The fourth week of September, the most eventful thing that happened was an elephant rampaging through Lansing after escaping from the circus. She ran wild through the streets, chased by thousands of people, only making her more afraid and dangerous.
I knew the story had ended badly by the State Journal headline alone.
Police Kill Berserk Elephant.
I was careful to throw that copy of the paper out before Hugo could get his hands on it, holding my breath with the hopes that no one would tell him about it at school.
As far as I knew, nobody had.
I’d gone to visit Clara that Friday and ended up sitting next to someone I scarcely recognized. Her cheeks had gone sunken and her skin sallow. When I’d asked a nurse if there had been any change, she’d just told me that it was typical for a patient to go through highs and lows.
“Fall can be hard on some of them,” she’d said before turning and walking away from me down the hall, her shoes squeaking on the hard floor.
Before I knew it, September passed and October began. The leaves were changing, and Hugo was asking after costumes for Halloween.
At the beginning of summer I never would have believed that I’d be planning out how to construct a giraffe costume for a five-year-old. I would have told whoever suggested such a thing that they were out of their minds.
Most nights Hugo still wanted a story and I was happy to give him one.
It was a Wednesday in the middle of the month and unseasonably warm. The mercury had risen above eighty, and I regretted having put away all of my summer clothes for the year. Hugo had all of the covers off his bed and had worn only PJ bottoms to sleep in.
Flannery sat on the sill of Hugo’s wide-open window, looking out into the night as if she was expecting visitors.
“Aunt Betty,” Hugo said. “Will you tell me a story?”
“I would love to.” I fanned myself with my hand. “But I might need a little help to tell it.”
“Once there was . . .” he started then lifted his eyebrows toward me. “Your turn.”
“A canary named Willa who lived in the forest.” I wiped my brow. “She wasn’t like all of the other birds of the forest; the robins and sparrows and blue jays.”
“Because she was yellow,” Hugo offered.
“Yes. But also because she was the only canary and the only one who knew the special song she was born with.”
“What did it sound like?”
“Now, that’s the trouble,” I said. “I can’t even sing her song. At first, Willa liked being different from everyone else. She liked that she was the only spark of yellow to fly between the tree branches and that her song was different, higher than the other birds.”
“She was unique,” Hugo said.
“That’s a very good word,” I said. “Yes, Willa was special. But after a while, being different began to make her feel lonely.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Since she felt so sad, she stopped singing her song.”
Hugo rolled over on his side, facing me.
“The chickadee missed Willa’s song and so did the starling who tried to mimic it, but it couldn’t come close.” I tightened my arm around his shoulders. “They decided that they needed to find a friend for Willa. A friend who was like her.”
I told of how they searched all over the forest, trying to find another bird just like Willa. They found a goldfinch. It had bright yellow plumage like Willa’s, but instead of singing, it let out squeaking cheeps. They found a warbler who could sing. The trouble was, it was a song Willa had never heard before. Next they tried a duckling, but that baby couldn’t fit in a nest.
“The two friends gave up hope of finding Willa someone like her,” I said. “They came to her tree and sat on the branches nearest her nest and told her they were sorry for failing.”
“At least they tried,” Hugo said. “Doesn’t that count?”
“It did,” I said. “The starling and chickadee hung their heads, but because they’d cared so much for Willa, she started to sing. It was a song like nothing they’d ever heard before. Long and high and clear, Willa’s notes were beautiful and filled the entire forest with music.”
“Because friends can make us feel better when we’re sad?”
“Yes.”
“For now.” I kissed the top of his curly-haired head.
“Is Willa like my mommy?”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Because she’s special like Mommy is?”
“Yes,” I answered. “Your mommy is so special, isn’t she?”
“So are you.” He rolled so he was flat on his back with his arms out at his sides. “I love you, Aunt Betty.”
“I love you, Hugo.”
Oh, how my heart melted.
And not from the heat of the evening.