33

Partial Migrations

Many birds arrive at those winter quarters after slow and methodical and almost meandering itineraries, oftentimes stopping for irresistible seasonal caches of food.

—G. Gordon’s Field Guide to the Birds of the Pacific Northwest

Anne was wearing a brand-new pair of plimsolls—navy blue with white polka dots and white laces—which she thought were very posh. They’d been a gift from her parents and Gran for Easter. She liked how the blue toes flashed as she hurried toward the quay to meet her da’s boat. Clutching her stuffed red kitten in the crook of her elbow, she hummed as she tripped along toward the docks. It was a new song and now her favorite song, the one that Gran had taught her that very morning, a song about all the birds—blackbird, raven, crow, robin, lark, wren, and thrush.

Across the pasture, over the stile, and along the cliff line she went. As she descended the rocky path, the sound of the crashing sea increased. She paced along the worn wooden planks of the wharf, counting the cracks as she went, keeping time and singing the song.

Éiníní, éiníní, codalaígí, codalaígí.

Glancing up, she saw her father’s berth was empty and caught sight of his boat, The Kestrel, just passing the jetty into the small harbor. Chuffed to get there before he landed, she picked up her pace, looked down at her pretty new shoes, and ran straight off the worn old wharf into the cold, silent sea.

The dark water held her tightly in its icy grip. It boiled up and filled her eyes. Her hair streamed around and when she looked upward for sunlight, there was nothing. She scanned the black water for the mermaids. She felt herself sinking down, down, down. A face then, a man’s face above her and a large hand that reached down and pulled her up to the surface. Robert Cleary, she thought, disturbing her tea party with the pretty ladies. But as she broke free of the water, it was Jerry Sewell there leaning over the side of the red boat. He staggered as a set of waves pummeled the prow.

“Grab my hand!” he shouted. And something else, but the wind snatched his words away. Anne reached for him but couldn’t see Jerry or the boat or anything but towering dark water all around her. She began to swim in what she hoped was the direction of the cove they’d been aiming for. She lifted her arm from the water, and it felt impossibly heavy. The bulky float coat impeded her movement, and she heard the swimming instructor from uni.

“You’ve no more than fifteen minutes to exit the water.”

Her clothes dragged and her breath choked. She tried to kick off her shoes, but her legs were leaden. She thought she heard a voice and looked back for Jerry but saw only waves and dark sky. She felt less cold then and so tired. The faces of her parents swam before her, Tim and Aiden, Katherine and Frankie. Gran singing the bird lullaby.

Aiden, she thought.

Then she didn’t think anything.

When she opened her eyes, she couldn’t say how much time had passed. The water was gone, the darkness was gone. Her bare hands were dry, as were the cuffs of her jumper. There was the tangerine duvet cover, weak sunlight streaming through the curtains. She heard the murmur of voices—Tim talking to someone. Another man, a woman. And then she heard high, tinkling laughter and the unmistakable voice of her son.

Anne bolted out of bed and down the hall. In the kitchen Tim was pouring coffee for a tall man and a petite woman. Frankie sat by the fire with Aiden. And Aiden, her one and only, was perched next to Frankie on a stool with his storybook. In a bright, clear voice, he was reading aloud. When he noticed her, Aiden jumped down and marched toward her, his book tucked under his arm like a tiny librarian.

“Good morning, Mama,” he said, taking her hand. “Come sit and listen. I’m reading a lovely story. It’s ‘The Crow and the Pitcher.’ ”

Anne laughed in astonishment, fell to her knees, and pulled him close. Aiden leaned into her and pressed his wee face against her neck and let her hold him. Tim crossed the room and enfolded them both in his arms and Anne had no words for all she felt.

Later, after the O’Neills had gone, Tim told her how he and Frankie found Aiden tucked inside the great tree high up on the hill. Frankie had said he’d spoken to her, but Tim had been so crazed with worry he hadn’t listened. He told her about going in the BIA boat and spotting her yellow float coat on an old log boom at Arrow Point. How they’d pulled her in and how they thought at first— He’d stopped then. It would be days before he could describe that moment to her, an eternal moment he thought she was gone.

