All Monday morning at school, we practice our presentations in the cafeteria.
We all read our parts. Mr. Brown is totally impressed by Jaxon’s drawings. Jamie and Jaxon do the fake debate—he says a good thing, Jamie chimes in with a bad. Jaxon doesn’t frown too much. I present my interview with Aunt Bea and talk about falconry and how it helps hawks survive.
“Was that awesome or what?” I ask once we finish and sit down.
“We were awesome,” Jaxon confirms.
“I feel like I messed up on my delivery,” Jamie says, picking at the sides of the poster board.
Jaxon puts a hand on her arm. Jamie nearly jumps out of her skin. “You were awesome,” he says.
Jamie flushes through every shade of pink. “Thanks.”
“We are ready for Friday,” I say.
“We should celebrate,” Jaxon says, pulling back his hand like he just noticed whose arm it was lying on.
“Definitely,” I say, trying to help them through this adorably awkward moment.
“My house? After school?” Jamie says, trying to get her blush under control.
“I’m drinking all the chocolate milk,” Jaxon says.
“Not if I don’t first,” I say.
“I don’t think we have any,” Jamie says, apologizing in advance.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jaxon says. “We can just hang out.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Perfect,” Jamie says, grinning brightly.
Mom calls Tuesday. “Randi’s working miracles,” she says. “I have a few places to check out in Branford.”
“That’s amazing!” I say.
“It’s going to be different this time, Reens,” she says.
“I know,” I say. Because it already is different. Because I’m different.
On Wednesday, Dr. Cho comes by after dinner to check out Rufus. Aunt Bea throws a towel over his head, less to keep him calm than to keep him from seeing me in the bird room while the doctor examines him.
“You did it,” Dr. Cho says, finishing up her exam. She pulls off her gloves. “That’s a perfectly healthy owl. Which means . . .” she says, trailing off.
“It’s time to say goodbye,” I finish for her.
Aunt Bea smiles. “It’s time to say goodbye.”
Aunt Bea places Rufus inside a cardboard box. The three of us crowd into the truck; Rufus and his box are strapped in the truck bed. The sun is already behind the trees, so we drive through deep shadow beneath a still-bright blue sky decked out with strips of gold and pink clouds. We have to release Rufus as close as possible to where we found him. It will give him the best chance of surviving, of finding his home territory, wherever that is.
I sit between Dr. Cho and Aunt Bea and try to keep from sobbing like a baby.
It’s insane to be sad when this is the best outcome possible. When Rufus is healthy and hunting and ready to go back home to the wild.
But how do you let a part of yourself go?
We rumble down the dirt road, the same one we drove down to set the trap so many weeks ago. Rufus is quiet in the back of the truck. Is he scared? Is he carsick?
Aunt Bea pulls to a stop beside a big tree. “We can walk in a bit from here.”
The first star glitters in the sky—not a star, but a planet pretending. Everything wants to sparkle when offered the chance.
Aunt Bea gets Rufus in his box from the truck bed. We walk, her holding the precious cargo, through the brush until we find a meadow. The sky is deep blue now, a rim of gold and pink visible through the trees to the west.
Aunt Bea holds the box out to me. “You should do it,” she says.
Dr. Cho nods.
I take the box, careful not to jostle Rufus. I walk with him out into the grass.
“This is it, buddy,” I whisper to him. “You’re home.” My voice chokes.
Rufus scratches inside the box, chirps something.
I set the box in the grass. We watched some videos on YouTube over dinner, to see how it’s done, so I know what to do. I just can’t do it.
What if he’s not ready? What if a giant eagle swoops down and tears him apart before he even gets in one free flap?
Rufus scratches again, screeches.
I choose to believe.
I unhitch the cardboard flaps, pull them apart without looking in, and tip the box forward. Nothing happens. I tip the box farther and Rufus flops out onto the grass.
He stumbles a bit. Looks around. Notices me. He lifts his ear tufts.
I haven’t seen him in days. I think he’s grown bigger, I think he’s gotten more wild. Then it hits me that he’s simply returned to what he was, the bird king from weeks ago, all healed up and ready to rule.
“You can do it,” I whisper. A smile warms my cheeks, a real smile, because I know he can.
Rufus looks away from me, lifts his wings, and flaps once, twice, rising into the twilight, and then he’s a shadow against the stars, a dream.
A hand drops onto my shoulder. “You did good,” Aunt Bea says.
I nod, afraid if I say anything I’ll explode.
She hugs me to her. The tears come. I’m smiling and crying, happy and sad, so many feelings, all real, all at once. It feels good. The whole world sparkles through my tears.
We turn as one and walk back through the brambles.
Somewhere, deep in the night, an owl hoots.
I like to think it’s Rufus, saying goodbye.