A tear trickled down Willow’s cheek. She would have thought she’d be done crying by now. That she’d cried so many tears for Hawk she’d be plain out.
Maybe that wasn’t possible. Maybe a person didn’t have a maximum number of tears inside them. Maybe the saddest people on Earth could just spend their days crying, tears trickling down their cheeks, faces never dry.
Her mother’s words came back to her. “He’s just a bird, Willow. I don’t know what you’re getting so upset about.”
Another tear fell. He wasn’t just a bird. She was only thirteen and even she knew that. He was her friend. Her companion. The only one who’d listened to her when she rambled on about her day. When she needed someone to talk to about the million little things that had gone wrong.
Her mother wouldn’t understand that because her mother didn’t care.
She’d actually started to realize that her mother cared about very little in this world. She certainly didn’t care about her father…but then, he didn’t seem to care about her, either, so that was probably fair. They were just two people living in the same house, committed to a loveless marriage, barely ever interacting with each other.
Was that normal? She’d always believed it was, but she was starting to think otherwise. The parents of kids at school didn’t seem like that. She’d even seen Dora’s parents holding hands the other day.
She scrubbed away another tear, eyes never leaving the small mound of dirt she’d shoveled on top of Hawk. The hole had taken her all morning to dig, and yet, it felt too shallow. How deep were you supposed to dig before you buried something? Her granddad had been buried really deep. She still remembered looking into that dark hole, fearing standing so close.
She blew out a long breath, wishing the tears would stop.
Her gaze skirted up the tall pine tree. She’d wanted to bury Hawk in her backyard, but Mother had said no. She didn’t want the yard dug up, because there was no way Mrs. Foster could have anything less than perfect.
It was okay though. The park at the end of the street was probably better. Right under the tree where she’d found him. She still remembered that day. He’d hurt his wing and had been laying on the ground, his soft cries all but breaking Willow’s heart.
She knew what it felt like to be sad and have no one care. She’d lived and breathed that loneliness more times than she cared to remember.
It had taken a lot of convincing to make her mother take him to the vet. Then even more for her to allow Willow to keep him until he was better. After that, she was supposed to set him free.
Three months later and she still hadn’t been able to. A voice at the back of her mind told her that she should. That the bird was a free animal and needed to be out in the air and the trees. But in a quiet house, where all she’d ever wanted was someone to talk to, she’d always managed to put it off. Every morning, she’d told herself just one more day.
Until this morning…
Her throat constricted at the memory of finding Hawk on the bottom of the cage, unmoving.
Why did you die, Hawk? Did the suffocating quiet kill you like it’s killing me?
Footsteps sounded behind her, but she didn’t turn. She was past caring about people seeing her cry in public.
The footsteps slowed as they drew closer.
Suddenly, someone dropped down beside her. Now she did turn. And when she saw who it was, she sucked in a quick breath. The boy from across the street. He’d only moved there a week ago. She’d watched him from her window, wondering what his name was. How old he was. He went to her school, and she knew he was older. But that was all she knew.
He looked sixteen, maybe seventeen? And he was tall, with broad shoulders. Big.
She almost didn’t breathe as his unwavering gaze hit hers.
“Are you okay?”
A slight tremor coursed down her spine at his voice. It was deep. Deeper than the voices of the boys in her grade. And there was a rough edge to it that made her tummy feel funny.
“Hawk died.” She whispered the words, his eyes holding her in a trance.
He switched his gaze to the mound of dirt, and she almost wanted to beg him to return it to her. Then he did. “Who’s Hawk?”
“A bird.” A friend. My only friend.
She continued to watch his eyes. They were the most beautiful shade of gray she’d ever seen. They reminded her of the clouds before a storm. And she’d always loved storms. The pitter-patter of rain on the roof. Watching the wind and the cold from her warm room.
“Why are you by yourself?”
What an unusual question. No one had ever asked her that before. How many times had she been upset and by herself in this very park? Angry at something her mother had said. Hurt by her father’s absence. So many time’s she’d lost count.
People had seen her, thrown sympathetic looks her way, but no one ever stopped. And certainly no one asked her why she was alone.
“My mom’s getting ready for drinks with her friends. And Dad’s…” She didn’t actually know what he was doing. Disappearing for large chunks of time was just what he did. She was so used to it now that she never questioned it. “He’s busy.”
The boy leaned back, getting comfortable beside her. Which made her even more confused. She’d expected him to ask his questions and leave.
“My parents are like that,” he said quietly.
He wasn’t watching her anymore. Instead, he was looking at the tree, the gray in his eyes darkening.
“They didn’t even ask me if I wanted to move here,” he continued, his voice roughening. “They just made the decision and a month later, here we are. Like I’m luggage. Like what I want doesn’t matter.”
Stormy. Just like the sky.
“I can’t wait to enlist,” he muttered.
She nibbled her bottom lip, not sure what to say. She’d never been a huge conversationalist. She’d always wondered if maybe that was why her parents didn’t talk to her very often. So she settled on the only words she could think of. “I’m sorry.”
He turned those beautiful eyes back to her, and she almost lost her breath again. “Why are you sorry?”
“Because having absentee parents sucks.” She tried to look away but couldn’t. It was like he was holding her hostage.
His gaze flickered between her eyes. “Some people shouldn’t have kids.”
Willow swallowed. “I’m not going to have kids.”
Why had she gone and said that? Sure, it was true. She’d known for a long time that she wouldn’t have children, because she was scared that she’d turn into her own mother. That neglect was genetic. That her child would feel just like her. Unloved.
For the first time, a smile stretched his lips. It was a small one, but it was enough to have something warm and fuzzy trilling through her veins. That smile almost had her forgetting the reason she was here. The sorrow that had been drowning her.
“I don’t believe you.”
She frowned. “You don’t know me.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Maybe not. But I’m good at reading people. You’re making that decision based on fear, and decisions based on fear are never right and rarely hold.”
He sounded too old to be sixteen or seventeen. Maybe he was an adult masquerading as a teenager. “How old are you?”
The smile widened, his eyes crinkling. “Why? Do I sound wise?”
“Yes.” There was no point in lying.
“I’m fifteen.” Fifteen. Only two years older than her. “My name’s Blake.”
Blake. She let it roll around her head, wash over her limbs. She liked that name. It sounded rough and masculine, but at the same time…soft?
“I’m Willow,” she said quietly.
“Willow.” Another tremor rocked her spine, this time at the way her name sounded on his lips. Intimate. She realized she wanted to hear him say it again. But also knew she wouldn’t ask.
When a beat of silence passed, he looked again at the little bird grave, hands locked around his knees.
“You don’t have to sit with me, you know.” She liked him sitting with her. It was a bit strange how much. And she realized for the first time that her eyes had finally stopped watering. But she didn’t want him to feel like he had to.
“I know.” He didn’t look her way. “But I don’t want you to be alone while you’re upset. No one should be alone when they’re sad.”
More words that no one had ever said to her before. Words that made her confused, but that she wouldn’t dare question, in case they were never spoken again.