She leaned against him and apologized for leaving without explanation and for causing so much worry.

“It’s not your fault, Anne. I said some really stupid things. I was angry. I didn’t mean it . . .” He trailed off and looked away.

But there was something there, some gap between them. Because he did mean some of it.

“And Aiden?” she asked and laughed, astonished. She looked at their boy, who was sifting through the CD collection.

Tears brightened Tim’s eyes, and he looked bewildered.

“We brought you into the house to get you warm, and he marches over and orders me to make you a nice cup of tea. Tuck you in by the fire and you’ll be sorted in two shakes. Those were his exact words.”

Tim drew a hand across his eyes.

“He sat with you reading stories from his little book until I made him go to bed.”

Aiden was sitting cross-legged in front of the CD player rocking back and forth listening to “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” As the song ended, he reached up and started it over and Anne didn’t even think to stop him.

The day passed, night fell, and the morning bore them away down the lake in a light snowfall. Anne looked back at the house through the receding wake of the boat, dark and quiet, and the woods whitening around it. Midway down the lake at Arrow Point, Tim did not slow the boat, but Anne looked toward shore and her eyes found the old log boom and the spot where she’d last seen kind Jerry Sewell. After he’d strapped her into that float coat and got her as close to the log boom as he could. Before the boat capsized and they’d both ended up in the water. Jerry hadn’t been wearing his float coat when they found his body, Tim said. And Anne had to add that to a list of unanswerable questions: Would Jerry have survived if he’d had time to put his float coat on? Would he have even attempted the return trip if he hadn’t taken her to Mill Three in the first place? What if she’d waited and asked Frankie for a ride, as she’d initially planned? She’d never know.

In the weeks that followed, Jerry’s death weighed on them both. They went to see his wife and tried to find adequate words for apology, for condolence, for gratitude all at once as they sat in the living room of the small house just outside Mill Three.

Anne wept and it was Jerry’s wife, Marilyn, consoling her. Tall, broad-shouldered Marilyn was dry-eyed, keeping her sorrow to herself.

“I’ve been expecting this for years, my dear,” Marilyn said. “Jerry made his own choices.”

Her steely gray eyes made Anne think of her mother.

Anne was grateful, so grateful, and not simply to be alive. If not for Jerry she’d have missed the astounding reemergence of her son.

They took him to see Dr. Shelley at UW, and Aiden had a nice long gossip with her about all he had learned about crows during his trip up to the lake. The doctor was fascinated and asked Anne and Tim for permission to document his progress. Anne wasn’t sure about that and said she’d give it a think. Dr. Anaya, for her part, seemed a tiny bit smug at Aiden’s checkup.

“Looks like you just needed a little time, hey, Aiden?” she’d said.

Her boy pursed his lips like a little professor.

“I was thinking about things,” he said, and didn’t elaborate.

The question of residential school never resurfaced. And when Anne, Tim, and Aiden went to her in-laws’ house, they fawned over their grandson, asking him questions and demanding to be kissed. They hugged him without asking if it was okay with him. Aiden preferred to initiate contact, Tim said, but they didn’t listen. Tim Senior had talked too loudly, and Christi pulled off his headphones, though Anne had explained Aiden wore them when he needed a little extra quiet. It was all lost on her in-laws, who simply wanted to celebrate that their grandson was acting “normal” again. They didn’t understand. Aiden whispered for permission to leave the table to read his book, and she gave it, wishing she could go with him.

As for Tim, Anne wanted to talk about what had happened, but the breach was so large it swallowed her words. She knew he was sorry about the things he’d said, or at least the way he’d said them. She could forgive all that. But what she couldn’t forgive was the way he’d let his parents steer things. Decisions the two of them should have been making privately. Tim didn’t seem to realize that was the worst blow of all.

Anne booked tickets home to Ireland for her and Aiden. They’d arrive on the bank holiday and stay for three weeks. Tim voiced no further objections, but she didn’t know how he felt about it. They were all busy the month of October—Anne preparing for the trip home, Aiden back at Sunflower, and Tim busy with the newspaper’s merger. So busy that Anne could avoid the questions that hung over her, her marriage, her husband, their failures, their wounds.

