t reach us before noon.”

  Just then Ms. Gustafson, followed by the cameraman, stepped into the senator’s path. I let out a loud sigh. “Now the TV lady interviews him,” I said.

  “But they’re standing right in front of Mr. Leroy’s stall. So he’ll be on TV for sure,” Theo said.

  “I want him to hurry,” I said, glancing up at the sky, where dark clouds had gathered. “It’s starting to sprinkle, and there are more clouds coming.”

  “How’s it going?” we heard someone ask.

  All three of us turned around, and there was Mrs. Russo, standing in front of our booth with a basket on her arm. She lifted the cloth on her basket.

  “I’m sorry I can’t stay, but I brought you some snacks,” she said. “These are cinnamon rolls. I made them myself.” She turned to Theo’s dad. “Would you like one?”

  “Sure,” he said. When their eyes met, he blushed.

  Theo and I each took a roll and thanked Mrs. Russo. While we chewed the delicious pastries, I stepped away from our table, tugging Theo’s sleeve so he would follow.

  “Did you see how your dad and Mrs. Russo looked at each other?” I whispered.

  “I know,” Theo said, smiling. “Unbelievable.”

  I glanced around. The senator was only one aisle away from us now. He wasn’t stopping at every stall, but he did visit every row. In my mind, I played the sequence as we had planned it. We would involve the senator in a conversation. Theo’s father would show him the petition and ask him to sign it. Theo would point to the photos, and when the TV cameras were close enough, I would hold up my poster behind him.

  At that moment, the wind had picked up. Thick raindrops began to fall onto our table.

  “Let’s cover the signature lists,” Mr. Guttner said, pulling a plastic sheet over our table just before the rain really came down.

  “This isn’t supposed to happen,” Theo said.

  As an aid held a large umbrella over his head, the senator hurried toward a black limousine. In the distance, Ma tried to talk to a woman who’d sought shelter from the downpour under the awning of the potato stall, but the woman shook her head no.

  Theo’s father pointed to the motorcade. “They’re leaving!” he said. “I’m sorry, guys.”

  “What are we going to do now?” Theo asked.

  “We have eighty-nine signatures,” I said, glancing at the list. “I don’t know how many my mother has. But we can’t give up now. What if we actually attend the meeting instead of just submitting the signed petition to the office? Then Mr. Zusack has to look us in the eye when he votes to destroy Pete’s Pond.”

  “That will hardly make any difference to him,” Theo said.

  “We have to try. I read in the paper that the township board is meeting on Friday, and I think we shou
ld be there. We have more than eighty-nine signatures. That means that more than eighty-nine people are on our side. And if we hand over the petition at a public meeting, it’ll get more attention.”

  “Even one hundred isn’t even close to the majority of people who live here,” Theo said.

  “But the people who signed also gave us their phone numbers,” I pointed out. “Would you help me call them and ask them to come?”

  Theo nodded.

  “Wren has the right idea,” Theo’s dad said with a smile. “She’s going to be the queen of civil action.”

  38

  At home Ma and I hung our clothes up to dry. I put on a sweater, and when I came back into the kitchen, I could smell hot cocoa. Ma handed me a cup. She had made one for herself too.

  “Thanks for coming out and helping with the signatures today,” I said as we sat down at the kitchen table.

  “You’re welcome,” Ma said. “I’m sorry the senator left before you could show your petition to him. Perhaps you should consider writing to him.”

  I nodded. “We won’t give up the fight. We’ll go to the township meeting and present the petition in person. You know what Dad used to say: ‘It ain’t over until the fat lady sings.’ And she hasn’t sung yet.”

  I watched Ma’s face carefully as I mentioned Dad. But instead of the usual frown, her face remained neutral. She looked straight at me. I could sense she wanted to talk about something, and a tiny butterfly was tickling the inside of my stomach.

  Ma cleared her throat. “I know it wasn’t right of me to sell the car without talking to you first,” she began. “And I know you needed to talk with me about your dad, and I avoided you. But…” She took a breath. “When I went through his things I found out he… he cheated on me. Your dad had a girlfriend.”

  “That is not true.” The words shot out of me.

  “It is true,” Ma said. “There were letters from her. It had been going on for a while — at least two years.”