Were they meant to be a family together, the three of them? This was one question that she couldn’t answer. She ached to talk to Tim about it and didn’t know how. At night she lay awake and knew Tim was awake next to her instead of sleeping with his characteristic ease. Neither one of them seemed to know how to break the silence.

The Saturday before Anne and Aiden were to fly to Dublin, Aiden was invited on a playdate with a friend from Sunflower. A friend! It was lovely to see him head down the sidewalk with Mannie and his mam, the two boys chattering nonstop. But the apartment was uncomfortably quiet. Anne couldn’t recall the last time she and Tim had been alone together. He seemed as awkward as she felt. She busied herself folding laundry, and Tim wandered from room to room. He leaned in the doorway and watched her, and she remembered that long-ago day they’d had their spat about the laundry and created the joke about lovely Suzy. She wished he would say something to resurrect the joke, the warmth between them that had been there. But he just looked as sad as she felt. The moment passed.

“I guess I’ll go to the gym,” he said.

He packed his gym bag and kissed her on the cheek. As he opened the apartment door to leave, Anne heard Christi’s voice and sighed. Another drop-in visit, though they’d asked Christi repeatedly to please call first.

In the living room, Christi, in a white leather trench coat, was attempting to hang an enormous garment bag on the flimsy coat rack and complaining to Tim about traffic on the bridge.

“Goodness! I forget how far in the hinterlands Fremont is. It will be so much more convenient when you move out closer to us. I forgot to tell you! I think Ron has found the perfect place for you.”

Convenient for you, Anne thought. Ron the Realtor was doing his level best to find them a house within spitting distance of her in-laws, and she was the only one who seemed to have any reservations about this idea.

“Oh hello, Anne dear,” Christi said. “I’ve brought your costumes over to try on. You’re going to look just stunning, I know it. And we can do some alterations if need be.”

Christi shed her trench coat and unzipped the garment bag. She revealed a voluminous saffron-colored gown with puffy sleeves and a high lace collar.

“What do you think? It’s Elizabeth I. And this,” she said, pulling out green velvet breeches and a waistcoat, “is Henry the Eighth!”

Christi threw herself down in the armchair and looked from Anne to Tim, triumphant.

“I couldn’t find the ones you asked for, Anne. But these—just gorgeous, don’t you think?”

Anne surveyed the costumes, speechless. Christi had managed to land on possibly the most insulting monarch in the history of the British Empire, the sixteenth-century queen who’d stolen the ancient homelands of the Irish clans for British settlers. And Henry, who’d established the Kingdom of Ireland in a brutal power move.

Christi looked past Anne down the hall.

“Now, where is my grandson? Aiden, come give Nanny a kiss!” she called. “I brought you some candy!”

Anne felt a flash of anger at this performance of the doting grandmother.

“Aiden is at a playdate, Mother,” Tim said.

“Oh well. That’s a shame. I have a hair appointment downtown in thirty minutes. I’ll just leave these chocolates for him.”

Anne didn’t say anything, though she had explained multiple times that they did not allow Aiden to have sweets except on special occasions.

“Now, go try these on, you two. I want to see how they look. Anne, then we can talk about how to do your hair. It’s the very color of Queen Elizabeth’s, I think! And, Tim, we’ll have to get you some kind of beard.”

Anne wasn’t angry that Christi somehow thought she’d be going to the ridiculous gala. She’d told her about the trip to Ireland. She couldn’t think of anything to say and wasn’t troubled about it because Christi didn’t listen to her anyway.

“You’ll have to excuse me. I’m on my way to pick Aiden up from his friend’s house.”

“Well, Anne, I came all this way. You’ve got to at least try it on!”

It was Tim who replied and in a voice Anne had never heard him use with Christi before.

“No, she doesn’t, Mother,” he said. “She doesn’t have to do anything.”

“Well, it’s a bit inconsiderate—” Christi said.

“You’re the one being inconsiderate, Mother,” Tim interrupted. “We didn’t know you’d be dropping by, and we’re both quite busy this weekend. We’ve asked you to call first.”

Christi raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.

“I don’t care for your tone, Timothy,” she said.

“And I don’t care for your presumption,” he said, his voice rising. “Nobody asked you to bring these costumes and Anne already told you that she won’t be here. She’s going to be visiting her parents that weekend with Aiden.”

He glanced at Anne.

“And she’s got a very important All Souls’ Day Mass—”

“Oh, you can just change the ticket,” Christi interrupted, waving a hand and leaning back in the chair. “I’ll pay for it. It’s no problem. Whatever it takes to have the king and queen at my gala.”

The silence boomed.

Christi tipped her head and looked up at her son. How alike they looked when angry, Anne thought.

“We are planning to announce your new position that evening, Timothy. How will it look if your wife is not there representing the family? A king all alone?”

Tim crossed his arms and looked at Anne. She knew the easy way lay in saying yes of course I can be there. In saying thank you so much for paying to change our tickets. She also knew she could no longer take the easy way and that there was, in fact, no easy way out of this thicket that was the Magnusen family.

“I’m afraid I’m not available, Christi,” she said, keeping her voice light. “I hope it’s a lovely evening. Now, you’ll have to excuse me.”

She walked along Lake Union past Gas Works Park, listening to the gulls complain. The maple trees were in full color of scarlet, ochre, and gold. The wind picked up and a confetti of leaves whirled through the air around her. She thought of being in Ireland with her family and what it might feel like to stay there. The idea fell around her like a warm cloak. What would it be like for Aiden to grow up as she had—with her mam and da, and Gran just over the wall? But of course she wouldn’t be able to find work on the island. So it would be Cork or Dublin, then. Still, that much closer to home, how would it feel? What might it be like if Aiden spent summers with Tim in Seattle and the school year with her in Ireland? People got divorced all the time, she told herself. She’d been telling herself that. Patrice would understand and would give her a good reference. They’d had lunch that week to talk about her coming back in January and what classes she’d teach winter term. She told Patrice that things with Tim were not great, she might stay in the apartment, and he was buying a house near his parents.

“We might be separating,” she said.

She’d tried to sound matter of fact, but Patrice had leaned over and hugged her.

“I’m so sorry, Anne. This is not a choice anyone wants to make,” she said.

And it wasn’t. It tore at her. But she knew things would only get worse when Tim started his new job. Less time for her and Aiden, more pressure on her to quit her job. And living in the same neighborhood as Tim Senior and Christi. Be a helpmate. A cheerleader, Christi kept saying. It made her want to scream.

“Cheerleader?” she could almost hear Kat say. “Valkyrie is more like it with that hair helmet.”

On the way home from Mannie’s, Aiden asked if they could stop at the park. He sat on the swing and pulled his storybook out of his little rucksack. He twirled the feather that he kept there as a bookmark. Anne heard the croak of a crow. A solitary bird floated across the park above them murmuring to itself. Aiden tracked its flight with an imaginary telescope.

“Mama,” he said. “Do you think Charlie Crow is cold up there in the woods in all the snow?”

“I don’t think so, love,” Anne said. “I think he’s snug up under the branches of a big tree with his mates having a grand time.”

Aiden was quiet, kicking his heels against the ground.

“Do you think I’ll see him next summer?”

“I don’t know, sweetie. He’ll be a grown-up bird then. Do you reckon you’ll be able to single him out of all the others?”

He thought about that for a time and then shook his head.

“I don’t think so. They do look alike. But Frankie could help me.”

Anne agreed that yes, Frankie could help him.

“She’s very clever,” Aiden said. “She knows so many things about birds, and fishing, and the woods, and bears, and snakes.”

Anne felt a stab of envy—the simplicity of Frankie’s life. What might Frankie do in her shoes? Was Frankie back at the university starting some new project? The day they’d parted at the lake, there was so much Anne had wanted to say. Frankie had found Aiden in the storm and kept him safe while Tim was looking for her. Frankie had become a friend and a rare ally to her, to Aiden. But in the brief time they’d seen each other at the house, Anne was still in a bit of shock, and she’d only been able to say thank you. Frankie had looked shy and shrugged. The O’Neills left to give the Magnusen family space and Anne hadn’t had the chance to say a proper goodbye. She had Frankie’s mother’s phone number and yearned to call her tall, quiet friend.

She recalled what Frankie had said about her work one day at the cottage.

“It’s like I don’t have a choice. It’s like it chose me—the questions, the research. It’s just something I have to do.”

A child shouted and a group of youngsters ran for the playground, two mothers trailing behind them chatting. They said hello, and Aiden watched the littlest ones clamber onto the swings near him. After a while, he went to his mother and tugged her toward home.

They walked along, not speaking, and she felt the thread that joined their hearts, an electric thing that connected her to this boy, her child.

The day Aiden was born, Anne looked into his little face and was struck by the most uncanny idea; Aiden had come from someplace else specifically to find her. He’d come to her because she belonged to him and he to her. Aiden had chosen her, she knew that. And what else? Music. Music had chosen her. She was a composer and a performer and a teacher. She simply was those things. The idea of giving any of it up was nonsensical. But was she meant to be Tim’s partner? Their connection had been so accidental, if well intended. No surprise that their paths could diverge. It didn’t have to be a heartbreak. They could remain close and be good parents but not together. She thought of how she would bring it up with him. She should say something before she left because she’d need to make arrangements while she was in Ireland. Prepare for the future and what it would hold for her—a mother, a musician, but no longer a wife. They could be friends. Eventually. Couldn’t they? She tried to make herself believe that even as her heart broke with the thought.

At the end of their street, they stopped at the little market and Anne bought a pair of pie pumpkins.

“We can carve one to leave with Daddy so he’s not lonely on Halloween,” Anne said. “And I’ll make us a nice soup with the other.”

Tim’s gym bag was in the hallway, but the apartment was empty. Aiden took off his little shoes and tucked them just inside the door and waited for Anne to kick off her clogs. Then he lined them up next to his shoes and ran off to his room.

In the kitchen, Anne halved one of the pumpkins and scooped out the seeds and membrane. She cut it into large pieces, set it on a baking tray, and slid it into the oven. She pulled out her suitcase and began packing. Warm clothes for the island. Something nice for Dublin when her parents came to meet her and Aiden. Something special for the All Souls’ Day Mass. She found her silver and green dress and realized the last time she’d worn it was the night of the spring concert. It would be chillier in Ireland. What could she wear with it? She pulled out the gauzy shawl Tim had given her the previous Christmas—loosely knitted green cashmere that matched her eyes. It was fine but not fussy and she loved it. She held it to her face and her heart ached at the thought of telling him she was leaving and would not be coming back.

The apartment door opened and closed. Tim called hello to Aiden. He came down the hall and stood in the doorway. Something in his look made her blush. She turned away to hide her face.

“You didn’t go to the gym, then?” she asked. “I saw your bag in the hall.”

Tim sat on the bed and began refolding the clothes she’d already put in the suitcase. She looked up at him and his face was unreadable. He looked at her straight on like he had something on his mind.

“I hope you remembered to pack a sufficient number of bloomers,” he said, deadpan.

Her laughter burst out and she thought she might cry.

“What’s it to you?” she asked. “Are you some kind of travel expert now?”

“Magnusen Media has decided to expand into the travel business,” he said, nodding. “We have opinions about these things. Many important opinions.”

Then his face grew somber.

“I skipped the gym to go talk with Dad about the gala.”

Her heart dropped and she felt a flash of anger and she turned away. Surely he wasn’t going to try to get her to change her mind about that bloody gala.

“I explained it wasn’t going to work out because you’re going to see your folks and you have a really special event at home. And I told him I wouldn’t be able to go either because we all need to be together. As a family.”

Dumbstruck, she turned back to him.

“If you want me to go, that is,” he said, looking shy. “Maybe I should have asked you first.”

She put down the shawl and went to him and took his hands. She looked into his face and remembered the first time she’d seen his tall frame from across the room, the first time she’d heard his laugh. She saw his lovely dear face, older, changed, forever changing. Family, like composition, was a layering of parts and always shifting, never static. But what was the fascia that held it together? She knew the answer now; it was a song of love, forgiveness, and love again. She leaned in and kissed him. Anne Ryan, Tim Magnusen, and Aiden Matthew Ryan Magnusen. Together.